A Day That Didn’t Go to Plan but Changed Everything

It was just past midnight. June 20, 2025. A day that didn’t go according to plan. I went to Stellar twice and never made it into the office. But somehow, this day turned out to be one of the most meaningful I’ve had in a long time. Not because of what I achieved, but because of who I encountered. Not in their strength, but in their struggles. Their stories weren’t clean or polished. But they were real. And in that realness, I saw the kind of leadership that books rarely talk about.

The Faithfulness That Doesn’t Make the Headlines

It started with a conversation with Samuel’s parents. Older. Wiser. Not perfect. But still showing up. Still serving. Still giving their lives for something bigger than themselves. I didn’t agree with every approach. But I couldn’t deny the weight of their love. The kind of love that doesn’t retreat just because things get inconvenient. The kind of faithfulness that quietly keeps going, even when it no longer feels efficient. It reminded me that leadership isn’t always about skill. Sometimes, it’s about staying.

Vision Over Buildings. Intention Over Time.

Later, I met with a young man. Half in the world of physiotherapy, half exploring property development. He shared how our conversation opened his eyes. He had always thought schools were about buildings. He never considered the weight of vision, the depth of purpose behind them. What struck me was not just his interest, but his surprise. To him, it was new that someone would approach education not as infrastructure, but as transformation. He admired how we see things differently. And I told him something I wish someone had told me earlier: stability doesn’t come automatically with time. It comes with intention. Years alone don’t grow people. Choices do.

The Mercy That Made Stellar Possible

Then came lunch with our landlord aunty. She’s not just family. She’s the landlord of our very first preschool. But more than that, she is part of our legacy. When others rented units at RM1,700, she offered it to us for RM1,400. Not because she didn’t understand money, but because she understood trust. That extra RM300 each month wasn’t a discount. It was an investment in peace. Her entire business philosophy is quiet, loyal, and long-term. And she lives it. During the MCO, she called me herself and told me she would cut our rent in half. Not because we asked. Just because she cared. I didn’t know what to say. You don’t meet many landlords like that. You don’t meet many people like that.

But behind her generosity was a story of heartbreak. For years, she had prepared her son-in-law to take over the F&B business. Seven years of mentorship, guidance, and hope. And just like that, he walked away. No succession. No warning. Nothing. Her retirement plan dissolved overnight. Recently, she fell in Harbin and fractured her leg. Her husband is unwell too. And yet, she still shows up. She took the business back into her own hands. I saw the sadness in her eyes. But I also saw the strength. This woman, who many would call naïve or too kind, was the reason we could even start Stellar. Her weakness, in the eyes of the world, was actually her gift to us.

The Session That Reframed Weakness as Strength

And then came the evening. We hosted a GLS session at our place. The topic: “The Paradox of Leading from Weakness.” Joshua led the session. And I couldn’t believe how far he’s come. He shared vulnerably about growing up slow. Not academically strong. Always feeling behind. Always wondering why God made him that way. But that slowness, he said, became his superpower. Because it taught him patience. Because it allowed him to walk with others who learn slowly. Because it made him gentle with people the world often overlooks.

That moment felt holy. Not because it was dramatic. But because it was true. His leadership wasn’t built on achievement. It was built on empathy. And that kind of leadership doesn’t just lead people. It heals them.

When Brokenness Becomes a Platform

We then watched the story of Joni Eareckson Tada. A woman who became paralyzed in a diving accident, and whose ministry has since reached millions. She asked the question, “Why me?” out of 1.3 billion disabled people. The answer didn’t come in the form of healing. It came in the form of purpose. Her wheelchair became her platform. Her paralysis became her pulpit. And she said something I’ll never forget: “Your weakness and your discouragement are actually your best assets.” Not because suffering is glamorous. But because in suffering, you have nothing left to prove. You lead from your soul, not your script.

Leadership, I’m learning, isn’t about certainty. It’s about presence. Not about having all the answers. But being willing to sit with someone who has none. Joni’s story reminded me of David, Gideon, Peter. Men who failed. Men who fell. Men who feared. And yet, they led. Not in spite of their weaknesses. But because of them.

The Walk That Felt Like Legacy

After the session, a few of us went for a walk. Ryan. Yvonne. Joe. Joshua. And me. Five people. Five lives intertwined. There’s that quote that you become the average of the five people you spend the most time with. But that night, I didn’t feel like an average. I felt like a witness. To something deeper. A community where performance wasn’t the glue. Purpose was.

Joe stayed over that night. Not for business. Just to be. And in that quietness, in that ordinary moment, I felt it again. This is what we’re really building. Not just campuses. But capacity. Not just systems. But souls. Not just programs. But people.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

The opposite of leadership isn’t failure. It’s self-preservation disguised as strength.

We are taught to lead with confidence. But real trust is built when someone dares to lead with their scars still visible.

We try so hard to appear competent. Yet the leaders we remember most are the ones who chose honesty over image. They didn’t impress us by being flawless. They moved us by being real.

What if your lowest moment was not the end of your leadership story, but the beginning of your credibility?

What if your limp is the very reason someone else believes they can keep walking?

That is the power of weakness. Not as something to overcome, but as something to offer. Because when you lead from what almost broke you, you help others find the strength to rise.

That is legacy. And it begins at the exact point you once tried to hide.