“Now tell me, have you ever planned your future?” asked Mr. XX. We were no longer at the dining table. Instead, we sat in his study, facing a whiteboard crowded with graphs, numbers, and oversized dollar signs.

It felt less like a Sunday breakfast and more like a boardroom presentation.

“Well, yes, we do,” I replied cautiously. “We always think about our future.”

He launched into his talk, passive salary, financial freedom, early retirement, freedom from being a slave to anyone.

Then came the rhetorical questions: Why do we go to work? He listed the reasons one by one:
1. To learn.
2. To socialize.
3. To earn money.

“You can still learn without going to work,” he argued. “You can still socialize without going to work. But the main reason remains unchallenged, we go to work because we need the money. What if you could get the money without going to work?” He didn’t wait for us to answer.

Instead, he painted his vision of retirement:
1. A comfortable house.
2. Enough money to buy whatever we need without second thoughts.
3. The freedom to travel.
4. A good education for our daughter.

“All of this,” he concluded, “can be yours when you join this business opportunity.” We sat quietly, not because we had no questions, but because we wanted him to continue uninterrupted.

Listening, after all, is the toughest thing to do. I had my own opinions about work and money, but I kept them to myself. An hour later, breakfast turned into sales.

Mr. XX placed two tickets before us. “There’s a seminar tonight at the Resort Golf Club. You must attend. It will blow your mind.” The tickets were RM25 each not free.

“I’m sorry, we already have plans today,” my husband said gently.

“What plans?” Mr. XX pressed.

“To visit a neighbor who just had an operation, and to attend temple prayers,” my husband replied.

“You can do that another time,” Mr. XX insisted. “The prayers can wait till next week. But this—this is important.” We managed, at last, to decline. I breathed out, relieved.

The last thing I wanted was to spend my Sunday in a business seminar.
But Mr. XX wasn’t finished. “Then why not join us this Tuesday? Introductory seminar, 8pm.”
Tuesday, 17th 2004 @ 2000hrs.
We were late, caught in the evening jam, and by the time we found parking it was already 8:20 p.m. Mr. XX was waiting at the seminar entrance, looking as if he had been expecting us all along.

My husband had conveniently declared it was his turn to care for our daughter—amazing how husbands suddenly find “their turn” at the right moment. Inside, the hall was packed. All seats taken. Men and women in sharp black suits stood at strategic points, radiating professionalism.

On stage, a well-dressed Malay lady was speaking in polished English—the very same presentation we had already heard at Mr. XX’s house.

“She’s a psychiatrist,” Mrs. XX whispered proudly. “She left her job to do this full time.” I stared. A psychiatrist? How many other professionals had traded their careers for this “freedom”?

Next came the product demonstration: cosmetics touted as rivals to Lancôme and Shiseido. The presenter asked for a volunteer. Silence. Her eyes roamed the hall. Then they landed on me.

“The lady in red with the long black hair.” My heart dropped. Why me? Thankfully, all they wanted was my hand, not my face. I survived, barely.

Then came the success stories. A grand video of past seminars in five-star hotels: people clapping, jumping with joy, diamond signs flashing. Diamond award winners chauffeured onto stage in luxury cars. The spectacle reminded me less of business and more of the healing rallies held in stadiums, ritual, ecstasy, and belief, wrapped in wealth instead of prayer.

Couples came up, confessing why they left their professional jobs: always the same theme—freedom, no longer a slave, financial independence. Each story ended with the same refrain: “Join the next seminar. A distinguished couple from the USA will be there.”

Mr. XX introduced me to a “Diamond recipient,” once a CEO of a multinational company. “Do you believe the figures?” he asked with a knowing smile.

“They look impressive,” I replied flatly. He laughed.

“Maybe I should come to your house and talk to you and your husband personally.”

"Well, that would be wonderful,” I answered with my biggest grin. After all, how often does an ex-CEO offer to drop by for dinner?

On the way home, Mr. XX asked, “So, what do you think?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. The truth was, I felt unsettled. Disturbed, even. Behind the glitter and smiles, I sensed something else a performance of freedom that didn’t feel free at all.


18 February, 0900 hrs – Online Chat with a trusted friend

Me: When I asked the couple about my doubts, the husband looked disturbed — almost as if I had humiliated him. His reaction surprised me.

Friend: Why did your questions disturb him so?

Me: Because I questioned this endless need to make more money. They keep building their pitch on what ifs. He spoke first about needing a house. I replied: What if there comes a stage when we don’t need a house at all? Even a three-room flat might feel too big? Our needs change over time. When I joined nursing school, my goal was clear: retire as a Director of Nursing. I worked hard for it. But then came the moment I had to choose between career and family. My priorities changed. I chose family. At that stage in life, that was enough. That was what mattered. He grew upset when I said this. I was surprised. So my big question is: What is enough?

Friend: Exactly. That’s the question they cannot afford you to ask. For these financial cults, nothing is ever enough. That is the apotheosis of Maya, desire forever receding, always just out of reach.

Me: I also asked about failures. All I see are success stories: doctors, engineers, lawyers who “made it big.” But where are the failures? Why did they leave? Why did they drop out? I wanted to know so that I would not make the same mistake.

The husband grew angry. He said: “If I graduate from university, why should I bother about those who didn’t?”

But it bothers me. I need to know.

And then another thought struck me: isn’t it frightening? To see so many professionals — lawyers, doctors, engineers abandoning their work, their expertise, their service, only to become salespeople chasing this mirage of financial freedom?