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I’ve always prided myself on being a team player, embracing the idea of teamwork as an essential ingredient for success. But lately, I’ve started to notice the cracks in this seemingly perfect ideology. Teamwork, I’ve come to realise, can sometimes be a convenient disguise for sheep mentality, groupthink, and the pursuit of inclusion without merit. A recent experience brought this into sharp focus. My pastry chef—someone I deeply respect for their expertise and precision—was faced with a dilemma. The sales and marketing team had strong opinions about the design of a showpiece cake we were preparing. Their suggestions were well-meaning but lacked the technical knowledge that comes with professional training. Still, they were united in their stance, confident their ideas would achieve the desired effect.  Initially, my instinct was to back the chef entirely. They knew better. But then I considered the bigger picture: the delicate ecosystem of harmony within the group. So, I persuaded the

Consider this: one who leads a hundred men will find himself, by extension, sharing in the lives of a hundred souls. To lead is not merely to direct or oversee; it is to assume responsibility for the joys, sufferings, and burdens of each under one’s care. And thus, to lead well, one must cultivate a spirit vast enough to accommodate the great multitude of human conditions that life inevitably presents. A leader may command the minds of many, but he is also bound to their hearts. Someone’s father may indeed be nearing his final breaths, someone’s daughter may be weeping in distress, and another may be singing in joy at their wedding. Each event is a current in the great river of life, pulling us into empathy and understanding. The leader must stand firm in this river, feeling each movement and ripple yet remaining rooted. In this way, a leader’s heart must become as a vast reservoir: deep enough to receive both sorrow and joy without judgment and wide enough to hold these many lives tog

Reflect, then, that the sting of exclusion often wounds only my pride, which bids me crave recognition. Ostracism, a silent hand that I grasp myself, is but the echo of a misguided attachment to what does not align with my inner resolve. For what virtue lies in yearning for bonds with those who neither honor my values nor wish to see me thrive? Such friendships weigh like stones on my spirit, false anchors to ideals we never truly shared. Instead, I seek a circle that uplifts, in both kindness and principle, those who walk the path with genuine care for my growth and stability. To know a friend is to know they, too, cherish the same virtue, the same integrity, and find joy in my prosperity as if it were their own. Those who do not nourish this bond are but passersby, and releasing them is not loss, but wisdom. Yet, I will not let this departure obscure the joy of what once was. What we shared—those good moments—belong always to memory and cannot be taken away. They are as embers that o

At a young age—around 15 years old—I encountered a conundrum. I was a helpful kid, always taking pride in assisting strangers in malls, on the streets, wherever I could. One day, someone asked me, “What if you’re taken advantage of? What if they lead you into an alley and rob you?” After thinking for a while, I answered, “Then I’ll be strong enough to be taken advantage of, to be robbed, and still help the next stranger I meet.” This thought process has guided me ever since. I don’t want to become the kind of person who stops helping others because I got scammed once. I aim to be strong enough to face loss without being diminished by it. I strive to accumulate enough wealth to endure theft once or twice and to need so little that loss becomes irrelevant. This is how I have chosen to live. I am not fazed by threats to my way of life simply because I decide to be helpful. I have seen enough to trust that people will intervene when they witness injustice, sincerity, or need. I intend to b

Over the past decade, I’ve navigated two cycles of crypto hype, dabbled in higher-risk stocks, and carefully avoided real estate due to its liquidity issues. As a young investor with a high tolerance for risk, my journey has been shaped by both ambition and inexperience. I’ve read the classics—Lynch, Buffet, Graham, Damodaran—and taken courses to sharpen my understanding of company valuations. Despite this, the reality of investing has taught me lessons beyond the pages of any book. One piece of advice I frequently hear is, " Markets can stay irrational longer than you can stay solvent. " There’s truth to this, but I see it differently. Markets may appear irrational in the short term, but prolonged irrationality suggests that I may not have accessed all the necessary information. This is why I emphasise investing in transparent companies, where I can fully understand their operations, financial health, and future prospects. Access to reliable information allows me to make inf

Life often unfolds like a game—an intricate series of moves, calculated risks, and outcomes that seem unpredictable. From my earliest years, I have engaged with rules, competition, and challenges, whether on the playground, on a board, or before a screen. As I have grown, the games have become more complex. Now the arenas are corporate boardrooms, office politics, and social negotiations. The stakes are higher, but the mechanics remain familiar to me. I reflect on a particular moment from my time as a Deloitte consultant. In a firm defined by its vast structures and competitive culture, I decided to "play my resignation card" as a threat in 2017. The move was not without consequence. It opened new doors, landing me my first overseas project—a venture that broadened my perspective. Yet, despite this gain, it did little to move me up the ranks. After a second failed attempt at promotion, I resigned for real. I remember the conversation with the consulting partner. I told him, &

In the heart of Daoism (道教) lies the profound concept of "wu wei" (无为), often translated as "non-action" or "doing nothing." This principle, however, is not about inactivity or laziness; rather, it speaks to a deeper understanding of action that aligns with the natural flow of the universe. To "do nothing" in the Daoist sense is to act in harmony with the Dao, the natural order, where actions are effortless because they follow the intrinsic patterns of life. The Daoist Principle of Wu Wei In Daoism, the universe operates through a balance of forces, where everything has its time and place. The concept of wu wei encourages individuals to step back, observe, and allow events to unfold naturally. This does not mean inaction but rather action that is timely, appropriate, and minimalistic, avoiding unnecessary force or resistance. As Lao Tzu wrote in the Tao Te Ching, "The sage does not act, yet nothing is left undone." Applying Wu Wei in Le

I'm 600 pages into Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes, and boy, what a journey it has been. In Chapter XVIII of Part 2, I came across the idea that Don Quixote became a knight-errant because he wanted others to believe in knight-errantries. It broke his heart as he grew into adulthood that he never encountered any knights like those from the tales of the past, so he took it upon himself to become one. This realization made me think deeply about the idea of Don Quixote himself. While much of his behavior is silly and can be harmful to those around him, he simply wanted the world to believe in magic, valiant knights who save the land, and the nobility of duty and love. What a burden he placed upon himself, and although most people just brushed him off as crazy, the few whose eyes he managed to make sparkle with wonder were certainly touched by his vision. He brought them out of the normalcy we've all grown accustomed to. And all it took was just one "Sancho Panza" to be

As I cycled to work on a crisp morning, the familiar route took an unexpected turn. Stopped at a traffic light behind a cluster of motorcycles, I settled in for what I assumed would be a brief wait. However, the dance of lights before us began to take on a peculiar rhythm. Green became orange, then red for the opposing lane. The perpendicular street had its moment of glory before surrendering to red once more. To my bewilderment, the cycle repeated, bypassing our lane entirely. I glanced around, noticing the darkening expressions of fellow commuters. Muffled curses drifted through partially open windows as frustration mounted. Time was on my side that day, so I observed with patience. Yet, as the pattern persisted, even my composure began to waver. It was then that my gaze fell upon an inconspicuous cut-out section of the road – a modest 3 by 1-meter rectangle that often escapes notice. The motorcycles, courteous in their positioning, had left this crucial space unoccupied. Enlightenme

In the tapestry of life, we often find ourselves woven far from the vibrant, curious beings we once were as children. This original state—our "Primordial self"—represents a wellspring of creativity, authenticity, and potential that many of us have lost touch with over time. As we grow, three major forces work in concert to erode our connection to our Primordial self. Well-meaning parents, in their effort to guide and protect, often inadvertently shape their children according to their own image or societal expectations, stifling natural inclinations and self-expression. The educational system, with its focus on standardization, drills conformity into young minds, teaching them to fit in rather than stand out. Finally, the demands of work culture and the relentless "rat race" force individuals to prioritize external measures of success over personal fulfillment, further disconnecting them from their authentic selves. This gradual disconnection from our Primordial sel