Illustration by Microsoft’s Copilot
by Dr Rahim Said
The Class of ’65 held a Hari Raya reunion this year in Alor Setar, my hometown. I missed it.
Kuala Lumpur, where I live now, is only a few hundred miles away—but sometimes, distance isn’t measured in kilometres, but in commitments, timing, and energy.
They sent photos. Familiar faces, greyed and creased with time but no less dear. All of us now in our late 70s. One classmate asked a sobering question: “What do you have to look forward to at 79?” That question lingers still.
Two among us are seriously ill. One lives with Alzheimer’s and wandered off mid-gathering, gently retrieved by restaurant staff who persuaded him lunch was far from over. Another battles Parkinsonism—his hands tremble as if remembering things the body has forgotten. It’s a stark reminder that time, though generous, is never permanent.
In Alor Setar, life is slower. You don’t need much to survive—especially with a modest pension and the support of community and prayer. Most of my friends spend their days at suraus and mosques, making peace with the present while preparing for what lies ahead. Their serenity is enviable.
City life is different. At 79, in Kuala Lumpur, I still find myself restless. I walk every morning. I play tennis—when I can muster a foursome. I’ve even tried pickleball and paddle. I go to the mosque, not as often as I should, but enough to keep my soul recharged.
A former junior from my school, now a renowned actuary, recently asked me, “How many good years do you have left?” I’ve never thought of life that way.
But now I find myself glancing at life expectancy charts. For men, the average is 77. If that’s the magic number, I’ve already won the bonus round.
So, what now?
In the past year, I’ve consulted for a company bringing tocotrienols to market—a promising health compound from palm oil. That ends when I turn 80.
But I’ve also been writing. Every day, as a columnist on Newswav, where I won four awards last year. I hope to continue as long as I still have something to say—and readers to say it to.
There’s a book I’ve long wanted to write. No title yet. No clear theme. But the editor of Weekly Echo recently suggested compiling my articles into a collection.
That, too, sounds like a book. Maybe one I didn’t know I was already writing.
There’s also talk about conducting writing seminars. Helping young voices find their way, shape their thoughts, speak their truths. That sounds worthwhile. That sounds like legacy.
So, at 79, what’s next?
Perhaps the better question is: what’s left to do that still fills you with purpose? I think that’s the thread I want to follow—writing, mentoring, thinking aloud, and maybe even laughing at the absurdities of life, like I always have.
If I do reach 90, I’d like to get there still curious, still useful, still hopeful. And if I don’t, at least I’ve lived the extra chapters well.
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