Five Star Billionaire: A Novel by Tash Aw Page A

questions about my private circumstances. Did I find it difficult to sustain relationships because of my punishing schedule? What did I look for in a partner? Was it true that I was so dedicated to my work that I had broken off not one but two engagements in the past? Had I even cut off contact with close family members? What about rumors that I’d changed my name to make myself appear more Westernized? She kept calling me “Walter,” in that familiar way that young people do these days, assuming it would be fine to address me by my first name rather than by “Mr. Chao.” I asked if it was truly necessary to obtain this information from me. She shrugged and said that her editor had asked her for a “personal angle” to the story. So incensed was I by this intrusion that I ordered the feature article to be reduced to a mere footnote in the business pages. Then, as an afterthought, I asked for even that small vignette to be deleted altogether. (There is a postscript to this, because, a few years ago, when the newspaper was ailing, I bought it and fired the editor who had commissioned the interview. He was in his sixties and ready for retirement, anyway.)
    I have never done anything for the sake of public acclaim. Even my books have been written under a pseudonym. I want to inspire people—
you
—not because I seek gratitude or glory but because I gain immense pleasure just from the knowledge that I might be able to help them, to change their lives. Giving without receiving, that is what truly satisfies me. In all the years of working hard, of the accumulation of huge wealth, I admit that I sometimes lost sight of this sentiment of charity, which is why I sometimes felt exhausted and dispirited and negative—as I suspect you do on occasion after a long, fruitless day at work. Maybe your boss has not acknowledged your talent and dedication. Maybe your clients are late in paying you. Maybe the taxman is being uncooperative. Maybe a colleague you thought was a friend is now brownnosing his way ahead of you. Maybe you’ve come home after a nightmarish day in the office and your partner hasn’t done the washing up or made you dinner. Yes, it is dispiriting. But only if you are working for yourself, if you are seeking
praise
. Let go of this neediness. Say to yourself: I am not working for glory but for the joy of it. One day—soon—I will be dead, and who will remember my petty little promotion to assistant executive managing subdirector then?
    Work to help others.
    Elevate yourself from trivia.
    That is the only way to true greatness.
    All this brings me to the question of how best to leave my legacy without being thrust into the limelight. It is sad that even philanthropy these days is tied to celebrity, but I have to accept that this is the world we live in. Reluctantly, therefore, I might have to accept the accolades that will surely accompany my project. There are still many details to be ironed out before I can announce the nature of my venture, but for now I can reveal that it will be a sort of community center to benefit the young, the poor—all those who need nourishment, for either their stomachs or their minds or spirits.
    The idea comes to me because, looking back at my own underprivileged childhood, I realize that the village school that I attended between the ages of six and twelve carried an importance far beyond its modest proportions. Its three classrooms and tin roof were typical of primary schools in rural Malaysia at the time, but it was also supported by wealthy benefactors, which meant that we had generators to power the ceiling fans and provide lighting during the monsoons, when the storms were at their fiercest and the feeble electricity supply most vulnerable to power cuts. There was a paved lane leading to it from the main road that carved its way through the jungle, and at the confluence of the two there was a bus shelter so that we could remain dry from the rain while waiting for the bus,