If Today Is All I Have, Let It Be Enough

I’ve never spoken about this openly, but I have always been deeply intuitive. Maybe it's the scorpio natural instinct as a water sign or I'm just born with it. That intuition is what nudged me to try my luck with 4D, and yes, I’ve struck a few times. Small winnings here and there, never enough to change my life or sustain it, but enough to remind me that maybe my gut feeling has its own strange truth.

That same intuition once told me that I would not live beyond the age of forty-four. I am forty-five now, and to be honest, I sometimes wonder how I’m still here. My survival hasn’t come from wholesome deeds or perfect living. Instead, it feels like a gift carried by the prayers and good wishes of others. Some told me directly that they were dedicating merits to me, while others kept it silent, their compassion invisible yet powerful.

And for that, my heart is heavy with gratitude. My sister’s quiet strength, the unwavering love of friends, even the unexpected kindness of relatives I rarely speak to, all of it has carried me further than I ever thought possible. Sometimes I still question if I even want to live that long, because living isn’t always easy. There are days when the routine feels repetitive and meaningless, yet it’s the body that must carry on, sustaining life even when the heart lags behind. In those moments when I remember how deeply I’ve been carried in the hearts of others, I realize I must be doing something right to be held with so much love.

And maybe that’s the right I’ve been given, the right to live longer. To keep going, not just for myself, but as a living testament to the merits, prayers, and kindness that have sustained me.

As a practicing Buddhist, life and death no longer frighten me. I learned long ago that death does not wait for wrinkles and gray hair. It comes unannounced — through illness, accidents, and tragedies that leave no room for goodbyes. I have seen it all from people around me. I thought my chapter would close at thirty-three when I was diagnosed with cancer. But life whispered differently. Every extension of time since then has felt like borrowed light, a gentle miracle.

And so, I try to honor this gift. I share my merits not only with friends and family but with animals and ghosts, with anyone whose suffering echoes my own. If I am still alive today, then there must be a reason — a duty I cannot set aside.

Recently, while preparing for the Care and Share study group, the topic of procrastination struck me deeply. If my time is truly short, what business do I have delaying what matters? The thought hit like a bell: the work I have begun with Rainbodhi SG, the experiences I can share, and it seems like the Buddhist work and LGBTQ+ community still holds close to my heart. 

Without sounding arrogant, I want to write more — not just books and articles but pieces of myself. I want to bring Buddhist psychology into the mainstream, especially for the LGBTQ+ community, where suffering often runs deep and unspoken. I may not have all the years I hoped for, but I still have today. 

And today is enough to plant seeds of Bodhicitta (the mind that is motivated by wisdom and compassion to achieve enlightenment for the benefit of all sentient beings.) that might outlive me. As the Buddha reminded us, "If you light a lamp for someone else, it will also brighten your path." Not easy, but a queer boy can dream, right?

I have seen enough pain in this world to build camps for refugees of sorrow. And yet, I choose not to stay in despair. Instead, I ask myself: what else is there to postpone? The only answer left is this — to care for my body so that I can slowly, patiently, continue fulfilling these aspirations.

Life is not measured by the number of years lived but by the love and wisdom we leave behind. If my time runs out tomorrow, I hope my footprints guide someone else toward kindness, resilience, and courage. And if I am given another breath, I will keep writing, sharing, and loving in ways that stretch beyond my own story.

Because in the end, borrowed time is still time. And every moment of it is a gift worth giving back.