‘Love is not simply a feeling but a decision to care, forgive, and endure. It is the courage to accept others flaws and the strength to stand together, even when the world feels heavy against you.’
– Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821-1881) Russian novelist
It is around the close of the year that I try to slow down a little and engage in activities that bring happiness without any external goals or pressures.
One of my favourite ways of doing that is catching up on standup comedy shows I missed earlier this year.
Laughter always helps me recharge, but I also enjoy balancing it with something more reflective.
That’s where my head was on Christmas Eve while waiting for a flight to Singapore.
Nose-deep in my laptop, I barely noticed someone approaching until a voice broke through.
“Well, well, well. The Medici himself, live and in person. What are the odds? ”
I looked up to see a smiling woman who introduced herself as a managing director at an investment bank in Kuala Lumpur.
What started as a friendly hello slowly snowballed into a full-blown conversation—life, family, a touch of gossip and a spontaneous mini debate where I, almost effortlessly, tore apart the mathematical models of a sovereign wealth fund.
Not to brag, but it was fun.
It was only later that I realised she wasn’t just a casual reader of my column.
Her team of quants and derivatives traders had been poring over my so-called ‘extreme’ modelling strategies—those subversive methods I figured were quietly slipping under the regulatory radar.
She didn’t mince words either.
She called my work original, effective, and—without a hint of irony—borderline illegal.
I had to stifle a chuckle behind my hand.
It wasn’t all that surprising, she continued.
She quickly spelled out how elite Goldmanite quants like me have always had a reputation for pushing the envelope aggressively—championing laissez-faire economics, high-frequency trading (HFT), insider trading and short selling as if they were some kind of religion.
“Everyone was like, ‘What the hell happened there? How’s that even possible?’” she said, recollecting her reaction to an infamous market dip.
It was partly triggered by one of my ‘stealth’ models — disguised as a technical glitch, a rogue trading algorithm, or maybe just an epic market overreaction.
I assumed no one had pieced it together.
I was mistaken.
That Friday morning, the index plunged 9 per cent in less than 60 seconds—setting a new personal best—leaving their portfolio in shambles.
They’ve been nursing those massive losses ever since.
She also brought up my controversial piece on banking valuation methods and my call to abolish the Financial Services Act (FSA) 2013.
Some had branded it a threat.
Others thought it was pure talent.
The list of provocations went on—most of which I’d nearly forgotten—and she seemed to relish recounting them.
Just as the boarding announcement rang out, she rummaged through her bag and pulled out two books: Oscar Wilde’s The Soul of Man and Prison Writings.
I should give these a read, she suggested, handing them over.
She thought it perfectly aligned with my convictions and would make a good read.
I blushed—guilty as charged—and promised I would, tucking the books under my arm as we exchanged goodbyes.
Somewhere between takeoff and touchdown, curiosity got the better of me.
I started flipping through Wilde’s work.
There’s one particular passage discussing selfishness that offers a thought-provoking reflection—exactly what I needed at that moment.
Part of the passage reads:
“Selfishness is not living as one wishes to live; it is asking others to live as one wishes to live. And unselfishness is letting other people’s lives alone, not interfering with them. … A red rose is not selfish because it wants to be a red rose. It would be horribly selfish if it wanted all the other flowers in the garden to be both red and roses.”
In a world that often feels polarised, these words feel timelier than ever.
They remind us that true love isn’t about moulding others to fit our expectations; it’s about allowing space for others to be as they are in the true spirit of inclusion.
There’s something quite profound in the act of seeing each other – really seeing each other – and saying, “I accept you, just as you are”.
It’s what good friends and supportive family members do as a matter of course.
Thinking about my friends and close family members, I feel a huge sense of gratitude toward them for patiently accepting me as I am and, at the same time, encouraging me whenever I try something new or think about changing course in some important way.
In fact, of those I consider to be part of my inner circle, I can’t recall any of them saying something like, “That doesn’t sound like you – why would you want to do that?” or “That’s no good, what you should do is…”.
Of course, if I’m ever on the verge of bending rules—and let’s be honest, that happens a lot in my line of work, sometimes at a steep cost—they’d all soon make their opinions clear (as anyone who cares for us would).
Because if there’s one lesson I’ve picked up along the way, it’s that regret comes not from trying and failing, but from hesitating.
The last thing I want is to look back one day and wonder: Why didn’t I just go for it?
Thankfully, they accept that no two people are the same and, rather than try to control others around them, they accept and embrace different ways of being.
It’s one of the best gifts we can give to someone – and it costs nothing.
We often hear buzzwords such as inclusion and belonging, and yet our actions can lead to the opposite of these qualities.
To include someone, to make them feel like they belong, is to welcome them as they are so that they know they have a seat at the table without having to mould themselves into someone they’re not.
I’m not particularly religious, but there’s a well-known saying in the Christian tradition: “Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?”
It’s one of those phrases that always stick with me.
My Bahá’í wife offers a slightly different perspective.
In her faith, there’s no belief in a malevolent being such as the devil, the concept is used as a metaphor to describe our less refined qualities.
One such definition is, the insistent self, describing rigidity in our thinking, and expectations that people and things should be a certain way according to how we feel they should be.
What a gift it is to have people in our lives who allow us the space and flexibility to be ourselves – and hopefully we’re able to offer that gift in turn to the people we know.
This, perhaps, is the true spirit of generosity – not just during this season, but in all our interactions, all year round.
It’s a way of being that enriches not only our relationships but our sense of self.
This might manifest as really listening to a family member’s wishes or struggles without offering unsolicited advice, or intentionally letting go of how we expect someone to be.
In the end, the most complete expression of the Christmas and New Year spirits might be: To live and let live, to listen to others as they are, not as we see them; and to allow each other the freedom and space to be ourselves.
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of Sarawak Tribune.
