“I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.”

What 10.10 Means to the World

What does 10.10 mean to Shopee?

A day of discounts and flash sales, where everyone races to get more for less.

What does 10.10 mean to 淘宝 (Taobao)?

A digital carnival of consumption, billions spent in the hope that buying more will make life feel full.

What does 10.10 mean to the world?

It means wealth, success, career, fame, and authority, the modern symbols of the “good life.”

But what does 10.10 mean to me?

October 10th 2025, 10.10, was supposed to be a perfect day. In Chinese culture, 十全十美 (shí quán shí měi) means complete and flawless. In Scripture, John 10:10 speaks of living life to the fullest. And somehow, even my home bore that number, House No. 10, as if heaven itself wanted to remind me that perfection, while alluring, can also be exhausting.

The Illusion of Fullness

That Friday began like a marathon. I started the morning at Stellar International School, congratulating our football team for becoming the top international school team in Johor. Their victory felt symbolic, discipline rewarded, teamwork proven. Yet before the applause faded, I was already preparing for our annual business audit presentation.

This was our third audit cycle. In the beginning, I used to dread those reports. Every red line felt like failure. But by the third year, I began to see the process differently. It was like a medical check-up. No matter how healthy you feel, there will always be something to address. Leadership maturity is measured not by results alone but by our willingness to face uncomfortable truth.

Later that evening, I crossed into Singapore to pick up my sister and Dr Elias, then returned home just in time for what would become a night of abundance. We were celebrating my youngest daughter Arielle’s hundredth day, a milestone rich in meaning. The date, the verse, the baby, the family, the ministry gathering, everything aligned as if the universe itself was spelling “fullness.”

By midnight, I realised how literal that word had become. My schedule was full. My home was full. My heart was full.

And somewhere inside that fullness, a quiet voice asked: Is this really what “life to the fullest” means?

The Weekend That Revealed Everything

Saturday unfolded with both joy and fatigue. While messages of congratulations poured in from the 10.10 celebration, I prepared for my twenty-year high-school reunion. Out of a thousand classmates, nearly four hundred returned, a turnout so strong it stunned the organisers.

Stepping into the familiar school hall, nostalgia hit hard. Faces once youthful now carried the lines of responsibility. There were executives, parents, artists, and teachers, all converging with stories of success and struggle. Beneath the laughter, I sensed a quiet ache. We had grown older and wealthier, but not necessarily happier.

As I looked around, a thought surfaced: What if I had taken a different path, another city, another calling, another love?

That same night, while I stood in that hall, House No. 10 in Johor was alive in its own way. Over thirty people, university students, friends, pastors, and families, had gathered for dinner. My wife and I were not even there, yet the doors stayed open. Meals were shared, prayers lifted, and laughter echoed through every room.

Two gatherings, two worlds, one looking backward in nostalgia, the other moving forward in community. That paradox became my mirror. While one reminded me of what was, the other revealed what could continue.

When I returned home that night, exhausted yet grateful, I told Yvonne how thankful I was that the house remained open even without us. She smiled. “I know what you were thinking,” she said. “You were imagining this house still full of people even after you’re gone.”

She was right.

The Paradox of Stewardship

Sunday morning brought quiet and reflection. I met an old friend who had recently survived surgery to remove a tumour. We sat for four hours, speaking about pain, mortality, and purpose. She whispered, “What have I done to deserve your time?”

I told her, “It’s not about me. It’s about your hunger for purpose.”

Purpose is magnetic. It pulls people together across time and circumstance. Just as a company needs audits to stay healthy, a soul needs reflection to stay whole.

That afternoon, I recalled Arielle’s baby dedication two days earlier. Ps Shawn had said, “Baby dedication is really parent dedication.”

When he asked for my thoughts, I said, “My baby doesn’t belong to me. I’m only a steward of what God has entrusted.”

Stewardship is not passivity. It is active responsibility without ownership. To steward is to love without controlling, to build without clinging.

John Maxwell’s Law of the Lid teaches that an organisation rises only to the level of its leader’s maturity. When leaders hold too tightly, they lower the lid. When they lead with open hands, they lift it.

I often use the analogy of car maintenance. You can service your car at your convenience, or you can wait until the breakdown chooses the time for you. Either way, the servicing happens. The difference lies in whether it is chosen or forced.

But as I grow older, I realise something even deeper: I don’t belong to myself.

Just as I don’t truly own my car, I don’t own my children, my home, or even this company. They are all entrusted to me for a time, like vehicles borrowed for a shared journey. I am their caretaker, not their master.

We are stewards, not owners. Our bodies are the first car we are asked to maintain, fragile, temporary, yet sacred. The company we lead is only ours to steward for a season. Even the home we live in is a trust, not a trophy.

Everything I touch, from my house to my leadership to my family, has been given, not possessed. The only thing that truly belongs to me is my soul, and even that carries responsibility, because it is the one part of me that endures beyond this life.

When I lead from this posture, ownership turns into worship.

Maintenance becomes mindfulness.

And every act of care becomes a quiet act of gratitude, a way of honouring the One who entrusted it all in the first place.

The Marriage That Moulds, Not Mirrors

Leadership often hides inside personal stories. For me, marriage has been the longest and most humbling classroom.

I once saw my wife’s independence as resistance. Over time I learned it was refinement. She taught me to lead without control and love without possession. Her individuality forced me to grow in patience and humility.

Psychological studies show that couples who embrace difference grow twice as fast in empathy and adaptability compared to those who seek sameness. Friction, when handled with grace, becomes the forge of character. Without it, there is only comfort without depth.

That same principle shapes leadership teams. Diverse minds refine conviction. Uniformity only breeds echo. Growth happens not in agreement but in alignment.

Integrated Living and Intentional Legacy

By Monday, reflection gave way to action. I sat with Dr Elias and Hedki to discuss a housing project for our leadership team. The idea was radical in today’s context, leaders living near one another to cultivate daily community.

The United Nations’ 2024 Asia Report describes loneliness as one of the fastest-rising health risks, with 41 percent of urban Malaysians feeling isolated despite constant digital communication. Community, once assumed, has become a privilege.

Humans were never designed for isolation. From tribes to towns, our survival has always depended on interdependence. That is why I often say, “You cannot build a legacy of discipleship without the structure of community.”

Our partnership naturally formed an ecosystem. Dr Elias was like the sea, deep, fluid, wise. Hedki was like the air, energetic, visionary, expressive. I was like the land, stable, grounded, strategic. Together we became sea, land, and air, a living model of holistic leadership.

This mirrored the principle we teach at Stellar: Integration over balance. A balanced life divides. An integrated life multiplies. Family, faith, and work are not separate pillars but concentric circles that strengthen one another. When one circle enriches another, life compounds. When one drains another, life collapses.

From Abundance to Continuity

True success is not applause. It is continuity.

John Maxwell’s Law of Legacy says a leader’s greatest value is measured by succession. That truth came alive as I looked at House No. 10, still full of people even when we were absent. The house had become more than a home. It had become a living system of generosity.

This raises the question I ask myself often: Am I building an empire or cultivating an ecosystem?

Empires depend on control. Ecosystems thrive on contribution. Empires fade with the founder. Ecosystems outlive him.

According to PwC Malaysia’s 2024 Family Business Survey, only 21 percent of Malaysian family enterprises survive into the second generation. The problem is rarely financial. It is cultural. Success becomes inheritance instead of stewardship.

I do not want that for Stellar or for my children.

When they walk through our campus one day, I hope they see classrooms alive with curiosity and leaders who serve with humility. And if they ask, “What did Papa build?” I hope someone answers, “He built people who built people.”

That, to me, is life to the fullest, not the abundance of possession, but the continuity of purpose.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

Fullness is not measured by what you hold but by what you release.

You can fill your calendar, your wallet, and your house, yet still live half a life. Or you can empty your pride, your fear, and your ownership, and finally discover peace.

The more I lead, the clearer it becomes that the opposite of leadership is not following. It is self-preservation. When we protect too much, we shrink our influence. When we release with trust, our impact multiplies.

The hidden cost of “having it all” is losing the stillness that lets you see what truly matters.

So pause. Service your soul before it breaks. Let your house stay open even when you are away. Lead as if everything you hold is borrowed grace.

Because life to the fullest was never about possession.

It was always about participation, with God, with people, with purpose.

And in that participation lies the paradox that redefines it all.

The more you give away, the fuller your life becomes.