by Gregory Yu
Part 1: Slow Paces
Time used to move slowly.
Or maybe life did.
A few days preceding the launch of our first chronograph, the Intervallum, I found myself stuck on a phrase: “the spaces between ticks.” I’ve always accepted this conceptually, but lately, it has felt more personal than I imagined.
I remember the mornings of 2006, waking up and wondering where the day—or life—would take me. I was fresh in college with no concrete plans, only the terrifying freedom of the young. Some days, attending class was merely a suggestion; more often, the day was spent over a bucket of beer that stretched deep into the afternoon. Time was a luxury I didn't know I was spending.
Now, I wake up either with adrenaline pumping because I’m late for the grind, or too exhausted to move. Some days feel like a literal obligation—another chance to prove I am a resilient cog in a system that demands constant motion.
The hustle has made me lose track of time. It is chaos disguised as cadence. I have quite literally breezed through the last fifteen years of my life. Memories remain blurred. Connections feel shallow.
Now, in my late thirties, I am finally being reminded of how much—or how little—time I have left. The challenges are more complex, and yet, the most insignificant moments have started to feel like grand events.
Time is not just a measure of progress; it is a measure of presence. Those small gaps remind me that the spaces between ticks are not empty—they are alive, waiting to be felt. Perhaps my greatest mistake wasn't losing track of time, but forgetting to honor those intervals when they appeared.
Argos Philippines was born from such a moment—a seemingly irrelevant decision that changed the course of our lives. In just a few short years, we have come so far, yet it feels as though we’ve only just begun. It is a strange paradox: the years feel stretched, yet the journey feels too short.
As I hold the Intervallum, I see it less as a tool for measurement and more as a reminder. A reminder to breathe, to pause, and to let the seconds stretch without the weight of guilt. It is a reminder that life is not defined by acceleration, but by the grace found in slowing down.
I stopped writing for a moment just now. I wanted to practice what I was preaching—to understand the stillness between strides, the quiet between conversations, and the breath before the next leap.
Because maybe, just maybe, those intervals are where we truly live. ###