Life is Fragile. Cherish Every Moment.

My daughter and I

At the office, I usually have an early dinner with my colleagues. We talk about everything: work, family, and whatever else comes up.

One afternoon, a colleague mentioned that his eldest son visited him in Jakarta. His wife, he said, always cried whenever their son returned to Balikpapan. But for him, the distance wasn’t really a problem.

“My wife is sad because she and our son are really close, they love joking around. Meanwhile, my son and I aren’t that tight. But what gets me is seeing him become independent and can buy whatever he wants. He even wanted to buy me a Green Day merch with his own money,” he said.

That made me think. My colleague may have been used to being the provider. And now that his son no longer relies on him financially, a different kind of sadness is creeping in.

I can’t fully relate yet. My daughter is only seven and still depends on me for everything. But as the breadwinner and the main provider for my family, I can imagine feeling the same way someday.

And honestly, it stings a little when I see friends buying concert tickets, purchasing expensive things, or traveling overseas while I’m here paying mortgage and school fees. But I remind myself that this is the life I chose, and it won’t be forever. One day, the mortgage will be paid off. One day, my daughter will no longer need my support. She will move out and build a life with her husband. Eventually, she might not need my help at all.

And that will be even harder to accept.

Watching our children grow up in the blink of an eye is a stark reminder of how fragile life is. Time slips away so quickly, and we have to treasure every moment.

So, I won’t complain about feeling emotionally burdened anymore. Instead, I want to make time for what truly matters and be fully present, appreciating my surroundings and those around me.

How Kendrick Lamar Taught Me About Storytelling

 

Being a writer doesn’t feel complete without learning from Kendrick Lamar.

I first got into Kendrick’s music when I heard that DAMN. (2017) became the first hip-hop album to win the Pulitzer Prize for Music. That’s a huge award in the world of journalism, literature, and music—especially since the award usually goes to classical or jazz compositions. Kendrick’s album earned this recognition because of its exceptional storytelling.

The Pulitzer committee described DAMN. as “a virtuosic song collection unified by its vernacular authenticity and rhythmic dynamism that offers affecting vignettes capturing the complexity of modern African American life.” In other words, it wasn’t just an album. It was a cultural statement.

In DAMN., Kendrick talks about race, identity, faith, and the struggles of being Black American. He reflects on how he can’t save others before facing his own demons. But at the same time, he’s painfully aware that he has a lot of unresolved issues himself.

Then, in Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers (2022), he gets even more vulnerable. He opens up about generational trauma, sexual abuse, and his struggles with loyalty. He repeatedly tells us he’s not a savior and people shouldn’t expect too much from him. He stressed that he’s just another human being, still learning—just like us.

What sets Kendrick apart from other rappers is the way he tells stories. He makes us feel his experiences, and that’s what makes his music stick.

Here are a few storytelling lessons we can learn from Kendrick:

1. Make it personal. If you're writing about mental health, don’t just throw in statistics. Share a real person’s journey—how they struggled, fell, and got back up. That’s what makes a story come alive.

2. Go beyond ‘what happened’ by asking ‘why.’ Don’t just report the facts. Dig into the emotions and motivations behind them. If you’re writing about a public figure, explore what they were truly feeling or thinking beneath the surface.

3. Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. If you’re writing a personal essay, opening up makes your story stronger. Sometimes, writing about our own struggles helps us grow and understand ourselves better.

"At 27 years old, my biggest fear was bein’ judged. How they look at me reflect on myself, my family, my city. What they say ‘bout me reveal if my reputation would miss me. What they see from me would trickle down generations in time. What they hear from me would make ‘em highlight my simplest lines." – Kendrick Lamar, FEAR.

Through Kendrick Lamar, I’ve come to realize that storytelling isn’t just about writing technique. It’s about connection. It’s about sparking curiosity. And most importantly, it’s about making sure our stories stick—long after they’ve been told.

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• This essay is a translation of my original piece, which I already posted on my LinkedIn.
• Photo by Dorel Gnatiuc on Unsplash