Momentum makes life feel easier when you’re on the right track—habits flow, focus sharpens, and growth feels natural. But left unchecked, momentum also powers negative cycles like procrastination, fear, or burnout. Like a fast-moving current, it can either carry you toward purpose—or pull you away from it. That’s why momentum must be built—and guarded—intentionally.
Dragging Feet and the Power of Momentum
It’s 6:00 p.m., and I’m back in the sauna—alone today. It’s a public holiday, March 24, 2025. I want to reflect on something that’s been weighing on me: momentum.
I haven’t decided yet what the title should be.
Should it be “Momentum Is Your Best Friend”?
Or “Momentum Could Be Your Worst Enemy”?
Maybe both are true.
Earlier today, I went for a swim. Because today’s an off day, my routine was out of sync. And I felt it.
I was dragging my feet just to get to the gym. Spent more time there—not because I trained harder, but because I slacked more. I scrolled on my phone. Lost focus. I didn’t want to be there.
Even in the pool, I was just trying to finish. I usually enjoy it. But today? I was counting down the laps like a prisoner marking days on a wall.
I have been counting down: 9 more laps. 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, finally.
And it hit me.
When momentum is with you, discipline feels natural. Effort feels light. Progress feels inevitable.
But when you lose it, even the smallest step forward feels like a burden.
That was me today. And it reminded me of something deeper I’m trying to teach my son, Aden.
Crossing the River — A Father’s Role
Yesterday, Aden had an online chess tournament. He kept repeating:
“I’m not good enough. I can’t do this. I’m just not good enough. I’m so bad.”
Over and over again.
And it wasn’t just chess. The day before, at his piano performance, he picked the easiest piece. Not because he couldn’t do more—but because he was afraid to try.
There’s a pattern forming. And as his father, I knew I couldn’t ignore it.
So this morning, I sat down with all three of my sons. I told them a story—not from a book, but from our own lives. A story about learning to ride a two-wheel bicycle.
I reminded them how scary it looked at first. Like standing on one side of a river, seeing freedom on the other bank—but between you and that dream is fear. Doubt. Pain.
And I told them something I need them to remember for life:
My role as your father is to be the bridge.
I used a towel to hold them steady as they rode. I told them, “If you choose to cross, I’ll support you.”
Why? Because they saw their youngest brother—fearless, charging ahead on the balancing bike. And they wanted to do it too.
That day, both my eldest and second son succeeded. They crossed.
And I reminded them: that’s what life looks like. Whether it’s learning to cycle, skate, or simply believe in yourself—it all starts with a willingness to begin.
I told them how I learned to roller skate at 35. Not for myself. For them. Because the best way to teach isn’t to talk—it’s to model.
So yes, you can learn piano. You can learn coding. Robotics. Cooking. Roller skating. And so on.
But more importantly—I told them—there are four life pillars I must pass down before I die.
The 4 Pillars I Must Teach Before I Die
1. Self-Identity: What Cannot Be Outsourced
I told Aden and his brothers:
There are roles in life that only you can play.
“I’m your father. That can’t be replaced. Just like I’m your mum’s husband—and no one else can fill that for me.”
Some things can change—your skills, your knowledge, your jobs, even your friendships.
You may not know how to cycle today, but tomorrow you can. You may not be a good brother now, but you can learn.
But roles like being a son, a father, a husband—those are unchangeable. Irreplaceable.
I used to be a teacher. Then a lecturer. Eventually, I gave up that position because it’s replaceable. But my role as a father? Never.
So I told them: Prioritize what only you can do. Know what can change—and what must never be compromised.
2. Cultural Relevance: Understanding Where You Stand
“You were born in Malaysia. You’re a Malaysian Chinese. That means something.”
I told them how we greet elders as “Uncle” and “Auntie.” Not calling them by name. That we show respect by the way we speak, sit, and behave.
Don’t shout in public. Respect the elderly. Show gratitude during reunion dinners. Give hongbao.
We even had a cute little chat about those red packets.
And I reminded them: It’s not just about knowing your own culture. It’s about understanding that others have different ones. Be rooted. Be respectful. Be relevant.
3. Social Circles: The Five Closest People
I told them something hard but true.
Throughout my life, I’ve changed friends.
Some people I used to be so close to… we just grew apart.
Why?
Because as I entered a new season—getting married, starting a family—their focus stayed the same: girls, cars, games, modding vehicles.
And I knew… I needed to walk a different road.
“You are the average of the five people closest to you,” I told them.
Choose wisely.
Not everyone you start with is meant to journey with you forever.
4. Financial Literacy: Understand Value Before You Chase Money
We talked about money. And addiction.
Aden spends about RM15 a day at the cafeteria—RM7 on lunch, RM5 on breakfast, and the rest on drinks or yogurt.
Sometimes it goes up to RM20–30.
I asked him: “Do you know the value of money?”
Then I told them about the movie Nezha we watched the night before—and how our youngest son had a stomachache the next morning from eating too much popcorn and sweet drinks.
Perfect chance to teach a life lesson.
“Sugar is addictive. And addiction keeps growing. It feeds your want, not your need. But water? Water is free. It’s healthy. It’s enough.”
I showed them how every small choice adds up.
Why I always bring a water bottle. Why I rarely buy drinks.
We did simple math:
Is it worth sacrificing a full meal for the sake of two unnecessary drinks?
The answer was obvious.
Building Momentum Through Everyday Moments
After lunch, we went for a family photo shoot—likely our last pregnancy shoot.
My wife was tired, but she still agreed to it. I’m grateful for that.
We then had a fun stop at Capyba Cafe where we could feed animals after our meal. A simple joy. A rare holiday moment.
While we were waiting (it was packed—public holiday in Johor), I used the time to update my blog.
For the first time, my wife and sons read it.
That was surreal.
“I’ve never known what my father was really thinking,” I told Aden.
“Maybe he didn’t even know. But now you do.”
Writing has become my superpower. It sharpens my clarity.
And now, it lets my kids see not just what happened—but what I felt and learned from what happened.
Haircuts, Fish Tanks, and Unexpected Peace
Next, we went to cut their hair.
In our busy life, even watching them get a haircut feels like a luxury. I waited, present.
Then we topped up the fish tank—new fish, vibrant colors, simple joy.
Tiny moments that fill a father’s heart.
Later that night, my wife cooked steak. A bit tough to chew for the kids, but tasty when unrushed.
She’s getting better and better at cooking beef.
She also made vegetables, fish, and eggs. It felt like a quiet celebration of family.
Marriage Group, Forgiveness, and Sincerity
We went to our marriage life group at night.
I honestly thought my wife might want to stay home—she was tired in the morning. But she came along.
She even cooked dinner before we left.
The session topic? Forgiveness.
One question struck me:
“Do you find it harder to ask for forgiveness or to forgive?”
We learned three steps, but I only remember the first:
Let go of your right to punish.
Just as God did—forgiving us by giving His Son.
“I forgot steps two and three,” I told them, “but even step one is powerful.”
My wife had her own perspective—playfully practical.
She sends me videos:
“How to forgive a girl: Buy her food. Take her out. Say sorry properly.”
“It’s not the act,” she explained, “It’s the attitude behind it.”
That stuck with me.
Don’t focus on the output (“I already said sorry”). Focus on the outcome—to truly be forgiven.
The Journey, the Kids, and the Car Conversations
The journey to the marriage group took 40 minutes each way.
We brought the kids along—not because it was convenient, but because it was an opportunity.
We’ve tried leaving them at home before, but only for short durations—usually during Chinese tuition, with someone picking them up and putting them to sleep. But today was longer. Two legs of travel plus one hour of study added up to nearly three hours.
Some might see that as a burden.
But I saw it as a moment to build.
The Deep Talk with Aden
In the car, I shared something personal with Aden:
“Momentum is your best friend. But it can be your worst enemy too.”
He’s nine—just old enough to understand.
We talked about learning. Why do we go to school? Why do we go to university?
Not just to gain knowledge. But to learn how to learn.
I asked, “What do you think is the first step of learning how to learn?”
He answered, “Throw away your limiting beliefs.”
That stunned me. It’s such a wise answer for his age.
He added, “You need to be clear about your goal.”
Yes. If the goal is to learn, then unlearning is part of the journey.
Lessons from Chess and Life
As we talked, I asked him to play an online chess game. Afterward, I asked:
“What’s the biggest mistake you made? And what did you learn from it?”
We spoke about delayed gratification. In chess, your end goal is checkmate—not looking flashy or taking lots of pieces.
In life, your checkmate matters too.
Aden guessed what I’m aiming for in my own life:
“To love God?”
I smiled. “Yes. I want to hear God say, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant.’”
We unpacked that.
Good means you deliver, you produce fruit, you’re useful.
Faithful means you stay the course, with loyalty.
Being good without being faithful is dangerous. Being faithful without fruit is incomplete.
Both matter.
Finishing Strong — On Money, Value, and Legacy
As our conversation deepened, I shifted toward one of the most practical topics a man must learn to master—money.
I told Aden:
“If you want to build a family, you must learn how to provide.
And to provide, you must learn how to generate value.”
Not money.
Value.
Because money is just an exchange of value.
I reminded him: love of money for self-interest is destructive.
That’s what corrupts.
But creating value—true value—for others?
That’s leadership.
We talked about Elon Musk. How he transformed Tesla from a company on the brink of bankruptcy into a global innovation engine.
Why? Because he created real value—for consumers, shareholders, and society.
“Don’t admire his success,” I said.
“Admire his sacrifice. His process. His momentum.”
Because that’s the part most people don’t see.
The Final Word: Momentum
I circled back to the main theme:
“Momentum is your best friend.
But unmanaged—it becomes your worst enemy.”
Build it with intention.
Use it with wisdom.
And direct it toward what truly matters:
- Your self-identity
- Your cultural roots
- Your social circles
- Your financial responsibility
Because those are the four pillars I want to leave Aden with before I die.
That’s my role.
Not just to raise a good son—
But to raise a future-ready leader.
And today…
through popcorn, pool laps, chess games, and family road trips…
we added one more brick to that foundation.
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