LIFE IN A FAST LANE

Kuala Lumpur was alive with a myriad of sounds: beeping horns and chattering voices mixed with the pulsing rhythm of the city. At 27, Reza had grown up in the metropolis, instinctively navigating its chaotic pace with a grin that never left his face. Life was lived at a dizzying pace, a series of lightning-quick opportunities that he swallowed up with hungry gusto.

He was a digital nomad of sorts, a freelance graphic designer who worked on multiple projects at once, on multiple coffees, and with a nervous energy that seemed to defy the laws of physics. He wore the race to the deadline, the brainstorming session, and the mobile get-together with clients in a busy cafe as his daytime orchestra. His nights, meanwhile, were another sort of orchestra in which every note was struck, hammered, or played with an exuberant joy, a fervour that lent itself to the occasional reckless decision to drive off into the night.

One such adventure saw him standing on the top of a skyscraper, the city lights sparkling like a million fireflies below, with a free-spirited photographer named Maya, whom he had met at a street art festival. The air was filled with the fragrance of jasmine and the sound of distant music—the heartbeat of the city, a rhythm amidst the starlit sky.

"This is..." Maya breathed, her voice lost in the vastness of the city's expanse.

‘Brilliant,’ Reza said, his eyes flickering just like the city. He was used to these kinds of last-minute escapades. He lived for the exhilaration of it: of seeing how far he could go, of finding a way out of the norm, and of forging his own way on the concrete.

He lived with the ferocious vigour of Yolo—you only live once—and it was a mantra that made itself heard. You can’t plan life, he said. What’s the point? And so he went on weekend treks in the Cameron Highlands, spontaneous ‘impromptu’ overnight trips to Penang, and a late-night karaoke session that turned into an unforgettable night with strangers.

But even as he presented a picture of a carefree life, anxiety about the state of his life and where it was going was gnawing at Reza. He was constantly questioning the erratic nature of his freelance life, its ups and downs, and the creeping loneliness in the midst of a city that was filled with people but into which he seemed to have fallen without a sense of belonging.

He yearned for something more, something tangible that could ground him amidst the fleeting nature of his life. He wanted stability, a sense of meaning outside the rushes of the moment.

One night, after a particularly difficult week of late nights and missed deadlines, Reza wandered into his local bookstore. The smell of old paper and ink settled his nerves. He browsed the aisles, and, his eyes darting from shelf to shelf, he spotted a tattered paperback: The Art of Slow Living.

He sighed, smiling to himself. Here he was, the epitome of the fast life, picking up a book on how to live slowly. But there was something about it that resonated with him. He bought the book, making a silent promise to himself to slow down.

The book became his silent companion through the clamour of the city. He started making small adaptations in his life. He started his day with a cup of coffee, enjoying the taste and the quiet of the early morning. He went for walks in the city parks, observing the everyday beauty that he was too busy to notice. He started keeping a diary, which he filled with jottings about what he was feeling, what he aspired to, and what fears coursed beneath the surface.

Reza's life didn't slow down overnight, but he began to see the city differently. He began to sense the nuances of beauty that had always been there, if only he had known how to see. He became more grounded in and deeply connected to the city than before.

But as he continued to write in his journal, he realised that his life, though exciting, was vacant; it needed a sense of purpose, a source of belonging. It needed a balance, a way to reconcile ‘the exciting... life of the fast lane with the need for becoming rooted in a sense of purpose’.

Reza continued to live life in the fast lane, but now in a more conscious way. Speed and stillness were both important, and he had learned to bring them together—the excitement of travel with its peaceful roots. He was living the life he wanted to lead, a symphony of chaos and calm, a dance between the fast lane and the quiet corners of his soul.