Why Presence Is the Real Gift

When the Itinerary Breaks, the Real Gift Begins

It started with four words that defined my entire day: Compete. With. Time. Again.

It was a Tuesday, a “normal” Tuesday by the calendar’s standard. But in our family, it wasn’t normal at all. It was my eldest son Aden’s 9th birthday. No matter how much I dislike big birthday celebrations, something in me still wanted to make this day count. Not with extravagance, but with intentionality.

The plan was simple on paper: Get home before 7, swap the walk with Loki for dinner, head to my wife’s place, 30 min for dinner and another 30 minutes for homework. Then, a short celebration, short movie, and everyone asleep by 10 PM.

Sounds good, right?

Except real life doesn’t work like Google Calendar. The dinner wasn’t ready, the kids were scattered, and I was mentally foggy from the day’s work. So, I did what I do when things don’t align: I optimized, swapped activities and brought Loki out first. Tried to do whatever I could to salvage every second.

But underneath all the rearranging, I knew something else was going on: A growing sense of tension I hadn’t acknowledged.

As the night unfolded, I was about to find out why.

Triggered, Tired, Tender: A Father’s Real Test

We made it to the confinement center. But my heart hadn’t arrived yet.

The moment I walked in, I started feeling it. The silent frustration and the emotional burnout. I was irritated by everything, the slow dinner, Aden running off with his bicycle, even my youngest son taking his time to finish his food, and I was snapping inside.

Then my wife, as she always does with grace, reminded me, “When you’re frustrated, anything can become a trigger.”

She was right. I was carrying too much.

So I gave myself permission to slow down, took my time with the meal and allowed my nervous system to regulate. It took nearly an hour before I felt human again.

Then I did something unexpected. I went into the toilet with a garbage bag. Inside it? Three panda plushies, red-to-white reversible ones the kids had wanted months ago during our visit to River Wonders, Singapore. The gifts were from baby Arielle to her siblings, a tradition in our family where the youngest welcomes her elder siblings with gifts.

I had no wrapping paper, so I used the garbage bag.

It wasn’t Pinterest-perfect, but it didn’t have to be. The joy was real.

We gathered for Aden’s birthday. Last year, I wasn’t able to celebrate with him because I was away in Sabah. So we had a simple celebrations at the McDonald’s with a PEN Session. Praise. Encourage. Nurture. This year, I was fully present. We had cake, candles, and continuing the tradition of PEN Session which Aden was really looking forward to it.

One by one, we offered words of affirmation, reflections and gratitude. It was a rare moment to pause and just celebrate Aden for who he is, not what he does. I acknowledged the quiet weight he carries as the eldest. He listened quietly, taking it in.

I told him, “You carry something special, a legacy. Gong Gong, me, and you, we are all firstborn sons. It’s not just about order of birth. It’s about who we’re becoming.”

Maybe he won’t fully understand it now, but something was planted that night. A spark of identity. One day, it will make sense.

The Rainbow, The Role, and the Real Resilience

That morning, before all this unfolded, our devotion was on Exodus 4:21. God tells Moses that He will harden Pharaoh’s heart. The mission will succeed. But not immediately.

That’s leadership. You move forward even when the results delay. That same morning, I also read something else that hit deep:

Donald Super’s Rainbow Theory of career development. He mapped nine life roles across different life stages. And he discovered something profound:

Learning motivation peaks not only at 18, but again at 65.

Why? Because at 65, people aren’t chasing pay. They’re seeking meaning.

And that’s what the Korean company “Ever Young” tapped into. They hired seniors, pastors, homemakers, ex-soldiers, not for cost savings, but for life-stage alignment. They saw learning as a gift. A new purpose. A way to re-engage.

It reminded me of something we created during MCO: the Deputy Vice Principal (DVP) program that we have initiated and developed in-house. It wasn’t a job title, but it was a training identity. We selected potential leaders and trained them intentionally, not because they were ready, but because they were willing.

Watching those team members grow taught me something unexpected: resilience isn’t about brute force, but clarity. It’s about choosing long-term faithfulness over short-term applause. Some successes come dressed as ordinary sacrifices. Some of the most powerful shifts are invisible.

Just like in marriage. For a dacade I was torn between my parents’ expectations and my wife’s needs. Both were “right.” Yet either choice would hurt someone. What saved me? A biblical principle: Love your wife as Christ loved the church, and gave Himself up for her.

That was the intersection of truth and grace, and that’s where resilience is forged.

Slowing Down to Show Up: A Different Kind of Leadership

If you asked me what real leadership looks like, I’d say this:

• Wrapping gifts in a toilet with a garbage bag.
• Holding back irritation to give your son a sacred moment.
• Surrendering control, so presence can take its place.

Leadership is often associated with planning, execution, outcomes. But there’s another layer we miss. The kind that shows up quietly, when nobody’s watching, with no metrics to prove it.

That night, baby Arielle was part of the celebration, in her own way. She “gave” her siblings a gift, simply by being present. Aden turned to me and asked, “What about the gift from you, Papa?”

I smiled. I didn’t need to say anything. The pandas were from me, the renewed Legoland triple park annual passes were from me. The late-night coordination, the travel, the wrapping, all me.

But the point wasn’t the gift. It was the love behind it.

He’ll come to understand it. Maybe not today, but one day.

I’ve come to see that the deepest kind of growth can’t be taught. It has to be experienced. Like the story of the balloons in a room, if everyone grabs their own, it’s chaos. But if each person lifts someone else’s, everyone eventually finds what they need.

Maybe leadership is that simple: Lift someone else.

That’s how we build families and build teams. Not by fancy words or structures, but through ordinary moments of sincere attention, through PEN Sessions, through fully presence.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

We often chase the big moment, the perfect plan, the measurable impact.

But what if:

• The real gift was not something wrapped, but someone fully present?
• Leadership wasn’t about commanding a room, but quietly opening your heart?
• Slowing down wasn’t a cost, but the only way to receive what mattered?

In the end, what our children will remember won’t be the schedule. It’ll be that we were there.

Fully. Honestly. Humanly.

That’s the kind of leader I want to become.

Written on 21 July 2025. For Aden. And for every leader learning to slow down in order to show up.