A Reflection on Impact, Identity, and Legacy
Some days move so quickly, they blur. Today was one of those days—rich, full, and strangely still. And sometimes, it takes being alone—in a sauna, no less—to hear what the noise of the day drowned out.
That’s where this reflection begins: sweat on my brow, silence in the air, thoughts swirling.
A Conversation That Shifted Everything
Earlier today, I had a meeting with someone who carried the presence of someone I could see myself becoming. A successful leader. Convincing, clear, deeply purposeful.
He had been encouraging me to submit for a national recognition—10 Outstanding Young Malaysians (TOYM). I hesitated. I’m not competitive by nature. I don’t chase awards. But the way he reframed it caught me off guard:
“This isn’t about winning. It’s about clarity.”
He had gone through the same process himself. And in doing so, he realised it wasn’t the trophy that mattered—it was the forced clarity, the necessary act of curating your journey into something coherent. Something purposeful.
He told me: there are only two things that matter in this process:
- Impact. What real change have you brought?
- Service. Who and how have you served?
That’s it.
Not your title. Not your bank account. Not your branding.
And when you zoom out, isn’t that the metric for a life well lived?
The Award Is the Excuse
I’ve now begun preparing the materials. Not for the panel. But for myself. To lay bare what we’ve built at Stellar. To trace the line between the seeds we planted and the fruit we hope to see.
From education ventures to school expansions, community impact to cultural integrity—it’s not a pitch deck. It’s a mirror.
This process has already changed the way I think. Every time I say yes to a new initiative now, the question echoes:
“Will this add to my portfolio of impact—or distract from it?”
That’s legacy thinking. That’s what I saw in his example. Not ambition, but stewardship.
Serving Others Re-Aligns Ourselves
Later that evening, I had the rare joy of walking with three of my children and our dog. We had just wrapped up a Bible study session, also had conversation with a former teacher from Stellar but remains close to our hearts. Her words struck deep:
“How you treat the youth in this season will affect them for the rest of their lives.”
It reminded me why I continue to work with university students. Why I take time to talk about not just what they’ll do—but who they’re becoming.
And somewhere in the background of this conversation, I had just had a minor disagreement with my wife about picking up the kids. Miscommunication. Timing. Frustration.
But once we sat, listened, reflected—it faded. That’s the strange magic of serving others. Your own wounds shrink in the presence of someone else’s story.
This teacher shared how she took a sabbatical to re-align her heart with God. How she saw her time at Stellar not as a full stop, but a comma. A continuation.
She said, “What you’re doing at Stellar—it’s seed planting.”
That touched me more than she knew. Because truthfully, when the load feels heavy, it’s words like these that remind me why I carry it.
Seeds, Not Shortcuts
That’s the thing with education. You rarely see the results immediately. But the seeds are always planted. Some sprout later. Some bloom in places you never expected.
Today was also Teacher’s Day.
The student council prepared gifts, performances, and a beautiful event to honour our educators. In my closing speech, I asked the students a simple but provoking question:
“Do you think Stellar will still exist 10 years from now?”
They looked surprised. Some laughed. But I reminded them: one day you’ll leave this school. One day you’ll miss the very structure you complain about now. The friendships. The teachers. Even the routine.
And then I told them something else:
“Stellar isn’t just a school. It’s a team of people who chose this place because they believe in you.”
There are easier jobs. Higher-paying ones. Simpler systems. But the teachers, the admin staff, the cleaners, the kitchen crew—they’re here because they believe in something bigger than comfort.
Everyone Is an Educator
At Stellar, we’ve redefined the term ‘educator.’ It’s not limited to those with a whiteboard. Everyone who shows up, serves, contributes to the environment in which a child grows—is an educator.
That includes the building maintenance team who arrives before dawn. The kitchen staff who prepares meals with quiet dedication. The administrative team who juggles countless details so teachers can focus.
They’re all part of the village. And it takes a village to raise a child.
From Career to Calling
I shared with the students that I didn’t start out as an educator. I taught tuition to buy a camera. Accounting was my strength. Photography was my hobby.
But the more I taught, the more I realised the power of education to transform lives. That became the spark. From there, it became a flame I couldn’t extinguish.
“I stayed in education because I saw what it could do.”
Not just for students. But for communities. For nations.
The Research That Confirms It
I closed the Teacher’s Day speech with two data points:
- Collective Teacher Belief is the number one factor for student achievement.
- One Caring Adult—that’s all it takes to change a child’s life trajectory.
One adult. That’s it.
One adult who believes. Shows up. Listens. Guides.
So I asked the students: look around. You are surrounded by people who believe in your future.
Be grateful.
Not because it’s polite. But because it changes how you see the world.
When Vision Becomes Lifestyle
As I write this, I reflect on what it means to live an integrated life.
Some accuse me of always turning casual conversations into leadership moments, networking opportunities, or strategic meetings.
They’re not wrong.
But what they don’t see is: none of these come at the expense of people.
I don’t hijack doctor visits to talk about schools. I don’t push my wife aside to pursue business. Everything is integrated, not compartmentalised.
That’s the goal: to serve without sacrificing. To lead without losing. To win without wounding.
What This Award Will Never Tell You
Whether I win TOYM or not is irrelevant. Whether I make it to TOYP (Top Outstanding Young Person) globally—as my mentor encouraged me to dream—is secondary.
The real prize is this:
- That I took time to reflect.
- That I refined my why.
- That I remembered who I’m doing this for.
And maybe, just maybe, this is the work that outlives me.
The Reverse That Redefines It All
People say success is measured by what you build.
But maybe success is measured by what you plant.
Not what you harvest. But what you sow.
Because a trophy can sit on a shelf.
But a child who grows up believing they matter? That’s a legacy.
And I’d rather be a father to my children and an educator to this nation
Than be remembered for a title that never changed a life.
Shared with the world via Purposebility.com, for those who believe impact is greater than image.
