Every morning, we greet the break of dawn with a quiet flicker of hope and the promise of a fresh start. As the sky softens into hues of tangerine, blush pink, and occasionally vivid crimson, we stop to marvel at this timeless natural spectacle. Hours later, when the sun dips low to kiss the horizon, we are once again enchanted by the sunset—a quiet moment of stillness that marks the close of another day. Yet all too often, we overlook the deeper meaning woven into this steady rhythm of light and darkness, of rising and falling. The stretch of time between sunrise and sunset, after all, serves as a stunning metaphor for human existence: it is the finite window we are given, the lifespan in which we get to show what it means to be fully human. More often than not, we are only forced to confront this truth when someone dies unexpectedly. Without warning, the fragility of life is laid bare before us, a harsh, painful wake-up call that jolts us into remembering how precious and delicate our existence really is. But how quickly do we forget that lesson? How quickly do we slip back into our daily routines, acting as if life will go on undisturbed forever, as if we are immortal? This slide back into old habits may be the hardest part of all. The reckoning with our own mortality rarely sinks deep enough to fundamentally change how we live. And yet, that awareness is one of the most valuable gifts we can have. If we truly internalize that our time is limited, that our lives mirror the sun that rises and sets every single day, we gain the power to choose how we fill that time. There is only one certainty in life: time is finite. It is far too short to hold onto resentment, petty irritation, negativity, and division. It is far too precious to waste on unnecessary conflict or indifference. What if we chose instead to fill our days with empathy, love, connection, and purpose? As society prepares to say goodbye to former president Chan Santokhi, the fleeting nature of life has once again come into sharp focus. Throughout his term in office and long after he left office, Santokhi bore the brunt of widespread public criticism. Every misstep the nation faced was often pinned solely on his shoulders. Yet it was Santokhi who, despite pushing through unpopular policies and facing lonely personal battles, found the courage to make hard choices no other leader dared to make. The phrase “It’s always Chan’s fault after Chan” became a common saying—no matter what went wrong, he carried the blame. But behind the public headlines and official portraits was a human being, just like all of us, moving steadily toward his own sunset. A sunset does not call for melancholy; it calls for reflection. It does not ask us to look back with regret, but to live intentionally right now, to pay full attention to the people around us and the world we share. We get that chance every single day, from the moment the sun crests the horizon to the moment it slips below it. Let us choose to fill our lives the way we admire a sunset sky: with color, warmth, and beauty. So that when our own sun finally sets, the legacy we leave behind becomes a light that inspires others long after we are gone.