I have come to believe that each life flows like a river, shaped by the choices we make, the chances we take, and the love we give. As I look back on my own journey, I see calm waters and turbulent rapids, clear streams and murky depths. 

Is it measured in the accolades you accumulate, the material success you achieve? Or is it found in the more intangible things – the laughter shared with loved ones, the quiet moments of self-discovery, the impact you have on others? Perhaps the truth lies somewhere in between, in the delicate balance of pursuing your passion and being present for the people who matter most. 

I have stood on top of Kilimanjaro, gazing at the world from its majestic peak. I have seen the breathtaking scenery of my homeland, Chimanimani, where nature’s beauty unfolds in every direction. I have slept under the stars in the serene Catskills mountains of upstate New York, walked the rustic pavements of Cairo, and endured the biting winters of an unforgiving Europe. I have loved deeply and perhaps been loved in return. These and more experiences have shaped the river of my life. It does not seem that I will have another moment to add to this flowing masterpiece we call existence. 

Life is a precious gift, a sacred trust. I want to savour every conversation with a dear friend, to lose myself in the pages of an awesome book, to watch the sunset over the ocean, take in the view of Machu Picchu, and ride my motorbike from Cape to Cairo with a sense of wonder and gratitude. I know that my time is finite, that the hourglass of my life is nearing its final grains. Yet, I’m filled with gratitude – for the love I’ve known, for the opportunities I’ve had to learn and grow and contribute, for the sheer miracle of consciousness that has allowed me to drink in the beauty and complexity of this world. 

If I were a river, I hope the people I have touched will recall how I nourished their roots, how I carried their boats, how I reflected their smiles on calm days. I want to live on in the stories told around campfires on my shores. I want to live on in the lessons passed down to children dipping their toes in my shallows. I want to live on in the strength of those who drank deep from my waters during their own droughts. 

Maybe I’ll be remembered in the fertile soil I’ve left behind, maybe in the lives i have enriched long after my current has joined the vast sea. Perhaps in the way the land curves, shaped by my persistent flow over countless seasons. I’ve merged with so many other streams along the way – friends, lovers, strangers who became family. Our waters mixed, changed each other, carried bits of each other forward. Surely, some part of me will live on in their courses. 

And even if the names fade and details blur, I hope the essence of my journey remains. That somewhere, somehow, the song of my waters will echo together with the sounds of Richard Bona in the grand canyon of memory. Not as a roar, but as a gentle, constant whisper saying: I was here. I mattered. I flowed, to the best of my ability, with all my heart.