Some Days Are Not Productive. They Are Sacred.
There are days when nothing “big” happens, yet everything changes.
26 December 2025 was one of those days.
No meetings, no milestones, no applause. Just family at home, still in Christmas mode, an extended Boxing Day with my wife, children, and our helper. Yet, if I were forced to put a score on life, today was a 10 out of 10. A day I would gladly pay RM50,000 to experience again, and still refuse RM1 million to sell.
This was not a successful day. This was a full day, and fullness is rare.
I used to think “10/10 days” must come with big achievements, some kind of milestone, some kind of highlight. But the older I get, the more I realise the days that feel perfect are often the days with the least pressure. The day is slow enough for you to notice. Safe enough for you to soften. Quiet enough for you to be fully there.
Today felt like that. A day with low urgency, high safety, and small moments that carried weight. The kind of day where the smallest choices become the loudest memories.
Four Moments, One Quiet Victory
1. Feeling Loved, After 10 Years
The day began slowly. A lazy wake-up, proper rest. No alarm, no rush.
When I went downstairs, my wife was already working. That is who she is. A workhorse, focused, driven. Sometimes I tease her for being a workaholic, but deep down I know it is love expressed through responsibility. She carries the family with her discipline.
We prepared breakfast. The boys were already being boys, fighting over the “best” food. I tried to be fierce, a strict father, because they always love to fight for the best stuff. Not because they are bad, but because children naturally fight for what they want. It is not a moral failure, it is raw instinct.
So I reminded them to share.
Then, quietly, without announcing, I gave up my share.
I ate the old bread.
I did not do it to make a point. I did it because I knew the rest of the breakfast, they loved it. I can eat bread. Bread is fine. But I love them more than the bread. Only later, when they fought again, I pointed it out gently,
“Do you notice I did not even eat anything? I was merely eating the old bread.”
Then I said the simple sentence that I wanted to plant in them.
“It is not that I do not like the bread. I love you more.”
Leadership begins like that, not in speeches, but in quiet examples. You do not teach sacrifice by explaining it. You teach it by living it, repeatedly, until it becomes normal.
Then came the mess.
The house felt chaotic. I felt overwhelmed and expressed frustration to my wife about how messy everything was. It was not a big argument, but my tone was not kind.
And my wife said something that melted me.
She said she would change her priority to clean up the house for me, because she loves me.
It was such a simple sentence. But it landed deep. After 10 years of marriage, it still feels rare to hear love expressed so directly. My wife shows love through doing through taking responsibility and being practical. But today, she said it.
And I felt seen, and I felt grateful that I married her.
That was the first moment of the day.
Looking back, I realise why it mattered so much. Because when a man feels loved, he becomes less harsh. Love does not remove leadership, it reshapes it. It softens the sharp edges. It makes patience feel possible.
2. Evan, the Locked Room, and the Misunderstood Word
The second moment came unexpectedly.
I had prepared a special way to give Christmas presents. Not entitlement, but a game, a coaching lesson. Something experiential. Children do not absorb values best through lectures. They absorb values through stories, games, dilemmas, and real choices. When you make them feel the tension, they remember the lesson without you forcing it.
But before I could even gather the 3 boys together, my 3rd son Evan lost control. He refused to come. He yelled, threw a tantrum and spiralled. So I carried him into the room, locked the door, just both of us.
He thought punishment was coming.
Instead, I opened our photos of me and him when he was a baby. I showed him how much we have loved him since the day he was born, a quick flashback of years of memories.
Because I sensed something: We now have a newborn now, Arielle, and I could feel Evan changing. When a new baby enters the family, adults adjust with logic, but children adjust with emotion. Sometimes the youngest son feels replaced even when nobody intended that.
So I told him clearly, nothing has changed. We still love you.
After a while, I asked him why he was so angry. He did not answer, so I apologised. I told him I am sorry because I did not manage to make him feel loved. Then I asked him something that I thought would close the moment nicely,
“Can you say you love me? Then we may leave the room.”
Silence.
So I tried another approach. If you love me, give me a hug. He tried, but he was reluctant. Still hurt and guarded. I did something that felt simple but was actually difficult. I waited. He ran away from me to a corner. 15 minutes passed.
Then he said something that cracked the whole situation open.
“It is not even about you.”
I went to him immediately.
“What do you mean it is not about me?”
“It is about mommy”, He replied.
Only then I realised, he was not angry at me initially. It was about something my wife said. A moment earlier that morning, when the boys were playing and my wife, frustrated, said something like, go away, I do not want to see you here, go and take a shower now.
To an adult, it is instruction. To a child, it can feel like rejection.
That is the scary part. One emotionally loaded sentence can override 10 loving actions, because the brain remembers pain for survival. Children are not “too sensitive.” They are simply honest receivers of words.
Evan also told me something painful but true. He said my attempt to stop his yelling made him more frustrated, because I was correcting the wrong problem. I was treating the symptom, not the wound. So I hugged him and I apologised again. Then I asked if we could go to mommy together and tell her how she hurt him.
He nodded.
My wife apologised. Evan accepted her apologies in a cute manner, and Peace restored.
That was the second moment, and something shifted between Evan and me: The wall between us has cracked, and a bridge formed. We moved closer in our relationships.
I also realised something about leadership here. The best leaders do not only resolve conflict. They repair relationship. They slow down enough to locate the true wound, not just the loud behaviour.
3. 3 Boys, 2 Presents, 1 Cheerful Giver
After lunch, we resumed the present-giving. I gathered all my 3 boys and told them I only bought 2 presents for 3 people.
Silence.
I asked them how we should decide, without knowing what the gifts were.
Eann volunteered immediately. He said he would give up his present.
Evan refused.
Aden hesitated. He is almost 10, and he knows me well. He suspected there was a reason. He sensed a lesson hiding behind the game. So at one point, Aden also said he would give up his present.
Then Evan said something that made us all laugh.
“Eann give up. Aden give up. That means I get 2 presents!”
We laughed.
Eventually, Eann held his position. He said he would give it up, and if he needed it, he would borrow from the brothers. Everyone agreed. So, I gave out the presents to Aden and Evan. Then I revealed the hidden reward I prepared specifically for the cheerful giver, Eann.
Aden said, “I knew it.”
And I could see something register in him. Not just regret, but an awareness and a recalibration. That was the third moment. It reminded me of something I have learned again and again. Values stick when they are experienced, not explained. When sacrifice becomes a real choice, it shapes identity. When generosity is rewarded with love, not with money, the heart learns what matters.
4. RM31, a Headphone, and a Quiet Sacrifice
After dinner, I kept a promise: To bring them to Decathlon. While we were there, Aden did something that destroyed me emotionally.
He bought a headphone for Eann with his own money.
All of it.
RM31, entire savings of a 9.5 years old boy. For a child, RM31 is not small. That is weeks and months of self-control. It is identity. It is delayed gratification. It is proof that he knows the value of money, and yet he still chose to give it away.
He gave it not for recognition. Not for reward. But because he felt for his brother. He did not want Eann to feel left out. When Eann received it, his face said everything. Shock. Gratitude. Joy.
That was the fourth moment.
3 sons. 3 stories. 1 day. Plus with the quality time with my wife and moments with my baby Arielle.
I felt that I’ve just hit a jackpot.
What I Learned on a Victorious Day
We often think lessons come from failure. But victory teaches something different. Today has taught me patience:
I waited 10 years to enjoy the fruits of marriage like this.
I waited for years to see responsibility awaken naturally in Aden.
I waited for years for a breakthrough with Evan.
I learned that I do not need to rush character. I do not need to snap values into place. I just need to live my principles consistently. Eann has been watching quietly. Aden has been absorbing silently. Evan has been feeling deeply.
Later I explained to them why I designed the present game this way. It was inspired by the scripture where it says God loves a cheerful giver.
As an earthly father made in His image, I wanted to imitate that love. That is why I bought 2 presents, not 3. Not to be cruel or to create competition, but to reveal the heart and honour the heart.
I realised again what my true job is as a father. My job is to get them ready for the day they lose me. They will not rely on me forever. Of course, I will do my part to stay healthy, to stay alive, to stay present as long as I can. But nobody knows. So I prepare them.
That is why I write. That is why this reflection will live on the Purposebility blog, so one day they can read what was in my heart.
If I Could Restart the Day
If I could restart today knowing what I know now:
- I would speak more gently to my wife. She deserves that. She carries the family. She has blind spots, but blind spot is not weakness. It is what happens when you focus hard on what is in front of you and miss what is happening beside you.
- I would be more patient with Evan from the first moment. Love breaks walls faster than authority.
- With Aden, I would apologise sooner. I have been hard on him. Expectations weigh more on firstborns. He feels it. I may have compared him unconsciously.
Tomorrow, before I leave for China, I will sit with them for a PEN session, a simple life view and simple goals for 2026. Maybe will bring them for a simple swimming session and just be present.
And I will leave as if I may never return.
Fullness Is Not Loud
If money could buy moments, today would cost RM50,000. If money could buy meaning, today would be priceless. But the truth is simpler. The fullest days are not busy. They are not impressive, not productive, but they are present.
Today, I lived life to the fullest.
