Rifle Comes First

When the news settled that my 12-point miracle had secured my place at National Junior College, a profound shift took place inside our cramped Chinatown stall. For the first time, I saw a new look in my father’s eyes: a quiet, burning realization that our family could actually do it. We were no longer just surviving the concrete pavements of Trengannu and Pagoda Streets; we were stepping into a future we had never been allowed to dream of.

Two years later, when I told him I was applying for the School of Accountancy at the National University of Singapore (NUS), his elation was boundless. To understand his joy, you have to understand the context of the era. NUS Accountancy carried exceptionally high admission standards. For a traditional man whose own primary education was ripped away by World War II, this wasn't just a certificate, it was the ultimate, crowning validation of his entire life’s suffering.

But the celebration was short-lived.

When I broke the news that I wouldn't be stepping onto the university campus until 1985, because I first had to complete 2.5 years of compulsory National Service (NS), my father panicked. The prize was so close, yet so far away. Terrified that this golden opportunity might somehow slip through our fingers over the next thirty months, he urged me to do something desperate: apply for an NS deferment so I could study first.

My father, a man who could neither read nor write English, went entirely out of his comfort zone. He walked all over Da Po and Xiao Po in Singapore, from Chinatown to Little India to Malay Village at Geylang Serai, asking friends, hawkers, and anyone with connections if there was a way. They told him it was difficult, but not impossible. However, when I checked with my own peers, the answer was unanimous and absolute: NS deferment for university was impossible. Yet, my father insisted. He kept pushing, desperate to shield the crown jewel of our family's achievements.

Then, after days of anxious pacing, something incredible happened. My father stopped fighting the system. He looked at me, his face softening into a calm dignity, and delivered a line that would forever alter the moral compass of my life:

"Don't worry, son. What is yours is yours. Time is not a concern—national interest comes first."

The Meaning of the Mission

To a casual observer, a father agreeing to delay his son's studies for the military might not seem like a grand historical event. But you must realize what that moment cost him. Sending me off to university was his dream realized. Yet, when the line was drawn, this humble stallholder chose to lay his family's greatest triumph on the altar of the country that had adopted him at three years old.

His message was unequivocal: The nation comes before self. This was a masterclass in modern citizenship from an uneducated man. He taught me that true leadership means honoring the collective vessel that protects us all, even if it means putting your own crowning moment on hold.

To any father, mother, corporate leader, or spouse reading this today in May 2026: Anything that validates you is a big deal. We all chase that validation. But the highest form of character is the willingness to pause your own validation to serve a purpose larger than yourself.

My father spent 2.5 years waiting for his son to wear the university gown. He taught me that what is truly yours can never be stolen by time, and that the greatest victories are the ones we achieve when we honor our duty first.

Love Intelligence Reflection:

In Love Intelligence (LQ), we talk about the ultimate transition from a Global Perspective to Sacred Purpose. My father’s ability to pivot from his desperate desire for family validation to a posture of national duty is the highest expression of a mature Love Quotient.

He recognized that our family's success was inextricably linked to the stability of the nation. High LQ demands that we have the Courage to check our personal anxieties and trust the timing of life. This Father's Day, let us look at the leaders and parents who taught us to respect boundaries, honor our commitments, and put the mission before our own immediate gratification.

This is the fifteenth in a series of articles dedicated to honoring my late father and applying the principles of Love Intelligence to the relationships that matter most.