It occurs to me today that all the thoughts that have been running through my mind are partly because I have too much to lose.
I definitely know what it is like to have too little to lose.
Growing up, I was told consistently that where I was and what I was doing was far away from the definition of success and I needed to leave my country as soon as I had any opportunity, and I had to consistently seek out opportunities that would bring me overseas, so that I could become successful.
I come from a small town in Malaysia. I was told everyday that becoming successful was not guaranteed here, leave.
Every year I had classmates migrating to Australia or Singapore.
As a child, the best identity you could have was to be that student that was in the top 0.1% in the whole school, because you had higher chances of leaving your home country with good grades.
As a child, the most popular kids were kids with an American accent.
I had too little to lose, as a child growing up in a small town, Malaysia.
The school told you they were not good enough to set you up for success, hence they wanted you to go and learn in a different country.
The playground outside my house constantly had broken beer bottles on the ground. No one cleaned it, the government didn't clean it, there was no town council. You had feedbacks regarding the playground being unsafe for children? It was frowned upon. We were told to keep our mouths shut.
For the longest time, leaving the country became my identity, it happened subconsciously, it was a voice in my head, I never questioned it because I was not taught to question things.
I adopted the identity gracefully, obediently.
The year was 2022. Covid had just ended, borders were opening up, I had some hesitations, but the frustrations I had with KL were enough for me to take action.
I resigned, I packed my bags and left.
See, this is why it was easy to leave KL back then.
I had no strong friends' circle (having friends wasn't my focus at all because I was taught that the only thing worth my time was studying, and guess what I did after I became an adult? I replaced studying with working)
I had no network (it wasn't as competitive where I was, and it was the tech bull market when job security was still a thing so networking was not important)
I had no hobbies (gym, music, volunteering, hiking were inaccessible because I did not own a car and hobbies are more expensive back home because the purchasing power is lower)
I had no opportunity to meet new people, or do new things (these habits that I later on found to be healthy for my mental wellbeing were not taught growing up, I don't recall going anywhere new as a child, let alone experiencing new things)
Now disclaimer — I do think I had a happy childhood and I wouldn't want to have been brought up any differently.
Fast forward 4 years later,
Do I like having too much to lose? Honestly, I do.
But it feels like being dealt a different deck of cards and you just need to be aware of how to maneuver a life where you have too much to lose differently.
You become risk averse? Be intentional with who you surround yourself with, be intentional with how you spend your time so you still try new activities and learn new things.
You become spoiled? Move to a smaller place, eat boring food.
You become less empathetic? Catch yourself mentally and re-address.
I asked Claude to rewrite my post above with this prompt - now, if you were to maintain my writing style but rewrite the essay so it feels more light to read what would the blog post look like?
It occurred to me recently that the restlessness in my head comes down to something simple: I now have too much to lose.
Which is funny, because for most of my life, I had almost nothing to lose at all.
Growing up in a small town in Malaysia, the message was consistent: you are not enough here, leave. Not in a cruel way — just matter-of-factly, the way someone tells you to bring an umbrella when it looks like rain.
Leave. Get good grades so you can leave. Get an accent so people know you're the kind of person who will leave.
Every year, classmates packed up and moved to Australia or Singapore. The most popular kids were the ones with American accents. The best identity you could have as a child was being top 0.1% in school — not because knowledge was valued, but because grades were a ticket out.
The playground outside my house had broken beer bottles on the ground. Nobody cleaned it. No town council, no government crew, no one. If you complained? You were told to keep your mouth shut.
So you learned not to question things. You learned to keep your head down, study hard, and wait for your turn to leave.
I adopted that identity gracefully. Obediently.
Fast forward to 2022. Covid had just ended. Borders were reopening.
I resigned. Packed my bags. Left.
And honestly? It was the easiest decision I ever made — because I had nothing anchoring me.
No strong circle of friends (I'd replaced socialising with working, the same way I'd replaced playing with studying as a kid). No network worth preserving. No hobbies — gym, hiking, music were all either too expensive or too hard to access without a car. No real habits of trying new things or going new places. That just... wasn't something I was taught.
When you have nothing to lose, leaving is easy. Terrifyingly, liberatingly easy.
Now, four years later, I find myself in the opposite situation.
I have people I love spending time with. Work that actually means something. A life that, if I blew it up tomorrow, I'd genuinely grieve.
Do I like it? Honestly, yes. A lot.
But it does mean I'm playing a different game now. The same moves don't work. You can't just throw caution to the wind when caution is protecting things you care about.
So you adapt:
You become risk-averse — so you get intentional. About who you spend time with. About making sure you're still doing new things, learning new things, staying curious.
You become comfortable — so you deliberately create discomfort. Smaller space. Simpler food. You stay humble on purpose.
You become less empathetic — and you notice it. You catch yourself, and you re-address.
Having too much to lose used to sound like a problem.
I'm starting to think it's just a different set of instructions.