Obedience, Discipline, and Becoming Who You Were Meant to Be

Where It Hurts: When Rest Feels Like an Excuse

It was supposed to be a normal day.

But my mind had already walked ten thousand steps before I even stepped out of the house.

I followed my kids to the playground, not because I had the time—but because I didn’t want to miss the chance. A chance to watch them play. To walk alongside them. To remember that leadership doesn’t just happen in boardrooms—it happens on playgrounds too.

And as they laughed and climbed and spun, I walked in circles. Circles outside their play zone, and circles inside my mind.

That day was mentally draining. Not from meetings or people—but from something heavier. A stone called Lead to Impact.

Writing this book has pulled something out of me that most projects don’t. It’s not just content. It’s confession. It’s not a publication. It’s a mirror. And the hardest part? It demands that I revisit the places I’d rather skim past. The moments I was unsure. The mornings I wanted to quit. The conversations that revealed I wasn’t as free as I thought.

But underneath all the weight, there was clarity.

Because I’ve realized this:

The opposite of discipline is not freedom—it’s drift.

And drifting always leads me away from who I was created to become.

The War Between Feelings and Freedom

Most people think freedom is doing what you feel.

But what if that’s not freedom at all?

There are days when I wake up and every muscle in me says, “Take a break.”

The pool can wait. The gym can wait. “You’ve earned it,” my feelings whisper.

But I’ve learned to ask myself a different question:

If I rest now, will I be truly rested—or just relieved?

Will this pause restore me—or excuse me?

Because here’s the tension:

My original design was made to move. My body was not built for stillness—it was made for stewardship.

So which do I honor?

The craving of the moment or the commitment to become?

It’s not about punishing myself. It’s about aligning myself.

Because freedom, real freedom, isn’t found in indulging every impulse.

It’s found in rising above them.

Is That a Reward—or a Curse?

The world sells indulgence as a reward.

“You deserve that chocolate cake. You’ve earned that lazy day. You owe it to yourself.”

But I’ve started to ask:

What kind of reward leaves me more tired, more bloated, more sluggish, or more guilty afterward?

That’s not a reward. That’s a curse in disguise.

True rewards don’t deplete you—they grow you.

Our culture often tells us to “listen to your body.”

But what if your body is lying?

Craving isn’t always truth. Hunger isn’t always need.

Sometimes, discipline is the most loving voice in the room.

Not the loudest—but the truest.

I’m not rejecting enjoyment or joy. I’m just rejecting the illusion that indulgence equals freedom.

Freedom is having the power to say no.

Muscle Isn’t Given. It’s Earned.

That morning, I also received a message that jolted me into perspective:

My parents’ travel insurance was expiring.

So I sent a simple text: “Want to renew?”

It led to something more.

A breakfast invite from my mom. Completely unplanned.

I hesitated for a moment. I had a long to-do list and zero margin.

But then I remembered: There are emails you’ll forget. There are breakfasts you never will.

So I went. I updated them on life. I listened. I joked. And then I talked to my dad about something that’s been heavy on my heart: muscle loss.

Not metaphorical muscle—literal muscle.

At his age, the body begins to decline. But here’s the beautiful paradox:

The body still listens. If you train it, it will respond. If you signal it, it will adapt.

God gives us a body—but He doesn’t give us muscle.

Muscle is a response to obedience.

To movement. To resistance. To consistency.

It’s the same with wisdom. Same with resilience. Same with character.

They are not gifts you receive.

They are fruits you grow—only if you follow the design.

The design is there. But it’s up to us whether we follow it—or fight it.

Blame God, or Follow the Manual?

Sometimes we blame God for not giving us health, clarity, strength, or breakthrough.

But what if we’re blaming the manual maker, while ignoring the manual?

Scripture doesn’t just comfort—it instructs. It offers rhythms of life:

• Hardship produces character. Character produces hope. Hope does not put us to shame.
• Guard your heart—for it is the wellspring of life.
• You can eat anything—but not everything is beneficial.

These aren’t suggestions. They’re blueprints.

Not rules to restrict you—but design to release you.

God gave us a body—but we must train it.

God gave us a brain—but we must steward it.

God gave us values—but we must obey them.

And when we don’t, the consequences aren’t punishments.

They’re outcomes.

Melbourne: The Fire that Forged My Identity

Years ago, I left Malaysia for Melbourne.

Not to escape. But to unlearn.

I wanted to see who I was without the glow of my family’s name.

No famous uncle. No parental safety net. Just me, my savings, and a quiet hunger to grow.

I burned through a year’s worth of savings in two weeks.

I rationed burgers from Hungry Jack’s—half for lunch, half for dinner.

My first job? Distributing flyers on the street. Rain or shine. No backup plan.

It wasn’t glamour. It was grit.

And it was glorious.

Because in the absence of comfort, I discovered capacity.

I didn’t just survive—I found myself.

Not the person formed by approval—but the one forged by fire.

When my sister came to join me, I moved to a nicer place. Not for me—but for her.

Even in hardship, I wanted to protect others. That, too, was freedom.

Not the freedom to escape responsibility—but to choose it.

The Vision at 60, and the Mentor Who Helped Me See It

Years later, the question returned again:

What does success look like when I’m 60?

I had seen billionaires. Men with empires. But I wasn’t impressed.

Not until I met Dato Peter.

His life showed me something deeper:

• A father deeply present.
• A husband faithfully loving.
• A leader quietly serving.

Not perfect—but aligned.

He became a compass. Not for copying—but for calibration.

Because every leader needs a future mirror.

So I asked myself:

• What kind of dad do I want to be?
• What kind of legacy do I want to leave?
• What kind of organization am I building—not just for students, but for staff, families, and generations?

This is why we’re capping our school at 1,500 students.

Not because we can’t grow bigger—but because we choose to grow deeper.

Success is not scale. It’s sustainability.

The Faith Criteria and the Servant King

We talk a lot about leadership traits.

But here’s my faith-based filter:

Faithful. Available. Involved. Teachable. Humble.

(FAITH)

If someone has these five traits, they’ll grow. If they don’t, they’ll drift.

Jesus had all five.

And if I had to reduce His entire ministry to one phrase—it would be this: servant leadership.

He led by lowering Himself.

He washed feet before He picked up a cross.

And even in betrayal, He fed His betrayers.

That’s not weak. That’s powerful.

It’s the model that shaped Stellar from the beginning.

I started by serving. Quietly. Behind the scenes.

But then I realized: service without leadership limits impact.

So I stepped forward.

Not because I felt ready—but because others needed me to.

Even at 60% capacity, I could still lead someone at 30%.

That’s the power of presence.

The Reverse That Redefines It All: Obedience Is the Highest Form of Freedom

The world says:

“Do what you want.”

“Follow your feelings.”

“Indulge. You’ve earned it.”

But here’s what I’ve found:

The most enslaved people are the ones who can’t say no to themselves.

Real freedom?

It’s not found in expression. It’s found in obedience.

Not blind obedience—but informed, purposeful, joyful obedience to a design greater than your emotions.

Discipline is not punishment.

It’s preparation.

Obedience is not surrender.

It’s surrender to something better.

So I’ll keep walking those playground loops.

I’ll keep writing words that cost me something.

I’ll keep swimming laps my body doesn’t want.

Because I am not following my feelings.

I’m following my future.

And the paradox is this:

Freedom begins the moment you stop doing what you want—and start doing what you’re meant for.