1. Legacy Starts Before You Die
This morning, we visited Ah Kong and Ah Ma’s resting place.
They weren’t always “ancestors.”
They were once the people who sat with us, teased us, made jokes we rolled our eyes at.
Now, they’re stories we carry.
Standing at their tombs, I was reminded again:
We walk into hospitals with two and leave with three — a +1 moment.
But one day, we’ll leave a gathering with X -1 one.
Death is the most unpredictable guest.
And that makes life — the in-between — sacred.
Later, I brought my uncle to visit our school site. He’s a brilliant fine artist, but for years, he resisted preserving his work — maybe out of humility, maybe because he didn’t think it would matter.
But today, something shifted.
I told him:
“It’s not about keeping paintings. It’s about preserving meaning. These are not just your works — they’re windows for future generations to discover purpose.”
To my surprise, he agreed — not out of pride, but out of love.
He said:
“I hope this plan will benefit the school.”
And I told him: Of course it will.
We’re talking about thousands of lives.
I won’t build anything that ends with me.
But if one decision can ripple into a thousand?
Then it’s not optional. It’s a responsibility.
Legacy doesn’t start when you die. It starts when you live for something bigger than yourself.
2. Legacy Is Built, Not Just Remembered
This year, I didn’t just follow the tradition. I leaned into it.
We drove hours across the country to visit those directly tied to us, like Ahma — and others like Taima, who represent something more symbolic. The stories I hear of them are mostly secondhand.
But secondhand stories, when listened to deeply, become first-person revelations.
That’s what happened on this trip.
Rich conversations with my dad. Heartfelt ones with Uncle Sem.
Moments that made every mile worth it.
At BLSports yesterday, someone said:
“Feels like another reunion already.”
They were right. Legacy does that — it reconnects past, present, and possibility.
Now, I have the once-in-a-lifetime chance to design a school campus from the ground up.
So I asked:
“Why not weave the LOH Legacy into its foundations?”
We’re planning an art gallery — not just to showcase Uncle Sem’s work, but to frame the soul of who we are. A place where stories breathe, and purpose lives.
Uncle Sem lit up. So did my dad. That’s the power of shared purpose — it brings dormant joy back to life.
Now we’re going further.
We’re documenting everything:
- Video interviews
- Written memoirs
- Archival preservation
Starting with Uncle Sem, then my dad, Dagu, Laogu — every voice matters.
A respected Malaysian publisher is already on board.
Why? Because this matters:
- Self-Identity for the Next Gen — So our kids don’t forget who they are.
- Love Transferred Across Generations — This is our kind of church.
- Intentional Preservation — Egypt is remembered because they preserved. We must too.
3. Mastery Lives in the Backstep
That evening, my mentor called. He was in town from KL.
His suggestion? Pickleball.
At first, I laughed. The name alone. The game sounded like a party trick — oversized ping pong.
But I was wrong. It humbled me.
I had the hand-eye coordination.
But I lacked composure. Positioning. Patience.
My mentor saw it right away:
“You’re too far in. Step back.”
It wasn’t just coaching. It was symbolic.
I was chasing every ball. Reacting, not reading. Forcing, not flowing.
And it clicked:
Mastery isn’t speed. It’s rhythm.
It’s knowing when to step back so the game doesn’t pass you by.
“You don’t rise to your goals. You fall to your habits. Only reflected repetition becomes progress.”
4. Gentle Strength Wins the Long Game
I kept missing shots. My partner, Vee Keat, never flinched.
Every time:
“It’s okay. Try again.”
No frustration. No blame. Just quiet confidence.
And slowly — I found rhythm.
That’s when I saw it:
Growth doesn’t come from pressure. It comes from patience.
“You don’t lead by pushing people harder. You lead by pacing them wiser.”
This is true in parenting.
In coaching.
In life.
I’ve caught myself expecting too much, too fast from my kids.
But gentle strength has shown me:
- Consistency beats intensity
- Control is rhythm, not force
- Leadership isn’t about dominating the moment. It’s about shaping the momentum
Pickleball taught me that.
The soft game wins the long game.
Final Reflection: What’s the Real Score?
The day began with tomb sweeping.
It ended with pickleball sweat, late supper, and a full heart.
The question I’m still holding:
“Is my next move just good for me — or good for the many it may touch?”
Because that’s the real scorecard.
Not how much I’ve achieved.
But how much I’ve transferred.
Between the +1s and -1s of life…
That’s where legacy lives.
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