The Marriage Decision That Reveals Who You Really Are

When the Wind Blows, Only the Pillars Matter

It had been a long and tiring day. One of those days that drains you not just physically, but quietly in places of the soul that do not always speak until stillness returns. Yet as the evening unfolded, dinner with Ryan and Sam, a simple workout, a few lingering conversations, I found a moment of peace. It reminded me that no matter how chaotic life becomes, there is always something underneath it all that holds us together. Something deeper. Something structural.

I kept thinking about the image of a building. Not just its beauty or design, but its integrity. You can experiment with form and decorate with flair. You can use glass, steel, wood, or stone. But none of it matters when the storm comes. What matters is whether the pillar was well placed. Whether the foundation was deep enough. Whether the builders paid attention to what cannot be seen once it is all complete.

As I looked up at the Petronas Twin Towers, I felt that same awe I have always felt. The way it has stood all these years, still commanding presence, still radiating elegance. Many buildings look old after a decade or two, but this one, from the outside, still glows. Of course, when you walk inside, it tells a different story. The wear and tear is visible. The charm is dulled. And yet, even so, the structure holds. It endures. That is the power of having a solid anchor.

It made me reflect on something far more personal. Marriage. Like a building, marriage can be decorated with laughter, milestones, travel, photos, and warmth. But when the wind blows, it is not the memories or aesthetics that hold us. It is the pillars. And many people do not realise that until much later, when the storms come and the glamour fades.

Not Love at First Sight. A Plan with a Pulse.

I remember a younger man once asking me, “How did you know she was the one?”

I smiled at his sincerity. It is a question many people ask, often hoping for some magical, intuitive answer. But I did not have one. Because the truth is, I did not “know” in the way people imagine. I did not wake up one day with fireworks in my chest and a divine certainty in my heart. What I had was clarity about what mattered. And I had a plan.

At that time, I had just returned from Melbourne. I was completing my Master’s degree, and the cultural contrast between Australia and Malaysia gave me a jolt I did not expect. In particular, the way relationships were treated, especially marriage, disturbed me. Divorce was common, often treated casually. Affairs were not rare. People lived under the same roof but led separate lives, each quietly resigned to the arrangement. There was no fight left in the relationship, but also no fire to change it.

I did not want that for myself. I did not want something that looked like a relationship but lacked its structure. And so, when I began to get to know my wife, I approached the relationship not as an emotional whirlwind, but as a shared architectural project. If marriage was going to be the pillar, then the foundation had to be laid with intention.

We drew up a two-year roadmap. Not as a rigid timeline, but as a mutual understanding of discovery. The first three months were dedicated to observing three core areas. First, we focused on getting to know each other deeply. Our values, beliefs, childhood stories, financial perspectives, and our views on life. I remember asking her questions that many would hesitate to ask so early. About divorce. About raising children. About our respective roles in building a family. I needed to know, not because I was judging her, but because I was discerning whether our futures could hold hands without pulling in opposite directions.

The second layer of observation was family. I paid attention to how she related to her parents, her siblings, the tone of her conversations, and the way respect was shown or not shown in the daily rhythm of life. It was different from what I was used to, and I will admit that at the time, I thought I could stay detached. I thought, “This is how they speak to one another. It does not involve me.” But I was wrong. Because once you marry someone, you become family. And the way they interact with family eventually becomes the way they interact with you.

The third circle was her social network. What kind of people did she surround herself with? What voices shaped her worldview? Who did she admire? I believed then, and still believe now, that your community speaks volumes about your direction in life.

Once those three months passed and we gained confidence in our alignment, we announced our relationship publicly. It was not some grand proposal or dramatic scene. Just a steady step forward. I have always believed that love does not need a crowd to be validated. It needs consistency, not spectacle.

Six months later, we moved into a season of deeper observation and commitment. And by the end of that year, I was ready to propose. Looking back now, over a decade later, I realise that what we were doing back then was building a foundation. Not every stone was perfect. But every one of them was placed with care.

Marriage Is the First Leadership Assignment Most People Overlook

In time, I came to see that marriage is not merely about romance or companionship. It is a crucible of character. A mirror that reflects not only who we are, but who we are becoming. Many people assume that leadership begins in an office or on a stage. But real leadership begins at home. In how we speak during tension. In how we stay when it is easier to leave. In how we remain honest even when silence is more comfortable.

There is a strange irony here. The very qualities that build strong marriages, humility, sacrifice, listening, commitment, are the same ones that form effective leaders. And yet, we often separate the two. We pursue leadership in the workplace but ignore its demand in our private world.

What I have observed, over and over again, is this. Marriages do not break because of one dramatic event. They break because of gradual withdrawal. They fade when we begin to protect ourselves, when we stop asking the hard questions, when we assume understanding without continuing conversation.

This is why I say the opposite of marriage is not singleness. Singleness, when lived with integrity, can be purposeful and whole. The true opposite of marriage is self-preservation. That subtle instinct to withhold. To wait. To shield. To protect ourselves from being too known or too needed. And slowly, without realising it, we begin to live parallel lives under the same roof. We stop building together. We start surviving separately.

A Shared Life Is Always Under Construction

Earlier today, during a conference, I found myself reflecting on the architecture of community and how many of our dreams for the future must still be built on the values we practice at home. One conversation led to another, and before long, I was talking about generational leadership, education, and even senior living. What does it mean to raise leaders who are not only competent but anchored? What does it mean to shape lives with conviction, not convenience?

These questions may sound lofty, but they begin in the ordinary. They begin in whether I choose to listen at home. Whether I choose to forgive. Whether I take time to align with my wife on the direction we are heading, not just the logistics of the day.

Marriage is not a finished house. It is always a work in progress. But the longer you build, the stronger the foundation becomes. Not because the mistakes disappear, but because the structure becomes familiar enough to repair. The cracks become visible. The habits are known. And with grace and effort, the house becomes a home.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

In the end, the most dangerous temptation in marriage is not conflict. It is comfort without connection. It is the slow decay of presence, replaced by polite avoidance. And what fuels that decay is self-preservation.

The truth is this. When we enter marriage protecting ourselves, we lose the very intimacy we long for. When we curate our image rather than offer our heart, we may succeed in looking strong, but we will quietly grow lonely.

So I return to this paradox.

The opposite of marriage is not singleness.

It is self-preservation.

And in a world that teaches us to guard our time, protect our boundaries, and prioritise ourselves, perhaps the most radical act is not independence, but interdependence. Not escape, but endurance. Not withdrawing, but staying. Fully, truthfully, and repeatedly.

Because in the end, we do not build legacies from escape routes.

We build them from covenants.

And the strongest pillars of any life are still the ones that were forged, not in convenience, but in commitment.