Three Passings and a Reminder
(this is a note I wrote last week, following the passing of someone much too young and much too life-affirming to be a memory)
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A long time ago (ie. my 20s), in a universe not so far away (ie. Jakarta), I was in trouble.
Not the usual existential issues best eased with a bar of chocolate or adult beverages or both, but real trouble. Real trouble involving large-scale infrastructure and logistics. Jakarta residents, you know the score. I was stuck in a monster traffic jam and in danger of missing my international flight.
I am pretty sure it was also partly my fault. Back before Waze and apps that remind you to get off your butt, Jakartans relied on an unreliable strategy of getting to places: you wing it. The alternative was to arrive possibly an hour early, because the traffic gods were unpredictable. Sometimes the streets were inexplicably empty even at peak hours. And sometimes they would turn into parking lots that you can actually cross to find a bathroom and cross back again to find your still stationary car.
But airlines have schedules to keep.
On the receiving end of my panicky calls, a trusty friend suggested that I call a mutual friend who worked for the airline. Japan Airlines.
Glen and I ran in the same social circle, but we did not know each other well. It would have been my first call with him, ever. He greeted me like I was his sister. For the next half hour, he would call me back multiple times while he worked his office line to make sure that the airline did not leave without me.
Think about it: who does that?
Then as well as now, not many people. And even though it was a high-stress situation, I remember laughing throughout. Laughing out loud. With wit, charm, an enviably sunny disposition, and even more rare generosity, dear Glen got me on that plane with a smile on my face.
Years on, that is what I remember most: How he made me feel.
Recent months have been somber. Mortality has struck unexpectedly amongst those who were particularly imbued with light and life. Ging Ginanjar. Arian Ardie. Now, Glen Nanlohy. They all contributed to our evolving Indonesia a dogged activism and entrepreneurialism, with a lot of built-in creativity.
But to me, their resumes are annotation of a more indelible legacy: they were kind and happy and sweet and funny. They made us smile. They made us laugh. They hugged and hugged and then hugged some more. What’s love got to do with it? A lot.
And really, isn’t that all we need? And universal income, I guess. Maybe one day there will be an app for that too.
It is another sad day. I offer sincere condolences to all who are grieving. But I also smile today with even more conviction that the mark of one’s achievement in life is not Ted talks or stock prices or acronyms before or after one’s name.
When I pass, I want to be like Glen (and Arian and Ging). I want someone to remember how good I made them feel.
