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Letting Go While Holding On: A Parent’s Reflection on My Daughter’s First Year in Independent Secondary School

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As the world steps into a new year, my daughter steps into a new chapter of her life—starting Form 1 at an independent secondary school. New uniform designs, new teachers, new friends, and a completely new environment now shape her daily routine. For her, it is a fresh beginning. For me, it is a quiet lesson in learning how to let go. Choosing an Independent Secondary School We have had our eyes on this school for several years. The decision was not made lightly. Like many parents, we considered one fundamental question: how do we best protect and prepare our child’s future? This is not to say that government schools are bad. In fact, their low—or even zero—school fees have played an essential role in ensuring that generations of children can read, write, and count. That alone is a remarkable achievement. However, the independent school our daughter attends aims for more than the basics. Its focus extends to discipline, social development, employability, and academic excell...
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Unsubscribing Netflix: Choosing Growth Over Comfort

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I recently made a decision that felt surprisingly heavy: I unsubscribed from Netflix. On the surface, it sounds trivial. It’s just a streaming service. But in reality, it marked the removal of the one habit that quietly filled my empty pockets of time—time that I kept promising myself I would use for self‑improvement. Practising music. Learning a foreign language. Reading books I had bought with genuine excitement, only to let them gather dust. Making this choice was tough. Almost immediately, life felt emptier than before. When distractions are stripped away, silence can feel uncomfortable. Minimalism teaches us that we do not need much, but it rarely talks about the emotional adjustment that comes with subtraction. Over time, I have embraced a minimalist lifestyle. I shop less because I no longer seek joy in buying things I don’t truly need. I work out without expensive gym memberships; most days, my only cost is fuel for a ten‑minute round trip to a nearby stadium for a ...
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The Job I Resented—Until It Paid for My Freedom

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There was a stretch of time when I genuinely resented my job. Not the casual, end-of-day kind of frustration, but the deep exhaustion that settles into your bones when you’ve worked more than 30 days straight without a real break. No pause. No reset. Just work bleeding into the next day, over and over again. At its core, the job was draining because of how much was expected of me. My boss wanted everything under the sun—bigger ideas, better execution, and results that outperformed competitors at every turn. Ambition in itself isn’t the problem. The problem was that while the standards kept climbing, the support didn’t. Instead, responsibilities meant for three people were quietly dumped onto me alone, as if that were normal, or sustainable. Then came last year’s so-called “promotion.” On paper, it looked like progress. In reality, it added a new layer of stress I hadn’t asked for. I was suddenly responsible for managing at least ten part-timers, many of whom behaved less li...
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After Survival: How a Hurt but Successful Child Might Meet His Father Again

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Now that you are grown, what do you do with the parent who hurt you—and also sacrificed for you? For many adult children, success does not bring closure. It brings distance, clarity, and an uncomfortable power shift . The father who once controlled the household now ages. The child who once endured now earns, decides, and lives independently. And somewhere between obligation and resentment, a relationship continues—uneasy, unresolved. So how should a hurt but successful child react to his father now? First: by letting go of the need to rewrite the past There is a temptation to wait for acknowledgment—an apology that fully understands the harm, a confession that makes sense of the pain. But many parents, especially those shaped by poverty, violence, or rigid cultural expectations, are unable to articulate remorse in the language their children need. The adult child does not need his father to fully understand in order to heal. Closure does not require agreement. It requires acceptance t...
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Growing Up “Fine”: When Survival Is Mistaken for Success

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Perhaps the more honest answer is this: two things can be true at once. A parent can try and still fail. A child can succeed and still hurt. Gratitude does not require silence, and understanding does not erase accountability.                                                From the outside, it looked like a good home. A parent in a respectable government job. A schoolteacher—someone entrusted to shape young minds, teach discipline, patience, and good values. Stable income. Moral authority. In the eyes of relatives, neighbors, and society, this child was lucky. He was expected to grow up well, to be guided properly, to become someone stable and successful. And in many ways, he did. He finished tertiary education . He found a good job. His salary was above average. On paper, this is a success story—the kind often used to prove that hardship builds character. But memory is...
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Location: Indonesia
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“He Is My Dog”: When Ownership Is Mistaken for Absolute Power

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It happened in a veterinary clinic , a place meant for care, patience, and trust. A five-year-old dog — healthy, alert, but clearly anxious — was due for a routine vaccination . Like many dogs, he resisted. He pulled back, tensed up, refused to stay still. Anyone who has owned a dog long enough knows this scene well: the unfamiliar smells, the cold table, the needle he doesn’t understand. To the husband, this was enough to walk away. He declared the process a hassle. The dog was uncooperative, the moment inconvenient. Why go through the stress when it could simply be avoided? His wife disagreed. She asked him to wait. She offered to hold the dog. The clinic staff stepped in calmly, explaining they could manage — that patience, reassurance, and proper handling usually make all the difference. This was not unusual. This was part of the job. But something shifted. Instead of relief, the husband’s frustration escalated into emotion. His face hardened. His voice rose. What could have been a...
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Location: Kota Kinabalu, Sabah, Malaysia
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When Time Slips Through My Fingers

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  She has finished primary school . Just like that. My daughter is 12, turning 13 — standing at the doorway of secondary school , with a confidence that surprises me and a gentleness that still feels familiar.  I teared up thinking about the years it took to get here: the sleepless nights, the scraped knees, the lunches packed in a rush, the conversations before bedtime that stretched longer than planned.  Somehow, all of that shaped her into this beautiful young lady. There are moments when I wish she were still the baby I once held so closely. Moments when I wish I were still the mother she always needed — the center of her small universe.  But when I watch her laugh with her friends, fully present in their companionship, I understand that her world has expanded. She has new priorities now, and that is exactly how it should be. Secondary school awaits her, and I know it will be demanding — packed schedules, new expectations, new pressures.  Im growing as well....
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