Lessons from humble beginnings

I was born in 1968 in a place called Chan Wing Estate, a small settlement in the village of Jagoh, Johor. You’ve probably never heard of it. Back then, you could count the number of proper roads on one hand, and most of these roads turned to mud when the monsoons came.

There was no post office. No police station. No clinic. In fact, my home had no running water or electricity, straddling the line between civilization and wilderness. Of course, I wasn’t aware of any of this back then. For a good part of my growing-up years, it was simply my home.

The youngest of ten

I was the youngest in a family of ten children. My parents were rubber tappers, working on other people’s land. Work was grueling and everyone was expected to help out. This meant the typical day started at 4am, when the latex flowed best. We’d head out into the dark with our oil lamps, collection cups, and knives. By 6am, the children rushed back, changing quickly for school.

There was a special bond in the village. Some days, our parents would direct us to help tap trees that didn’t belong to us. Other days, when someone fell ill, neighbors would quietly appear to help. Nobody kept score or complained. It just happened.

Though nobody had much, everyone shared what they had. If a neighbor caught a fish, we got a taste. When a patch of cassava grew well, the basket went from house to house. If a roof leaked, half the village would show up with hammers and makeshift ladders. We never called it fancy names like generosity or community spirit. It was just how things worked.

The light that drove away the dark

Being the youngest, I was pampered by my mother. When I came in first academically in my first year of school, she told me that I wouldn’t need to help with the rubber tapping if I continued to top my class. This prompted me to work incredibly hard, and I went on to top my class year after year until Primary 6, when I scored straight As in all subjects. This had never happened at my school before.

Why did I work so hard? The truth was, I was absolutely terrified of the dark as a young boy. I feared what lay in the shadows, or of snakes that might be hiding in ambush. But darkness was all you had at 4am. So I took my mother’s words to heart and studied furiously.

I believe it was those initial years at Chan Wing Estate that shaped a big part of me. I studied by an oil lamp in the fading light of dusk, amid the smell of wood smoke from makeshift, open kitchens and the sound of laughter echoing between houses. No electricity or running water, not even a proper desk or a quiet room.

Those early years set the stage for what came next and built my determination from a tender age. Years later, when I had the opportunity to go overseas for my university education, I was ready. I’d learned how to succeed with nothing but sheer grit.

Be the round log

You know how when you look back in time, there are one or two things your parents told you that you somehow never forget? My mother was a petite woman with quiet strength. She once said: “Don’t be a square block. Be a round log that rolls” (圆木会滚，方木卡死)

When I was young, I thought she meant trees. It was only much later that I understood she was teaching me about resilience. You see, people who are flexible, open-minded, and willing to adapt can move through life’s many challenges. But those who are rigid, stubborn, or inflexible often find themselves stuck.

This advice has encouraged me through years of ups and downs. Each time I hit a wall, often against insurmountable odds, I could almost hear her gentle voice: “Be a round log.”

Somewhere, I like to think, my mother is still smiling that quiet, knowing smile, watching her youngest roll along life’s uneven road. Not always smoothly or even steadily, but always making progress, always moving forward.