I’m in Japan right now.
Next week, I was supposed to be in Hong Kong.
Back in December, I was texting with my cousin, the one I was closest to growing up.
We were planning to meet on this trip. I had just seen him last December. We were messaging back and forth not even a month ago.
Then my mom called.
He passed away in his sleep.
I’m not sad in the way people expect. I’m quite Zen about life and death. But I’m in shock. Not because of how it happened, but because of how suddenly. One moment you’re texting someone, planning to see them. The next, they’re gone.
The police report said he had been there for a few days already. Firefighters had to break the door. No sign of struggle. No drama. Just life ending quietly.
As you get older, this starts happening more. People you love. People you admire. People you grew up watching. One by one, they start disappearing.
Everyone dies. I will die. You will die.
Life isn’t just short. It’s fragile. And it’s unpredictable.
I’m in my mid-40s now, and time feels different. It moves faster. You blink, and decades pass without asking permission.
When you strip everything away, life really comes down to two things: love and experience.
Being with the people you care about.
That’s it.
Here’s the part that still feels surreal to me.
My cousin was the one who introduced me to martial arts. To Bruce Lee.
He gave me my first pair of nunchucks. He gave me a framed photo of Bruce Lee almost 30 years ago. I still have it in my gym today.
He also spent most of his adult life in a legal battle with his sister. Ten years. Maybe twenty. Fighting over money, inheritance, control.
He didn’t have a will.
So now, everything goes to the person he hated the most.
Life has a strange sense of humor.
All the things people destroy relationships over — money, status, ego. When death shows up, none of it matters. You come with nothing. You leave with nothing.
That’s why I don’t think in years anymore. I think in times.
Not “I’ll visit Japan for another 20 years.” Maybe it’s 20 times.
Not “I’ll see my family for another 10 years.” Maybe it’s 10 times.
When you think this way, everything changes.
You become more present. More patient. Less reactive. The small stuff stops feeling big, because it isn’t.
This message is as much a reminder for me as it is for you.
Live fully. Don’t delay what matters. And don’t over-worry about things that won’t mean anything when you’re gone.
Because life isn’t long. And every time counts.
