What’s gone stays gone. If I’m being completely honest, I have to admit how many of my days just obsess with social media. The algorithm is good at what it does; it pushes exactly what interests me, and suddenly I have spent hours unwisely. Those short videos steal minutes of my attention that turn into hours. By the time I’m done, I don’t feel relaxed, I feel worse. My eyes are tired, and I realise I should have just been resting instead.

A strange, cold realisation hit me recently: that time spent lazily scrolling is just deleted. It’s gone. If it’s an hour a day, that’s 365 hours a year. We worry about the money we spend on things, but we don’t notice the mindless activities that steal our time. You can’t trade for it. You can’t buy it back. It’s just gone.

“What’s gone stays gone” isn’t a depressing thought for me. It’s a guide. It’s a reminder that loss is permanent, which makes me treat what I have left with more respect. I’ve started auditing my days because I’m tired of letting my life slip through my fingers.

The Slow Leak

For the longest time, my biggest loss was this slow leak of time. It wasn’t just scrolling while waiting for food. It was the years I spent being afraid to try something new, to learn a skill, or to look for a different career. I used to feel so guilty about resting. I wouldd postpone vacations and treat my life like a checklist of chores rather than a journey.

I always wanted to start journaling and sharing my thoughts here, but I kept telling myself I was “waiting for the right time.” Looking back, those were just silly excuses. I was self-comforting. I finally realised that “tomorrow” is just a junk drawer where we shove the things we are too scared to do today. In my early twenties, I thought time was infinite. I skipped breaks, ate quick meals, and worked every weekend just to prove my value. But health issues and life don’t care how old you are.  It can happen to anyone, anytime. Time is the only currency you can’t earn back. If you’ve reached a point where you actually care about yourself, you have to stop trying to manage your time and start managing your attention.

The Weight of Unspoken Patience

I still remember the look on my father’s face during a big argument last year. I had driven back to my hometown, tired after long hours of work and driving long journey back home. In that state, I let a sentence fly that was hurtful. 

Even though I apologised and my father forgave me, I can never unhear that wound for him. Words said in anger change a relationship permanently. I regretted my action deeply. Now, I practice a simple pause. If I can just breathe for a few seconds before replying, I save myself from a lifetime of wishing I could delete a conversation or action.

Missing the In-Between

I spent years living just for the “output.” I wasn’t looking for big trips or adventures; I was just buried in work. I told myself that being focused on the next deadline meant I was being productive. I promised myself I’d “chill” once I had the time. But I wasn’t resting; I was just being absent.

I missed the taste of my mom’s food because I was too busy or too tired from traveling to actually enjoy it. Most of all, I remember the image in my rearview mirror every time I left home. My parents waving goodbye, their faces showing how much they didn’t want me to go yet. They are always worry about me. In my rush to get back to the grind, I didn’t realise those were the moments that actually mattered. I was losing connections not because they weren’t there, but because I was already mentally at the next destination.

Approval Trap and Cost of Silence

The most tragic trade I ever made was giving up my peace for approval. I spent a decade saying “yes” when my whole body was screaming “no.” I dampened my own personality to fit into rooms that weren’t for me. The peace you trade for someone else’s smile is gone the second you give it away.

I learned the hard way: the moment you don’t meet their expectations or you finally say no, you get the blame anyway. Other people’s approval is fickle. My own integrity, however, is a heavy burden to lose. I look back at the boundaries I never set. Those missing boundaries are exactly why I burned out. I had to learn to be disagreeable early on.

2025: The Road Through Taiping, Malacca, Bentong, and Kuantan

As 2025 ends, these lessons are finally sticking. It’s been a busy few months. Work took me to Taiping, Malacca, Bentong, and Kuantan.

I caught myself slipping lately. In the rush, I realised I wasn’t walking as much. That habit kept me grounded, but I traded it for an extra hour of work. It’s a reminder that even when you know better, the slow leak happens if you stop paying attention.

In Taiping, I loved how quiet it was. Fewer sirens, slower moving cars. Watching people take their time under those ancient rain trees helped me find my own pace again. In Malacca, in that heat, I set my boundaries early. I protected my energy and reminded myself I can’t do everything all at once. In Bentong, driving through the morning mist, I only focused on what truly mattered. And in Kuantan, I thought about the words I’ve said in anger and the chances I’ve missed. Like the ocean, life moves on.

Why What’s Gone Stays Gone

Acknowledging what is gone feels like a form of mourning. But the finality of the past is what makes today valuable. I can’t get back the wasted hours, the missed walks, or the meals where I was too distracted to taste my mom’s cooking. But I can choose to be here, right now.

I’m writing this as a reminder for my future self. Not to look back with regret, but to see how far I’ve come. I see the boundaries I’ve built and the peace I’m protecting.

What’s gone stays gone. Looking in the rearview mirror on my way home from these trips, I’m done staring at closed doors. I’m looking at the road ahead. There’s no “Undo” button, but for 2026, the “New Document” button is blinking. It’s time to start again.

If you’re also learning that what’s gone stays gone, leave a comment. If this resonated with you, please share it with someone who might need this reminder for the New Year.

Happy New Year 2026! See you in the next one.