which came by only three times a day. I was lucky, for my journey beyond where the bus deposited me was only twenty minutes long, on paths that rarely got flooded. Others had to walk more than an hour over muddy terrain with tracks that often got washed out by the rain.
None of us was ever earmarked for greatness. From birth, we were the also-rans of life’s great race, kept afloat because we were human and because someone—thank God—could not bear to let us wither away and die. So rich people paid for us to have the basics, salving their consciences, thinking that they were doing the bare minimum and nothing more. They never thought that their small acts of mercy would produce anything remarkable. They did not believe that, among those they had written off as menial and pathetic and worthy of only pity, there would be one who would rise to glory.
Some might say that my beginnings are irrelevant; that, wherever I came from, a man like me would still have been a success. Who I am today cannot be attributed to that little school. But that would be ungenerous, and I wish toacknowledge those early days, because when I look back at them I feel something. Not much, but a faint glow of recognition nonetheless.
Despite the charitable nature of its aims, my project will not be modest. It will not be a modern version of the old village school. Its reach will be wide and deep and long lasting. A hundred years from now, its beneficial impact should still be felt. Every venture needs a physical space, its own village school, as it were. I think I know where mine will be situated—I’ve drawn up a short list of cities—and I am in the process of considering a suitable architect. At the moment I am leaning toward Rem Koolhaas, or perhaps Zaha Hadid. Someone iconic, in any case, whose work, like mine, will last well into the future.
When planning any venture, always think of how it will be remembered by future generations.
Always think of how
you
will be remembered.
3.
BRAVELY SET THE WORLD ON FIRE
G ARY WON A TALENT COMPETITION TWO MONTHS SHORT OF HIS seventeenth birthday. It was a small provincial affair in the north of Malaysia, not very professional, but it enabled him to move down to the capital to take part in a bigger contest, which was televised on all the main channels. The finale was watched by nearly four million people, and more than two million voted by SMS. At the time, Gary was amazed by these figures. He came from a town of two hundred and could not believe that so many people would ever listen to him sing. He performed three songs, one in Malay, one in Mandarin, and the final one in English—an arrangement of a Diana Ross song, the words of which he did not fully understand. He was the youngest contestant and was shining with the innocence of a boy recently arrived from the countryside. His hair was spiky and dyed with flame-colored streaks, which he had done himself. Recently he saw a video of this performance on YouTube and could not believe how bad he looked.
After the first song, the judges said that he had the voice of an angel. But even before that, from the moment he opened his mouth to sing the very first note, he knew he was going to win. He heard the strange pure sound of his voice amplified by the microphone in the vast auditorium, its echoes separated by a split second from the time he felt it in his throat. He recognized that the voice was his, but he felt distanced from it too. Itsounded as if it no longer belonged to him. In the audience, young girls were waving multicolored fluorescent batons that glowed in the dark. When he sang the love ballad in Mandarin, everyone screamed as he hit the high notes in the chorus. He felt the noise they made reverberating in his chest and rib cage, and he knew in that instant that his life was going to become confused and messy, full of privileges and sorrows he didn’t ask for.
He won by a landslide.
He did not have time to celebrate his victory, because
None of us was ever earmarked for greatness. From birth, we were the also-rans of life’s great race, kept afloat because we were human and because someone—thank God—could not bear to let us wither away and die. So rich people paid for us to have the basics, salving their consciences, thinking that they were doing the bare minimum and nothing more. They never thought that their small acts of mercy would produce anything remarkable. They did not believe that, among those they had written off as menial and pathetic and worthy of only pity, there would be one who would rise to glory.
Some might say that my beginnings are irrelevant; that, wherever I came from, a man like me would still have been a success. Who I am today cannot be attributed to that little school. But that would be ungenerous, and I wish toacknowledge those early days, because when I look back at them I feel something. Not much, but a faint glow of recognition nonetheless.
Despite the charitable nature of its aims, my project will not be modest. It will not be a modern version of the old village school. Its reach will be wide and deep and long lasting. A hundred years from now, its beneficial impact should still be felt. Every venture needs a physical space, its own village school, as it were. I think I know where mine will be situated—I’ve drawn up a short list of cities—and I am in the process of considering a suitable architect. At the moment I am leaning toward Rem Koolhaas, or perhaps Zaha Hadid. Someone iconic, in any case, whose work, like mine, will last well into the future.
When planning any venture, always think of how it will be remembered by future generations.
Always think of how
you
will be remembered.
3.
BRAVELY SET THE WORLD ON FIRE
G ARY WON A TALENT COMPETITION TWO MONTHS SHORT OF HIS seventeenth birthday. It was a small provincial affair in the north of Malaysia, not very professional, but it enabled him to move down to the capital to take part in a bigger contest, which was televised on all the main channels. The finale was watched by nearly four million people, and more than two million voted by SMS. At the time, Gary was amazed by these figures. He came from a town of two hundred and could not believe that so many people would ever listen to him sing. He performed three songs, one in Malay, one in Mandarin, and the final one in English—an arrangement of a Diana Ross song, the words of which he did not fully understand. He was the youngest contestant and was shining with the innocence of a boy recently arrived from the countryside. His hair was spiky and dyed with flame-colored streaks, which he had done himself. Recently he saw a video of this performance on YouTube and could not believe how bad he looked.
After the first song, the judges said that he had the voice of an angel. But even before that, from the moment he opened his mouth to sing the very first note, he knew he was going to win. He heard the strange pure sound of his voice amplified by the microphone in the vast auditorium, its echoes separated by a split second from the time he felt it in his throat. He recognized that the voice was his, but he felt distanced from it too. Itsounded as if it no longer belonged to him. In the audience, young girls were waving multicolored fluorescent batons that glowed in the dark. When he sang the love ballad in Mandarin, everyone screamed as he hit the high notes in the chorus. He felt the noise they made reverberating in his chest and rib cage, and he knew in that instant that his life was going to become confused and messy, full of privileges and sorrows he didn’t ask for.
He won by a landslide.
He did not have time to celebrate his victory, because
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