By Yeoh Guan Sun, GSYeoh
Do you ever feel that time passes too quickly?
The days rush by.
You can barely remember what happened.
Can you even recall events or activities from six hours ago?
This could be because you were either deeply immersed in something (good) or distracted (bad), and that ambiguity sets the tone. When you are happy, time seems to fly. The opposite is true when you are in pain, bored, or anxious, you feel that time slows down. Or you may not even notice time passing when you are distracted. In a peaceful morning, you think that time is slow.
Again, it all depends.
I catch myself wondering: which is better? Are we just observing time? Or should we be questioning the quality of how we live it? I believe the answer is in truly living in the moment.
I want to invite you, my dear readers, to reflect on your experiences with me.
Time flying is not always a bad thing because it can mean I am joyful, alive, and immersed.
Or is it better when time feels slow? Because it means I don’t rush through life; I want to experience depth and notice the little things.
The thing is, we always say we want time to slow down so we can enjoy life more, don’t we? Ironically, when we are immersed in joy and truly enjoying the moment, time tends to fly. We lose track of time because the very thing we wish for, to enjoy life more, makes it feel shorter.
One thing I always ask myself is: Are we living time or just letting it pass through us?
Because time can pass without us realising it, does it really matter whether it goes fast or slow, or whether we are even there for it? To be present and living in the moment?
Because time is strange. It flies when we are having fun, it drags when we are waiting, it disappears when we are not looking, it hurts when we lose someone, it creates memories when we are present, and regret when we are not. Sometimes, we wonder where the whole week went. We smile while reflecting on sweet memories. Time expands when we…just focus on now. This post is going to be tough to publish because it reveals so much. And yes, as I am typing now, I am still figuring out whether I should continue. So, please sit back and have a cup of coffee with you.
Okay? Alright?
Childhood Moments: Long Days That Linger
Do you remember when you were a child, and you experienced time without trying to control it?
You weren’t trying to optimise your day, chase goals, or hold on to memories. You just lived. Time felt endless. Those moments, whether slow, simple, boring, or exciting, stick with you.
A school day could feel like a week. You could play games all day with your friends and relatives. A lazy and peaceful afternoon reading alone. Or just staring at the ceiling seemed to last forever. Strangely enough, those slow, uneventful days are the ones I remember the most. Not because they were filled with excitement, but because of the pure presence of those moments. I was fully in them. No expectations, no rush, not tracking productivity, just being. Those moments felt long; I didn’t need excitement to make the day meaningful. I wasn’t distracted or multitasking, and I wasn’t documenting because…I was inside the moment. We simply were ourselves, not waiting for the right time but allowing curiosity to guide us. Letting go of unrealistic perfectionism and not overthinking about a future that makes us anxious. We were eager to grow up and become adults, and waiting for a birthday seemed to take forever. I still remember a wonderful trip with my sister; we enjoyed playing, and I fell asleep on her lap, feeling so much warmth & love. We lived in the moment. As adults now, we often live in the future but forget the present. We can’t even remember what happened the last seven years. The years now feel like they move faster, maybe because of age. The strange part is that childhood felt slow but we remember it vividly. Adulthood moves fast, and we forget most of it. Just like how we remember our childhood as slow and vivid, I wrote more about how those early years shaped our relationship with time here.
Happy Days Fly
Two months ago, my parents came down to visit. It was a public holiday, Wesak Day. They came for three days. There was no travel itinerary, just slow days. We caught up with laughter and I brought them to a few local coffee shops nearby. We had simple meals and all enjoyed our time together. I walked into the mall holding both my parents’ hands. I smelled and kissed my parents’ foreheads. I checked my mother’s leg and discovered she had a wound that hadn’t healed for more than a month. I cleaned her wound until they left. Each day stretched quietly.
Time felt different: gentle and familiar, like returning to something soft and unspoken. The moment they left, I was stunned by how fast it all went. It’s strange: while they were here, time felt slow, but after they had left, it felt like it was just yesterday, time just flew. It stretches when we are immersed and then vanishes once it turns into a memory. These are happy days that won’t always come and can’t be recreated again if we miss them. The days that leave a trace.
Time Don’t Wait
Whether you hope time will slow down or fly, the truth is that time doesn’t add up. I had the wrong idea that I would catch up when I had more time, when things got slower. But every second, every minute, is precious if it means life. Ask someone who has suffered from cancer what three months of life mean to them. Time won’t stop, won’t add, slow down, or speed up. It just ticks. Time could end without warning. Then came the losses. My grandmother and a dear friend were just gone, just like that, without warning. I always hope and pray that everything will be okay, but sometimes it’s not. That threw my life upside down. At that time, time didn’t just fly or slow; it collapsed.
“Why do I assume there will always be more time?”
Two weeks before my grandmother passed away, I had a video conversation with her, and she seemed fine. My dear friend seemed to be recovering; both seemed okay. The next thing I knew, I was left with unsaid words and unfinished moments that I thought I would have another chance at. The kind you play over and over, wishing you had a little more time. When you think, “If only I could turn back time,” you realise that’s impossible. People say “time heals,” but they forget to mention that time also hides. It steals moments you thought you had more of. It erases the chance to say what mattered. It doesn’t wait for you to feel ready. You realise time doesn’t turn back. Memories now carry the weight of silence, grief, and regret. No matter what you do, no matter how fast or slow you try to make life, time does not pause for loss. The only time that matters is the time you once had. And whether it makes you smile or cry now, that was it. I began to understand the real value of moments, what’s more important.
The Days Felt Long, the Years Felt Short
I remember buying this domain (GSYeoh.com) back in 2018. I told myself I would start building my website in three months, but I left it idle for so long. I procrastinated on my projects because I was waiting to feel more ready. I told myself I had so much work to be done, too many things going on.
“Where can I make space for this?” I kept asking. Reflecting back, if I’m being honest, there was space, but I didn’t have the courage. When I had the time for it, I told myself I would take action, but the truth was, I did not. So many excuses and doubts took over. Maybe I feared putting myself out there because it feels like sharing my soul. So I delayed. Three days, one week, one year. I paid a few thousand in renewal fees for my domain and hosting, all gone to waste. The strange thing is, while I was procrastinating, the days felt long. I kept thinking I had time, that I could always begin next week or do it when things finally slowed down for me to concentrate. Of course, that never happened. Now the years feel short. Reflecting back, I barely remember what filled all that time. I can’t recall much, but I only remember the things I kept putting off. The projects I shelved, the books left unread, the posts I never wrote, the noise I always wanted to distract myself from, the versions of me I never let grow.
I want my days and years to be remembered, to live, to feel, and to be present. As I am writing this, it serves as a reminder to myself to reflect and appreciate everything that life gives me. Time that is gone can never be reclaimed. Now I am doing what I cannot do yet and what I don’t know or how to do, to learn what and how to do it. To what I don’t yet understand. It started in a mess, often overwhelmed, taking it step by step.
I asked myself:
“What was I really waiting for?”
“How many times have I said I will start?”
“If not now, when?”
Maybe we delay living fully or creating, because deep down, we fear being exposed. That hesitation costs time, I shared more in this piece here.
Slowness That Amplifies Pain
Around March, I was hospitalised. The first night, my blood was drawn for investigation, and I was given an IV drip. The next day, I was sent for an MRI.
This was only the second time I had ever been admitted to a hospital in my life; the first was six years ago.
“Was I really living before this… or just busy?”
And just like that, everything stopped.
No screens, no work. The silence inside me, with the IV drip and machine beeping in the background, terrified me.
Even though I technically had time, I did not own it. I was not in control of how it passed. The time felt long, especially since pain was present. I realised that slowness only feels meaningful when it is chosen. In that moment, it becomes a burden when it comes from waiting and helplessness on a hospital bed; it becomes something else. It weighs on you. The IV in my arm was a reminder that I was not in control, which was enough to make me feel uncomfortable. But slowness is not always romantic, in fact it amplified the pain. Sometimes, when we don’t choose it, it turns into boredom or pain, something I wrote about here.
“Will I die?”
“What had I done all these years?”
I remember lying there, staring at the ceiling, thinking all these things. Those questions did not go away. Nothing could be done. It was the slowness to remind myself to take care of my own health no matter what. Nothing is more important than health.
Unconscious Time
The real question is not about speed, whether time drags or flies. But it is about your presence in it. The goal is not to stretch each second, to savour or resist.
You can feel time fly when you are fully alive.
You can feel time slow when you are deeply grounded.
But time can also fly when you are numbing yourself.
And it can drag when you are disconnected.
The unconscious time is what we should fear, time that passes without memory or a trace, without any meaning. And when you notice it, it is too late to get it back.
Were you truly there for it?
The years you cannot remember because you were rushing, avoiding, and numbing.
The days you thought were normal until you realised they were your last with someone.
The projects you postponed until regret surfaces.
Time existed, but you were not in it.
Today ask yourself:
Did I feel today, not tomorrow or yesterday?
Will I remember it? It does matter.
Is it meaningful? Did I benefit others? Did I help? Did I make someone smile? On the hospital bed, you cannot do anything else. There is nothing you can think of if you did not do anything.
How do you want to live?
Feel the moment.
Writing this post was an act of slowing down, trying to feel time rather than just track it. I reflected more here.
If time is our most limited currency, then how we spend it matters even more than how fast or slow it feels. I explored that further in this post.
Related Posts
When time stretches, we meet ourselves more honestly. And nothing stretches time like a long walk. Read what walking long distances taught me about patience.
