Five Star Billionaire. Tash Aw

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СКАЧАТЬ of us who are in this position know that to be the centre of attraction in this way is not only distasteful, it is empty.

      Once, and only once, I gave an interview. I was young and just beginning to make waves with a succession of audacious acquisitions. I was also, I admit, slightly prone to vanity in those days. My interviewer, a young woman from a respected local newspaper, peppered me with banal questions about my business strategy and then probed me with inappropriate questions about my private circumstances. Did I find it difficult to sustain relationships because of my punishing schedule? What did I look for in a partner? Was it true that I was so dedicated to my work that I had broken off not one but two engagements in the past? Had I even cut off contact with close family members? What about rumours that I’d changed my name to make myself appear more Westernised? She kept calling me ‘Walter’, in that familiar way that young people do these days, assuming it would be fine to address me by my first name rather than as ‘Mr Chao’. I asked if it was truly necessary to obtain this information from me. She shrugged and said that her editor had asked her for a ‘personal angle’ to the story. So incensed was I by this intrusion that I ordered the feature article to be reduced to a mere footnote in the business pages. Then, as an afterthought, I asked for even that little vignette to be deleted altogether. (There is a postscript to this because, a few years ago, when the newspaper was ailing, I bought it and fired the editor who had commissioned the interview. He was in his sixties and ready for retirement anyway.)

      I have never done anything for the sake of public acclaim. Even my books have been written under a pseudonym. I want to inspire people – you – not because I seek gratitude or glory but because I gain immense pleasure just from the knowledge that I might have been able to help them, to change their lives. Giving without receiving. That is what truly satisfies me. In all the years of working hard, of the accumulation of huge wealth, I admit that I sometimes lost sight of this sentiment of charity, which is why I sometimes felt exhausted and dispirited and negative – as I suspect you do on occasion after a long, fruitless day at work. Maybe your boss has not acknowledged your talent and dedication. Maybe your clients are late in paying you. Maybe the taxman is being uncooperative. Maybe a colleague you thought was a friend is now brown-nosing his way ahead of you. Maybe you’ve come home after a nightmarish day in the office and your partner hasn’t done the washing up or made you dinner. Yes, it is dispiriting. But only if you are working only for yourself, if you are seeking praise. Let go of this neediness. Say to yourself: I am not working for glory, but for the joy of it. One day – soon – I will be dead, and who will remember my petty little promotion to Assistant Executive Managing Sub Director then?

      Work to help others.

      Elevate yourself from trivia.

      That is the only way to true greatness.

      All this brings me to the question of how best to leave my legacy without being thrust into the limelight. It is sad that even philanthropy these days is tied to celebrity, but I have to accept that this is the world we live in. Reluctantly, therefore, I might have to accept the accolades that will surely accompany my project. There are still many details to be ironed out before I can announce the nature of this venture, but for now I can reveal that it will be a sort of community centre for the twenty-first century that will benefit the young, the poor – all those who need nourishment, either for their stomachs or their minds or spirits.

      The idea comes to me because, looking back at my own underprivileged childhood, I realise that the village school I attended between the ages of six and twelve carried an importance far beyond its modest proportions. Its three classrooms and tin roof were typical of primary schools in rural Malaysia at the time, but it was supported by wealthy benefactors, which meant that we had generators to power the ceiling fans and provide lighting during the monsoons when the storms were at their fiercest and the feeble electricity supply most vulnerable to power cuts. There was a paved lane leading to it from the main road that carved its way through the jungle, and at the confluence of the two there was a bus shelter so that we could remain dry from the rain while waiting for the bus that 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 flooded. Others had over an hour to walk across 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 in life’s great race, kept afloat because we were human and 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 ever produce anything remarkable. They did not believe that amongst those they had written off as menial and pathetic and worthy only of 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 to acknowledge those early days, because when I look back at them I feel something. Not much, but a small debt of gratitude 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 shortlist of cities – and I am in the process of considering a suitable architect. At the moment I am veering towards 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

      Gary won a talent competition when he was 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 over 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-coloured 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 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 recognised that the voice was his, but he felt distanced from it too. It sounded as if it no longer belonged to him. In the audience, young girls were waving multicoloured 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 ribcage, and he knew in that instant that his life was going to become confused and messy, full of privileges and sorrows he hadn’t asked for.

      He СКАЧАТЬ