“We have to get out of here!”

These were the last words of a man aboard the Jeju Air flight — a tragic crash landing that took the lives of 179 passengers on the last stretch of their homecoming. The flight from Bangkok on the Boeing 737-800 aircraft carried 181 passengers. Only two crew members survived.

One can imagine, over the horror, chaos and grief that erupted in that part of the world over the season’s merrymaking, how “silent night” will mean to the families and loved ones of those who perished in that crash.

We remember Christmases that were cloaked in black, too, where no amount of twinkling lights or grocery baskets could alleviate the sorrow. Loss of property, valuables, or cherished objects does not even come close to the abyss brought by the loss of a loved one.

In this generation, the Indian Ocean tsunami on “Boxing Day,” 26 December 2004, was perhaps the first of such tsunamis of pain engulfing the joy this season brings.

It may make you wonder why such things should happen at a time held sacred for the peace and goodwill that wraps around mankind. It should not be a surprise.

There is no time we can choose for the horrors of floods, fires and wars. There is no time we can ever be truly prepared for the worst things to happen.

Our man-made traditions simply stand to remind us of the ebb and flow of life — and when disasters happen in one of the most joyous of seasons, it gives us pause to consider what we have also brought into this life.

Deemed the number one of the “worst” things to happen around the world at Christmas was the founding on Christmas Eve 1865 of the Ku Klux Klan, “most infamous of hate groups” born in the United States.

Over a century later, this sort of racist terrorism lives on, and bigotry continues to shake headlines with stories of violence. A homeless person was recently set on fire in New York City. The person remains unidentified to this day.

Many issues arise from this one incident, from mental health to homelessness to inequality and so on, but there is another reality we all must face. Our time does not last.

An interesting work by Oliver Burkeman, titled Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals, reminds us that what we do with our time is worth reflecting on.

Modern-day gurus write about it all the time. What matters most, they ask. Is it the money you make, the cars you drive, the gold you hoard, the mansions you barely live in?

Some say: as you grow older, your priorities change. You no longer pursue the accolades or riches. You long for the simplest things: moments with loved ones, time for yourself, precious sleep, even just the energy to get up and enjoy a single day.

It’s not difficult to understand that what we are given may be enough to heap gratitude to the universe. We all have our purpose in this world. We are all not the same.

Nobody is perfect, no one more important than another. The differences are supposed to complete the whole picture. The world was not meant for just a few blessed creatures fitting man-made criteria for perfection and success.

What will you do with the rest of your 4,000 weeks? Life is fleeting, and every new year is a gift.