We had it all planned out. Auntie Mariko’s 103rd birthday. She’s the heartbeat of our family—the kind of woman who remembers everyone’s name, even their favorite foods, and still tells off-color jokes that make you blush.
We decorated the living room with her favorite plumeria leis, brought out the floral quilt she stitched back in the ’70s, and ordered a custom cake from her favorite bakery—white sponge, whipped cream, strawberries, the works. I picked it up myself, triple-checked the candles. “103,” just like we discussed.
But when we finally sang the song and she leaned in to blow out the candles, she paused. Squinted. Then started laughing—hard. Like, snorting, shoulders-shaking, tears-down-her-cheeks kind of laughing.
Everyone looked at each other, confused. My cousin Sarah shot me a nervous glance, as though she were waiting for me to understand what was happening. But I had no idea. What was so funny about the cake? I didn’t get it.
Auntie Mariko, still chuckling, took a deep breath and wiped away the tears from her eyes. She looked at us, her grin wide and mischievous. “Well, I didn’t expect that,” she said between giggles.
I looked at the cake again, trying to figure out what had her so entertained. Then it hit me. The numbers. The candles on top of the cake weren’t just a simple “103.” They were “130.”
I stared at the cake in disbelief. How had we missed that? We had ordered “103” candles, but the baker had gotten it wrong and given us “130.” A simple mistake, yes, but in that moment, it felt like the universe had played a little prank on us.
But Auntie Mariko wasn’t offended or upset. She just kept laughing, her joy infectious. “Well, I’ve lived a long life, but I’m not quite that old yet!” she joked, still wiping away tears. “I’d like to think I’m aging gracefully, not like someone’s grandmother!”
The room erupted in laughter. The mistake, which could have been an embarrassing disaster, turned into a story that would be retold for years to come. Auntie Mariko’s humor and grace never failed to surprise us. The rest of the evening went on without a hitch, with stories being shared, songs being sung, and Auntie Mariko’s infectious laugh echoing through the house.
But as the evening came to a close, and people started to leave, I noticed something different in Auntie Mariko’s eyes. There was a sparkle there, like she was lost in a thought, and for the first time that evening, she looked a little… serious. As everyone else made their goodbyes and filtered out the door, I found her sitting quietly on the porch, looking out at the garden.
I walked over and sat next to her. “Everything okay, Auntie?”
She smiled at me, but it wasn’t the playful, teasing smile I was used to. It was more thoughtful, almost wistful. “You know,” she said softly, “I was just thinking about how fast life goes by.”
I raised an eyebrow. Auntie Mariko, who always seemed so full of life, so in the moment, was talking about the fleeting nature of time?
“I know it seems silly,” she continued, “but when you’re 103, you start to realize how much you take for granted. You think you have all the time in the world, and then one day, you look around and wonder where all those years went.”
Her words took me by surprise. I had always seen her as the strong, invincible matriarch, the one who seemed to have all the time in the world to share with everyone. She was the one who always made others feel important, never rushing, always present. The idea that she, too, was thinking about time and its passing, was both surprising and sobering.
“You’ve had such an incredible life,” I said gently. “Auntie, look at all you’ve done. You’ve raised a family, traveled the world, created things with your hands. You’re a living legend. You’ve had more than enough time.”
She laughed again, but it was softer this time, more reflective. “Yes, maybe. But you see, the thing is, we don’t always get to choose how we spend our time. Sometimes it slips away from us, like sand through your fingers. I’ve seen so many people chase after the wrong things. People who work too hard, who forget to enjoy the moments with those they love. And I’ve seen others who sit idly by, waiting for life to come to them. I’ve lived my life in the middle of those extremes, and sometimes, I wonder… Did I do enough?”
I could feel my heart tighten. This was not the Auntie Mariko I knew—the one who always had an answer, a joke, a story. She was always the one others turned to for advice, not the one questioning herself.
“Of course, you did,” I said firmly. “You’ve given us all so much. Your love, your wisdom, your spirit—it’s more than enough. You don’t need to prove anything.”
She turned her gaze to the garden, her eyes soft. “I suppose that’s true,” she said quietly. “But I wonder… did I show you enough of how to live?”
I didn’t know how to respond to that. I had always admired Auntie Mariko, but I never really understood how much of herself she gave to others. It made me think of the times I had taken her presence for granted—rushing through visits, taking her advice for granted, assuming she’d always be there. She had always been the anchor in our family, always present. And now, it was starting to feel like time was pulling her away, no matter how much she resisted.
“I’ve been thinking about all the things I still want to do,” she added, her voice breaking through my thoughts. “I still want to travel. I still want to learn. I still want to do so many things. But sometimes, I wonder if it’s too late.”
It was then that something clicked. The cake, the mistake with the numbers—it wasn’t just a funny moment; it was a sign. Auntie Mariko had lived 103 years, and yet, she still felt like there was more to do, more to give. Maybe we all feel that way, deep down, even when we’re young. There’s always more we want to accomplish, more we want to learn. And perhaps the secret to a full life isn’t in how much time we have, but in how we use it.
“You still have time, Auntie,” I said, my voice filled with conviction. “Maybe not forever, but you have today. And that’s enough. There’s always something new to do, a new place to see, a new memory to make.”
Her eyes softened as she looked at me, a smile spreading across her face. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “Maybe I’ll start with a little adventure tomorrow. It’s never too late.”
The next morning, Auntie Mariko woke up early and decided to take a walk in the park. She wanted to see the flowers bloom and feel the sun on her face. And that walk, simple as it was, turned into a new chapter. She joined a local book club, signed up for painting classes, and started volunteering at the community center. It wasn’t just about finding things to do—it was about living with intention, about embracing each day as a new opportunity to learn and grow.
And here’s the karmic twist—just a few weeks later, Auntie Mariko was invited to speak at a senior citizens’ event about living life fully at any age. Her words inspired a room full of people, many of whom had felt like they were too old to change, too late to follow their dreams. Auntie’s story reminded them that life was not measured by years but by the choices we make each day.
In the end, Auntie Mariko lived another decade beyond her 103rd birthday—full of adventures, laughter, and a reminder to all of us that it’s never too late to live the life we dream of.
So, if there’s something you’ve been putting off, something you’ve always wanted to do but thought you were too old or too young for—remember Auntie Mariko’s story. Start today. Life’s too short to wait for the perfect moment. Share this story if you think someone you know needs to hear it—and let’s make the most of the time we have.
