The death of someone I know and who is significant to me never fails to sober me up from the relentless rush and multitude of matters that consume my daily life.

Their passing always arouses a deep and urgent need for stillness in me. I want to spin into a cocoon of stillness that floats above time’s steady, glistening stream. I wish for the clocks to stop, the internet to switch off, the absence of the civilisational hum ‘and with muffled drum/Bring out the coffin, let/the mourners come.‘ I want that moment and space perpetually overrun with matters of daily concern to give way to allow for grieving, reminiscing, reflection and coming to terms with that person never being here anymore.

I need time and space to accommodate a hole that wasn’t there before, which will never be made whole again. These things take time.

The impetus is not intellectual but emotional and bodily. The need for it comes from my flesh and heart. My body shudders, not my brain. The tears shed come from my eyes, not my mind.

But civilised life’s efficiency, productivity and relentlessness have little or no time for that. Grief serves no economic purpose and, therefore, has no monetary value. Civilised life intrudes and punishes us for any time spent away from its galley—grieve, by all means, but only after we finish our tasks and responsibilities thrust upon us, which never end and grow heavier. And if you need to grieve, buy something and keep it short. It’s not good for productivity.

The sheer speed at which civilised life is expected to be lived denies us that stillness and expansiveness of time stillness creates when it is not busy dehumanising us. I am forced to treat the sadness and grief like a legal consultation: compartmentalised, restricted and let out of its cage only when the demands of living do not intrude and overwhelm. I must maintain professionalism even as I want to bawl my eyes out.

Instead of stillness, I can only console myself with slowness.

And it is that slowness about everything – things happening, motions, my thoughts – that I could not help but feel this week after my friend told me at 815am on Monday that our friend, Joshua Sin Kah Wai, our age, died of a heart attack the day before. It is as if his death has imbued that moment onwards with a sense of gravitas. Suddenly, the essential demands of work are unmasked and revealed to be mere minutiae of life. And the awareness that life is not work, although work consumes a large part of it.

Since hearing that, I couldn’t restrain my thoughts from returning to his departure, our time together, especially all the good and funny ones when we were younger, what could have been, and the sobriety death brings. I cannot ignore the melancholy, grief and sadness my body breathes when not in the company of others. But I have to hold that all back as I masquerade, albeit a little offkey, as my usual self so as not to invite inquiries about whether I am all right.

Even though we were not as close before he died, Kah Wai, as those from school called him, was still a significant presence in my early life. With him and others, we have many good memories together. The weight of those memories becomes more apparent and heavier with his absence. There are fewer of us to carry them, too. That is all we have of him. I suppose that is all we can ever have of each other and take to the grave – the memories of being together.

But today, we have less time to be together. Work, business, and economic matters fill our awareness and schedule, leaving fewer opportunities to make memories together. Without such memories, we have less reason to remember or celebrate each other. And when that happens, the death of another becomes an inconvenience to be gotten over with so we can attend our next appointment or responsibility. That is how others will react, too, when we die.

In life, unlike economics, you only get what you give.

It is tragic how we have been so conditioned to be busy striving that we forget striving is merely a component of living. Life is not all striving. It is also loving, caring, delightful, wondrous, reflection, empathy, and being. It is many things, not one thing. Life is not all about efficiency, speed, and quickness. Those are economic demands. Life is as much about noticing, exploring, and contemplating, and all these take time. Those are human needs.

Taking our time for things, especially matters of the heart and soul, enables us to be human and in touch with our natural, organic, and fragile existence. Not being able to take our time for things dehumanises us as undoubtedly as it is profitable. It makes us indifferent and, because of that, cruel.

What good is it to gain the whole world yet forfeit our soul?

We need to take our time to answer that question.

This essay is dedicated to Joshua Sin Kah Wai.

Rest in peace. Thank you for the memories, brother.