HOW DO YOU LIVE LIKE THERE IS NO TOMORROW | AKIDO WIJAYARATHNE

Sunday night finds the buttery tones of Ne-Yo  blasting out through the downtown club's speakers, "for all we know, we might not get tomorrow..," but the three-glasses-of-champagne induced momentary euphoria buffers all sound, thought and sense apart from the feel of the deliciously masculine stranger's crotch grinding against your fraternising ass.

It was a loosening night but a major part of it was lost in a hazy cloud of smoke, which you could only guess was pot, and kept-on-coming-out-of-nowhere cocktails.

Binge drowning in the black manna to beat the bitchy hangover the next morning as your roommate whisks eggs, ever the neighborhood chattertin (how that girl streams talk over a hangover, you will never know), you almost flop out of your perch on the breakfast bar as you listen to an accidental recording of your oh-very-drunk self requesting (who are you kidding! Begging) your ex to take you back while Kesha is mercilessly howling, "...like it's the last night of our lives," somewhere in the vicinity of the background.

Your mind is still in garbled knots over the way-too-humiliating drunk-dialled phonecall to your lying, cheating ex whom you had dumped when you had caught him in bed with your assistant (wearing your shit expensive lace garters and stockings which you had had to use brand new kitchen tongs to dispose of!), while your sister is cheerfully rambling away on the other end of your iPhone about how she is "Living La Vida Loca," getting too cosy with an endless supply of alcohol, booty dancing with three guys who had long since swapped out their shirts for tattoos, waking up in a bearded guy's bed in a cheap motel and employing weed whenever "life's lows" need a backdoor,  as you hurry across the street to catch a taxi off to work when an approaching car comes to a squealing halt next to you. Horns trumpet, rude insults fly and definitely what looks like a bird flips in your face and you hurry to wrap your jittery, shaken hourglass frame into a nearby taxi to haul yourself off to work.

It's not until you've yelled at three different people, made two ego stroking phone calls and dropped out an advert for a new assistant (preferably one who doesn't steal brand-new Victoria Secret lingerie or boyfriends) , that you turn around to glare at your shiny chrome office as your mind puzzles over the real truth to, "living like there is no tomorrow."

Questions parent questions.

Is living the fast life, the bottom line of the popular phrase?
Are motorcycle backseats and too-pierced guys the ultimate conquest?
Do the aimless stunts get you high on anything else but a minute adrenaline rush?
Does the over-hyped adrenaline count for something?
If you were to bid buenos adiós to your life today, would your backstory do you proud? Would your mama be proud?
Is there an inkling of you supporting the greater good, that would be missed?

Fourty minutes later, you now are the proud owner of a medication-less headache, the onset symptom of obtuse regrets.

Where is that damn coffee? Gosh, you miss your assistant (Nah!)

Let's whip down the business.

Your life's work at your last hour chimes down to five crucial berries;
- Family
- Personal Goals
- Give backs
- My changes
- Impressions

 Nah, I wouldn't leave you hanging with no explanations offered (grin.)

Layman theory 101:

What did you contribute in the way of yourself, your time, attention and monetary benifits to each of the five inevitables.

Your neice's graduation that you missed because you haven't visited your sister and her kids in five years, your still sporty grandpa's decathlon you couldn't make it to that he so proudly insisted you attend, the consecutive karaoke Saturday nights you kept cancelling and making excuses for with the girls, your boyfriend's away game you didn't fly out to because it was "just too expensive" and the dinner at your parents' house, you never showed up at; they are all in the doggy bag you slid out of your priority dish packed away only to greet restless 3 am sweats.
Does a forgotten one man party singing offkey fight songs, slopping down wine as he struggles to lift the glass up in a toast to celebrate his managerial promotion ooze any appeal?

Goals are life's cheese cellar( the older, the finer, ahem, the smellier, the better.)
What and how much in the way of holdings,  prestige and profusion has your persona stockpiled over the years?
The corner office, the silver name plate, the tiny credentials kissing your name's rear, the gold cufflinks and the Fendi bag, they all reek of an affluent you, a life well lived out, worth that has caressed beauty and pain alike, untold stories of turmoil and finally flagpoles laid down on the moon. In simpler terms, the goals you ploughed, idolised your personality.

The genesis of time old exhibition of give and take. You receive, you pledge. The intern you took under your wing, the soup kitchen that entertains your culinary miracles every Sunday evening, the charity benifit you host every two months to feed starving kids in India, your secretary's daughter's college tuition that you buttress and the old ladies you charm at the retirement home with your wit and To Kill A Mockingbird once a fortnight; they are all in your big-hearted freebie giveaways.

Who and what did you make a comprehensive 180 out of? Where did you make a difference? What did you change for the best?
The little orphan girl you adopted, the women's rights movement you mortgaged your support, the house by the seaside you bestowed to the homeless family, the water supply you forked out to needy families and help you dispatched to flood victims; that's where your simple actions shone a brighter light in a grateful heart.

We all gotta leave our scratch mark behind in style. The Famous street artist, the dignitary philanthropist, the revolutionary entrepreneur, the take-no-for-an-answer motivational speaker, the trendsetter, the sponsor, the organ donor, the life saver, the mentor, the fashion icon. (Sugar Daddy? Argue with your wife.) Labels are big on impressions and how well you piggyback on your label authenticates your hotspot on the impressiondar.

Gotcha!  The sensational art of living like there is no tomorrow is sealed in five brilliant manoeuvres; treat your loved ones right, dig your goals, give back to the community, make a change , leave an impression.

2 o'clock arrives and you flip-shut your Gossip Girl Notebook, slip your feet into the six inch stilletoes and stretch out of your mahogany desk chair, to keep a date with a prospective client; making a mental note to adopt the phraseology of the last hour's self illumination, tone down the "limo life," quit soda and take up yoga at the community center.

We have two lives, you smile, the second one starts when we realise we've only got one to live the fuck out.

You and I both must, must get that latte now! (And maybe a bagel?)

Drop down your thoughts 👇

With my love,
Akido

I.G. : e.m.p.e.r.o.a.r.e.z