When Time Moves Faster Than We Do

Tonight is June 29th, 2025. It’s 8:59 p.m. and I’m still waiting. We thought Arielle would be here by now. We thought last night was it. But the baby is not yet ready, so it seems that today will not be Arielle’s birthday after all. Tomorrow, maybe. The waiting stretches you in a strange way. You feel the weight of time pressing forward and yet standing still. I keep wondering if thirty years from now, I will still feel this same tightness in my chest every time I see the clock run ahead of me. Probably. Time passes quickly, and nothing reminds me more than days like these.

When you sit and watch hours slip by, you start to ask yourself all the hard questions. What really counts? What do we really keep? The children feel it too. They told me today, “Dad, I thought we had four days of break? Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday.” They were so surprised at how quickly they vanished. So I sat them down and we counted: Thursday was SEYG Sports Day. Friday was breakfast with Gonggong and Popo and swimming. Saturday was breakfast again with the grandparents and then I brought them for jogging. Sunday, today, we went to Toppen. Four days. Gone. Time flies when you’re doing what matters. Or maybe it flies either way. You can’t stop it. You can only decide what deserves your minutes. That’s the tension I feel right now, as I sit here still waiting to cross the invisible line from a family of five to a family of six.

Two Conversations: A Leader, A Family, A Bet Worth Making

There were two conversations today that anchored this tension deeper for me. One was intentional. I sat down with our pioneer leader from Stellar Preschool KL, someone I deeply respect. She started out just with a heart to love children. And with time, maturity, and faithfulness, she grew into a leader we trusted to head a preschool. It has been two years now since she’s been in KL. Will she stay forever? I don’t know. Will she stay long enough to see the fruits of her labour? Maybe. Maybe not. But is it worth it? Absolutely.

I asked her if she can see the value of what she does, especially in this field where the financial reward is never the main motivator. If we can’t find meaning in the work, it’s impossible to last. Even at my level, sitting at the group level, balancing expansions, P&Ls, investments, it’s still true. I’ve watched founders who started schools for money. I’ve watched what happens when you treat education like a commodity. The school goes downhill, the culture rots, the families feel it. It’s obvious. The root of the tree dies, even if the branches still look green for a while.

So we talked about how to hold this tension. How to hold on when you’re called to stand in the gap. How to find the balance when you’re also a wife and a mother. Her husband’s work requires him to travel often. One day, he might have to leave. What then? He’s the truth: if three years is all we have together, I’m grateful. One year turned to two, turned to three. Every year is a bet. A bet worth making because people are worth building. That’s impact valuation. It doesn’t always match financial valuation. But I’d stake everything on the impact.

Later in the day, I had my second conversation, this one wordless, really. I brought my sons to Decathlon. Aden, my eldest, and Eann, my second boy. I watched them test out roller skates and sports equipment. I saw how Eann loves the energy of skating, how Aden rides his bicycle but holds back from the sweat. I thought: this is another bet. A bet on moments that feel small but stack up into decades of habit and health. I don’t push too hard. I just plant seeds. I keep telling Aden, it’s not a choice whether you live a healthy life. It’s your responsibility. I remind myself too: the way I lead them is the same tension I hold with my team. You don’t control outcomes. You keep showing up to build what you know is right.

What the World Counts, and What We Really Keep

Some years back, I sat with an investor who told me, out of good intention, “You know, the international school has better valuation than preschools. Investors will back you more if you scale that.” I get it. It makes sense on a spreadsheet. In Malaysia, and honestly across Southeast Asia, the early childhood sector is chronically undervalued. Teachers are underpaid, respect is low, turnover is high. But if you know what’s at stake, you see it differently. This is the secret weapon of any nation: the roots, not just the branches. If you don’t get this part right, if you don’t set the ABC of parenting, marriage, the child’s first experience of community, you’ll be forced to fix it later. And it will cost more than you think.

Sports days taught me that too. We held two sports days a week apart. For the older kids, some parents didn’t even show up. I don’t blame them. My parents never came to my sports days in secondary school either. But for the little ones, every parent was there. They weren’t just there to clap. They were there to stand close, to laugh, to hold. That is the invisible foundation no number on an investor deck can fully capture.

So yes. The world will always tell you: chase financial valuation. Maximise the P&L. Scale the model. But the real tension for an edupreneur is this. You’re building a business, yes, but you’re also building lives. The real P&L is People and Legacy. People built up, not burned out. Legacy planted, not sold short. Family strengthened, not traded for busyness. That’s the valuation that outlasts your annual reports.

When Enough Is Enough

I’ve learned that one of the quietest disciplines of a leader and a parent is knowing when enough is enough. It sounds so simple until you try to live it.

Just last night, my boys asked to watch “just one more” cartoon before bed. The first episode ended at 10:00 p.m. It was a Saturday, so I let it slide. But 10:00 became 10:30. 10:30 became 10:45. I reminded them once, then twice. By the time it was almost 11, I asked, “Isn’t that enough?” They looked at me, sheepish but still hungry for more.

That’s the thing about wants. They never say thank you when you feed them. They just grow bigger. A need, though, is honest. You eat until you’re full. You sleep until you’re rested. A need fulfilled ends the hunger. But a want can become a bottomless pit.

Sitting in the car after dinner, my wife reminded me again about this tension. Needs ground us. They make us grateful, satisfied, whole. Wants, if unguarded, turn us restless, dissatisfied, always chasing. The same applies at work, not just at home.

An investor says grow faster, push harder, stack more valuation. But what does your team need? What does your family need? What does your nation need? The hidden truth is that if you confuse a want for a need, you lose yourself to the bottomless chase.

I see it in my children too. My second son Eann, fearless on his skates, pushing his boundaries. My eldest son Aden, slower to warm up, needing gentle nudges to step outside his comfort zone. Both are teaching me: needs must be met. But wants must be led.

So when enough is enough, we stop. We close the screen. We put down the pen. We say, “This is it for today.” Not because we’re lazy. But because we’re faithful to guard what matters most.

Leadership Mirror

• Where in your life do you feed a want that never stops, and what would your children thank you for instead?
• Where have you confused a want for a need, and what would your children thank you for instead?
• What would it look like to draw a line that protects your people, your family, your health, and what would your children thank you for instead?

Hidden Paradox: A need fulfilled frees you. A want indulged owns you.

A Legacy Not For Sale

Tonight might be the last photo we take as a family of five. Tomorrow, Arielle might arrive. A new chapter begins, one I cannot fully predict, plan, or package for any investor. The truth is, time will keep moving faster than I can. And so the only thing I can do is keep deciding, again and again, what my real valuation is.

Sometimes that means buying a helmet for my son even if he insists he doesn’t need it. Sometimes it means sitting with a worthy leader and reminding her that her life’s impact is worth far more than tangible worth. Sometimes it means teaching my boys the difference between a need and a want, and showing them by living it first.

Because the world will always keep selling us “just one more.” More expansion. More screens. More profit. More applause. But what does it cost you if you feed it without limit?

I’ve seen what happens when you don’t draw the line. I’ve seen schools treated like commodities. I’ve seen leaders burn out, families drift apart, children look back and wonder where their parents went. And I’ve learned this: no title, no valuation, no headline is worth more than the people you build up along the way.

So I choose. Again and again. To count what the world overlooks. To value the roots more than the branches. To keep the profit in its place, never at the expense of people and legacy.

Tomorrow is coming, ready or not. But tonight, I’m still here. Waiting, watching, choosing what counts.

The Reverse That Redefines It All

You thought valuation was about profit.

You thought it was about what the world was willing to pay.

But the hidden truth is this: your real value is measured by who you’re willing to build, even if they only stay for a season.

You can’t stop time.

You can’t control every exit.

You can’t hold on to every number.

But you can decide, every day.

People first. Legacy always. And enough is enough.

When time runs ahead of you, hold what it cannot buy.

The greatest valuation is never for sale.