The Torch That Outlives You
It began with a morning hike.
The air in the foothills of Johor was cool and still. Mist floated between the trees, as if time itself had paused to breathe. My parents walked ahead, slow, steady, familiar. Behind them, my children raced each other up the slope, laughing between gasps. I was half an hour late, guilty yet grateful. Guilty for making everyone wait, grateful that I could still walk beside them.
It rained halfway through. We kept going.
No one complained.
Along the trail, strangers greeted my parents with warmth. They seemed to know everyone, not because of wealth or position, but because of the way they lived. They were respected, yet unassuming. Looked up to, yet never looking down on others.
They carried a quiet authority I could not describe, the kind that does not demand recognition but earns it through grace. That morning, I realised that leadership can be silent. My parents had become the kind of people others trusted, not because of what they said, but because of how they lived.
Watching them, I asked myself:
What kind of life endures for a thousand years?
In ancient China, emperors built walls so vast that they could be seen from space. In Europe, cathedrals took centuries to complete, generation after generation chiselling stones they would never see assembled. In Malaysia, our grandparents built schools, temples, mosques, and kampung halls not for profit, but for posterity.
Yet the Great Wall erodes. Cathedrals crumble. Even the tallest towers lose relevance.
The true test of time is not whether a structure stands, but whether its spirit survives.
The thousand-year dream begins not with ambition, but with awareness that we are all torchbearers in a relay that never truly ends.
The Loop of Life and Leadership
Later that day, I met a former colleague, once a strong, capable leader. Life had changed her. We spoke for hours. I listened more than I spoke. She told me how she still tried to be perfect, even when perfection was no longer possible. She said excellence had become her comfort zone, yet the pursuit itself was now the burden.
I recognised that loop.
Many of us live inside it, the endless cycle of doing more, achieving more, owning more. We climb ladders that lead to taller ladders. The higher we go, the less we see.
To understand that cycle, I did something strange: I started gaming again. Not for fun, but as research, to feel what my son felt when he said, “I just want to level up.”
Games are designed to keep you hooked. Daily rewards. Incremental challenges. Constant progress. But it is an illusion. Every time you reach a higher level, the system resets. Tougher enemies, new quests, same pattern. It gives you motion without meaning.
It struck me that modern life works the same way. Many leaders confuse busyness for purpose. They accumulate badges of success, titles, positions, assets, without realising they are still playing the same game. They mistake motion for growth, accumulation for legacy.
John Maxwell calls it The Law of Process: leadership develops daily, not in a day. But he also warns that motion without direction is exhaustion disguised as progress.
The same applies to nations. Malaysia’s GDP grows, yet personal contentment declines. Connectivity improves, yet loneliness deepens. We build more schools but lose sight of what we are educating for. We chase economic momentum but rarely measure moral momentum.
We have mastered the art of levelling up, but forgotten why.
The first step toward the thousand-year legacy is to step out of the loop. To realise that what sustains you cannot be downloaded, bought, or optimised. It must be lived.
The Paradox of Progress
Progress is not the enemy.
But progress without purpose is erosion with speed.
Japan rebuilt from ashes through kaizen, small, continuous improvement. Yet what gave kaizen its soul was kokoro, heart. Without kokoro, efficiency becomes emptiness.
Malaysia’s story mirrors this tension. We industrialised fast, but often at the cost of reflection. We built schools faster than we built teachers. We produced graduates faster than we nurtured wisdom.
That is why Stellar Education Group’s PVMC (Purpose, Vision, Mission, Core Values) matters. It reminds us that legacy cannot be outsourced.
- Purpose inspires direction.
- Vision gives shape to possibility.
- Mission transforms ideals into motion.
- Core Values keep motion meaningful.
These four pillars are our moral compass, ensuring that our growth serves generations, not egos.
The torch relay idea for our future campus was born from this belief.
A thousand-kilometre symbolic run, from the western coast of Malaysia to the eastern shore, connecting east and west, sunrise and sunset, wisdom and wonder. Each kilometre carried by one runner. Each torch passed with intention.
It may sound like an event, but it is really a metaphor, a physical expression of continuity.
Every participant carries a flame for only one kilometre, yet that single kilometre makes the next possible. It mirrors what John Maxwell calls The Law of Legacy: a leader’s lasting value is measured by succession.
If the flame dies with you, it was never legacy, only leverage.
This is the paradox of progress:
The faster the world moves, the slower leaders must think.
The more we achieve, the more we must question what we are becoming.
Momentum is useful only when meaning leads it.
Like energy in physics, progress follows entropy. Without renewal, it declines.
That is why we must constantly realign: not faster, but truer.
Not bigger, but deeper.
The Architecture of Legacy
To build for a thousand years is not to predict the future. It is to prepare people who can build it.
Our ancestors understood this.
When the founders of Foon Yew School began their humble mission more than a century ago, they were not building a business; they were shaping a belief that education could outlive its founders. Today, generations later, the spirit remains. That is the true mark of design that transcends time.
History calls these long-vision projects “cathedral thinking,” where craftsmen built knowing they would never see the roof completed. They laid stones for generations they would never meet.
This is also the principle behind Japan’s century-old family businesses, known as shinise. There are more than 33,000 of them, some older than the United States. They survive not because of innovation alone, but because of integrity and intergenerational trust.
The same question applies to every leader:
Are you building for continuity or for control?
Control builds dependence.
Continuity builds legacy.
A thousand-year leader thinks in systems, not seasons. They design succession, not dependency. They plant leaders, not followers.
This is why leadership in education matters so much. Every lesson we teach today multiplies over decades. A single teacher can influence 3,000 students in a lifetime; if even 10% of them carry forward those values, that teacher’s impact ripples across generations.
Leadership is not a position. It is a relay. And every runner must prepare the next.
The 1,000-Year Test
A thousand years is not a timeline. It is a test.
It asks: Will what you build still matter when you are gone?
If it collapses when you leave, it was only leverage.
If it thrives without you, it was legacy.
This is the ultimate measure of leadership.
Maxwell framed it as The Law of Legacy.
Purposebility calls it Stewardship, not ownership.
Scripture calls it faithfulness in little things.
The test has three simple questions, a compass for any builder, parent, or leader:
- Longevity Test: Will this choice still make sense in a hundred years? If not, why are we pursuing it?
- Transfer Test: Can someone else carry this forward without you? If not, have you truly equipped them?
- Integrity Test: Does this serve people even when you are no longer around to benefit? If not, it is success, not legacy.
Every decision, every meeting, every investment can be weighed by these questions.
In business, it means building culture before profit.
In family, it means raising character before achievement.
In education, it means teaching purpose before curriculum.
Legacy is not about immortality. It is about responsibility, to pass on what outlives you.
The Reverse That Redefines It All
The older I grow, the more I realise that legacy has nothing to do with grandeur.
It hides in gestures so small they often go unnoticed.
A greeting on a trail.
A conversation that gives clarity to a weary friend.
A child learning to pause before reacting.
A teacher reminding a student that they are capable of more.
These moments are quiet, but they compound like interest.
Time multiplies whatever you feed it.
Feed your ego, and you build urgency.
Feed your purpose, and you build eternity.
The thousand-year test is not about duration. It is about direction.
It is not about whether your name is remembered, but whether your values are repeated.
So start small.
Greet someone new. Teach one person what you know. Create one system that works even without you.
Because one day, that small flame you pass may become the torch someone carries across the next century.
And when your time is done, you will have lived the greatest paradox of all:
that you do not have to live a thousand years
to build something that lasts that long.
The 1,000-Year Checklist for Leaders
| Test | Question | Action Prompt |
|---|---|---|
| Longevity | Will this decision still serve people 100 years from now? | Build for principles, not preferences. |
| Transfer | Can this thrive without me? | Document, delegate, and disciple. |
| Integrity | Does this benefit others even when I am gone? | Measure success by contribution, not credit. |
Wisdom in Simplicity
When I watched my parents greeting strangers on that mountain, I thought they were simply being kind.
Now I understand. They were rehearsing eternity.
Because legacy does not begin when we die.
It begins when we stop living only for ourselves.
That is the 1,000-Year Test.
And it begins today.
