DECEMBER 30 — It was Arimura-sensei’s first visit to Universiti Malaya. He had just finished delivering a lecture on artificial intelligence in medicine, and as the audience began to trickle out of the hall, I walked over to thank him.

On his opening slide were the words “Ichigo Ichie”: four characters in Japanese that had quietly caught my attention. The hall was quieter now... we stood near the edge of the stage. I asked him what the phrase meant.

He paused before answering. Not rushed. He looked thoughtful, as if choosing the most honest way to respond. Then he said, almost softly, “It means ‘one time, one meeting.’ Every encounter happens once. It cannot be repeated.”

Ichigo Ichie is the idea that every moment we experience is unique and unrepeatable. 

We may not realise it at the time, but each conversation, each smile, each shared silence carries something that will never occur again in quite the same way.

This philosophy is beautifully embodied in the Japanese tea ceremony. Every gesture, every movement, every glance between host and guest is treated as if it matters, because it does. The atmosphere, the people, the light and the quiet all happen just once.

This spirit is echoed in the West too. The Roman poet Horace once wrote, “Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero” — seize the day, trusting as little as possible in the next. 

Like Ichigo Ichie, it reminds us that the present moment is all we truly have, and it deserves our full attention.

In today’s hurried world, Ichigo Ichie feels more relevant than ever. We scroll through life quickly. We multitask through meals. We check our phones during conversations and call it productivity. But the truth is, we are losing something. We are forgetting how to be where we are.

Imagine a family gathered around a dinner table. There is warmth, noise, maybe a small disagreement about who left the dishes yesterday. 

The children are growing, the parents are ageing, and yet, that exact gathering with those moods, that light, that mix of laughter and tiredness will never return in the same way.

It is the same as a walk with a friend after a heavy banana leaf rice lunch. A quiet moment looking out the office window with a mug of hot coffee in your hand. A kind word from a stranger after holding out the door on your way out. Even the routine mornings of driving and breakfast before work contain details we will not get back.

Giving someone our full attention is one of the most human things we can offer. Not performance. Not advice. Just presence. And to be present, we sometimes have to step back. Turn off the phone. Let the silence stretch. Look into someone’s face without waiting to speak.

Gratitude helps us notice these moments more clearly. At the end of a long day, we can reflect: What stayed with me? A laugh? A challenge? A moment of stillness I did not expect? Gratitude is not about listing only the good. It is about paying attention. Even to the rough edges of the day.

When we are present, we remember better. We hold on to the shape of a conversation. The smell of a room. The tone of someone’s voice when they said goodbye. These are things a camera cannot capture, but our awareness can.

I find that gratitude and presence grow together. One deepens the other. Over time, they reshape us. We become more attentive. More open. Less eager to move past the now in search of something shinier.

And we begin to see that what nourishes the soul is not the pursuit of perfect moments, but the reverence we give to imperfect ones. A simple meal. A messy room. A tired conversation. A quiet walk.

That day after the lecture, I walked with Arimura-sensei out of the hall. We exchanged a few words with those who had stayed behind. 

The building, slowly emptying, felt gentler in its quiet. As we stepped into the sunlight and made our way down the corridor, I remember thinking, 

“This walk, too, would not come again.”

* Ng Kwan Hoong is an Emeritus Professor of Biomedical Imaging at the Faculty of Medicine, Universiti Malaya. A 2020 Merdeka Award recipient, he is a medical physicist by training but also enjoys writing, drawing, listening to classical music, and bridging the gap between older and younger generations. He may be reached at ngkh@ummc.edu.my 

** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.