The Paradox of Celebration

It is easy to assume that love is loud. The bigger the gesture, the louder the applause, the greater the honour, or so I once thought. As a husband and as a leader, I carried that belief for years. I planned surprises, gathered large groups, organised dinners with many faces, and worked hard to show my wife that her special day mattered. But on her birthday last year, she looked at me and quietly asked: Why do you have to invite so many people?

I was stunned. Wasn’t the purpose of a birthday to gather more friends, to create an atmosphere of festivity? Wasn’t quantity a sign of honour? But her answer pierced me. She simply wanted something smaller, simpler, more meaningful. She wanted to celebrate with those who truly mattered, not with colleagues or acquaintances who, while important in my life, were not as central in hers.

That moment revealed a paradox: sometimes what we give, though costly, thoughtful, and extravagant, is not what the other person actually desires. It is a tension every leader faces: do we give others the best according to our wish, or do we give them the best according to what they love?

This year, I tried to answer that question differently.

A Simple Bouquet in Kuching

Her birthday fell at a hectic time, sandwiched between work trips, ministry, and community responsibilities. I carried frustrations from the office, burdens from projects, and the fatigue of endless demands. Yet I knew this year had to be different.

We travelled to Kuching for work, but I decided to go a few days earlier with her and the children, turning business into family. I secretly arranged for a bouquet of flowers and balloons to be waiting in our Airbnb. My hope was that when she entered the room, she would feel the surprise, the thought, the small symbol of beauty.

She was exhausted when she walked in. The reaction was muted. She barely said anything. At first, I mistook it as ingratitude. But later, as we were packing to return to Johor Bahru, she asked to take a photo with me and the flowers. She wanted to preserve that memory.

That was my blind spot. She is deeply practical, focused on doing her tasks. She does not always pause to respond in the ways I expect. But her quiet request to take that photo showed me that she did treasure it, only in her own way. How many times in marriage and in leadership that we mistake silence for indifference, when in truth, it is simply another language of appreciation?

Cakes, Karaoke, and the Family She Loves

When we returned, the celebrations continued in ways I had not planned. A grateful parent, as she does every year, sent us a birthday cake. We blew the candles together. Soon after, others also sent cakes.

Then came Sunday. My wife shares the same birthday as my brother-in-law, and the family decided to go for karaoke, what we call Sing K. For two hours, they sang, laughed, and enjoyed one another. I watched her face light up. This was what she enjoyed most: not a luxury restaurant, not a circus show, but simply singing with her family.

It taught me again: she delights in what seems small to me, yet what is significant to her.

The Circus That Never Happened

On the actual day, I suggested we go to the circus. I thought it would be a fun way to celebrate. But she declined. The circus started at 8 p.m. and ended at 10 p.m. By the time we returned home, it would be 11 p.m. The children would be too tired. She preferred to stay home.

So I asked if we could at least go out for dinner. She said no because she had already cooked. And when I asked about the celebration, she said something profound: We already celebrated with the family.

Her definition of celebration was not tied to date or formality. To her, the true birthday had already happened in Kuching, with the bouquet, with karaoke, with family laughter. The actual day was simply another moment in time.

So I ordered some snacks and special food to complement the dinner she had prepared. We ate at home, quietly, meaningfully.

The Countdown of Birthdays

Later that evening, Samuel asked if we could discuss work. I turned him down. For once, I said no. I wanted to prioritise her before her birthday ended.

It struck me that if I live to 70, I only have 40 birthdays with her. We met when she was nearly 30. That means I will never have 70 birthdays with her. I will never even have 50. At best, 40. Every year is not just another candle added, it is one candle closer to the final flame. Every celebration is a countdown, not an infinite supply.

In leadership, we often think in terms of unlimited chances. There will always be another project, another campaign, another opportunity to meet. But in reality, time is finite. The Law of Sacrifice says leaders must give up to go up. Giving up distractions, urgent-but-not-important tasks, and even work conversations is sometimes the sacrifice needed to truly honour the people who matter most.

The Pen Session: Praise, Encourage, Nurture

After dinner, I gathered the children for what I called a pen session: Praise, Encourage, Nurture. It was something I had long planned, and they knew about it.

At first, it nearly collapsed. My wife played music, the children danced, chaos filled the room. I almost snapped. I forgot it was her birthday, not my leadership workshop. But my eldest son reminded everyone: Daddy wanted to do pen session.

So we began. I explained to the children the contrast between two people:

• One with no limbs, no wealth, no house, yet still happy.
• Another with everything: food, toys, family, but still complaining.

Which one is more pathetic? The answer was obvious. Gratitude defines happiness.

Then I asked each child to speak words of gratitude to their mother.

My eldest thanked her for bringing him into the world and buying things for him.

My second thanked her for signing him up for classes, then added, with innocent bluntness, that he hoped she would not die soon so he could still eat her cooking.

My youngest, hearing the word death, said something that broke me: If one day daddy and mummy die, I will kill myself so I can see you in heaven.

Tears filled my eyes. The thought that my children would mourn so deeply when we are gone shook me to the core.

Yet in that moment, something profound happened. My second son, only six, expressed the paradox of existence: he was grateful to be born, but aware that life ends. When I asked him which he preferred: to never have been born, or to be born and face death, he chose life. That is wisdom.

Isn’t life like that? We start journeys knowing they will end. We travel to places knowing we must return. We celebrate birthdays knowing there are fewer ahead. Yet we begin, because meaning is not found in permanence, but in presence.

Lessons from Leadership Frameworks

John Maxwell’s Law of Connection reminds us that leaders touch a heart before they ask for a hand. In marriage and in leadership, connection begins with listening, not speaking. My failure was that my voice was too loud, drowning hers. The bouquet, the karaoke, the dinner at home, these were all her ways of connection.

Maxwell’s Law of Legacy says a leader’s lasting value is measured by succession. Birthdays are not just personal milestones; they are leadership milestones. They remind us that what we model in private becomes our true legacy in public. The pen session was not just a birthday ritual, it was succession planning in the language of family.

Stellar’s own **PVMC (**Purpose, Vision, Mission, Core Values) reminds us that integrity, empathy, and excellence begin at home. Integrity is doing the right thing when nobody is watching. Empathy is listening when your instinct is to lead. Excellence is not about extravagance but about presence.

Global and Malaysian Reflections

This paradox of celebration is not unique to me. In Japan, studies show that the younger generation increasingly prefers small circle celebrations with family over grand feasts with colleagues. In Malaysia, cultural expectations often push us toward large gatherings. A wedding without 500 guests feels incomplete. A birthday without a banquet feels underdone.

Yet research on happiness consistently shows otherwise. The Harvard Study of Adult Development, one of the longest studies ever conducted, concludes that close relationships,not wealth, not fame, are the key to lifelong well-being. Similarly, in Malaysia, a survey by the Department of Statistics revealed that family relationships ranked as the number one factor influencing life satisfaction, far above income.

We spend billions annually on luxury celebrations, but the statistics remind us: meaning is rarely bought. It is lived in quiet dinners, karaoke nights, handwritten notes, and small acts of gratitude.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

As I reflect on Wenny’s birthday, I realise it was not about cakes, bouquets, or even pen sessions. It was about shifting my lens: from giving what I thought was best, to giving what she truly wanted. From projecting, to listening. From loud gestures, to quiet presence.

Leadership, like love, is often misunderstood. We think it is about louder applause, bigger stages, larger crowds. But the opposite of leadership is not following. It is self-preservation, the refusal to sacrifice comfort for connection, to give up position for presence.

And so I end with this reverse insight:

Leadership is not proven by how loudly we celebrate, but by how quietly we listen.