PREFACE

Before I turned fifty, I rarely gave serious thought to the phrase “the second half of life.” Life was always pushing me forward. As a child, I thought first about how to get through each day. When I was young, I thought about how to make a way for myself. After starting a family, I thought about how to carry responsibility. Once I became an entrepreneur, one problem after another kept chasing me. Much of the time, we are so busy solving what is in front of us that we forget to ask: Where am I actually going?

When I reached fifty, I gradually realised that life does not automatically become clearer simply because we grow older. When our physical strength is no longer what it was in our youth and time begins to feel increasingly precious, we need to make choices more deliberately. In the past, we could comfort ourselves by saying, “I’m still young.” After fifty, we can no longer keep pushing what truly matters to tomorrow.

I was not born into a wealthy family, and I did not begin life on a road that had already been paved for me. My family could not give me many material things, but they gave me a line I was never to cross as a human being: do not steal, do not rob, do not break the law, and do not harm others. As a child, I may not have understood how important those words were. After entering society, I learned that a person may be temporarily without money, but should never lose himself for the sake of money.

After secondary school, I entered society early and began trying to build businesses. Along the way, I tasted hope and faced disappointment. I met people who were willing to give me a hand, and I also experienced changing relationships and the pressure of reality. I once believed that if I was willing to work, fight and endure, I would eventually arrive where I wanted to go. Later, I learned that effort matters, but direction matters too. Ability may help a person move faster, but character determines how far he can truly go.

What changed the direction of my life was not a grand success, but an elderly woman. That encounter kept me awake at night and made me begin asking: What is happening to our children today? What can we leave for the next generation? To carry this concern forward, my wife, Tee Vern Nie, and I wrote The Elder’s Wish and began sharing its message in schools. I was not naturally good at speaking, but because I believed the message deserved to be heard, I stepped onto the stage again and again.

Later, I became deeply involved in school-based community service, taking part in activities at more than 150 schools and painting more than 2,000 panda murals. Some people see only the numbers. What I remember are the faces of the children. One parent told me that after listening to one of my talks, her child came home, hugged her voluntarily for the first time, and said, “I love you.” In that moment, I understood that we may not be able to change the whole world, but we may be able to help one child bring love home.

After fifty, I entered the world of darts. From opening a darts café to building a training centre, an academy and a club, the journey has not been easy. Operations often continue late into the night, and reality does not reduce its tests simply because a dream is beautiful. Yet I have become increasingly certain that darts should not be limited to entertainment and winning or losing. Three darts can teach focus, discipline and thinking. They can also teach a person to accept results, respect an opponent and begin again.

That is why I put forward a principle: “Darts is the tool. Education is the purpose.” I do not want to develop players who only know how to win. I want to develop people who respect beginners, help others, face defeat and take responsibility. I also began thinking about how darts could enter families, schools and communities, how a coaching system could be built, and how more ordinary people could have a stage of their own.

After 50 records how a person, having reached the midpoint of life, looks back to understand the past and then rearranges the years ahead. In these pages there is poverty, entrepreneurship, community service, marriage, partnership, darts and education. There are also mistakes, regrets, exhaustion and reasons for refusing to give up.

If you, too, have reached a turning point in life, I hope this book will accompany you long enough to ask one question: What do I want to leave behind in the days ahead? The answer does not have to be grand, but it must truly belong to you.

PART ONE
BEFORE FIFTY, I WAS TRYING TO SURVIVE

Before I learned to search for meaning, I first learned how to get through each day.

CHAPTER 1: POOR, BUT NEVER WITHOUT PRINCIPLES

My family could not give me much, but it taught me early that some things must never be traded away, no matter how poor we are.

I was born into a poor family. As a child, I did not know how other people defined poverty. For a child, life is simply the day in front of him: eat what is available, treasure what you have. Only after growing up did I understand that our family circumstances were difficult and that the pressure my parents carried every day was greater than a child could see.

Poverty can make a person envy others, and it can also make him believe that having more things will automatically bring happiness. Yet my family always held to a few simple principles: do not steal, do not rob, do not break the law, and do not harm others. My family may not have taught me how to become rich, but it first taught me not to become someone I could not respect simply for the sake of money.

Those words sound ordinary. Before life puts real pressure on us, principles are easy to say. After entering society, I discovered that many choices are not clearly labelled right or wrong. Someone will tell you that everyone does it. Someone else will tell you to solve the immediate problem first. Others will call taking advantage of people “being smart” and hurting people “being realistic.” The more I faced such moments, the more those childhood rules became a boundary I could not cross.

I cannot claim that I have never made mistakes. I have misjudged situations and made immature decisions because I was in a hurry to prove myself. But I know this: no matter how difficult the road becomes, I must not turn another person’s suffering into my opportunity. This is not because I am more noble than others. It is because I have seen people who had no choices, and I know what it feels like to be pushed into a corner.

Another gift my family gave me was an early understanding of the weight of money. One ringgit is not an abstract number. It represents someone’s time, and it may mean that a family has to go without something that day. Later, when I became an entrepreneur and ran businesses, my sensitivity to costs, cash flow and responsibility came from those early experiences.

But poverty brings more than thrift. Sometimes it also leaves behind an insecurity that is difficult to admit. You worry that people will look down on you, that you are not qualified, or that the moment you speak, your limitations will be exposed. The more a person fears being looked down on, the more likely he is to protect himself by pretending to be stronger than he feels. For a long time, I believed that if I could achieve enough, I would finally escape that insecurity.

Only after fifty did I slowly make peace with the person I used to be. We cannot choose where we are born, and a starting point does not determine the finish. Poverty did not automatically make me a better person. It simply allowed me to see the realities of life earlier. What truly shaped me were the principles my family held on to even when our circumstances were limited.

Today, when I talk about education, I often say, “Be a good person before becoming a darts player.” This idea did not suddenly appear after I entered the darts world. Its roots go much further back, to a family that was not wealthy but would never allow its children to cross the basic line of human decency.

CHAPTER 2: ORDINARY AND HAPPY DAYS

Back then, I had no grand dream, and happiness did not need many reasons.

My childhood was not legendary. No one looked at me and predicted that I would one day build a team, enter schools or establish a darts academy. No one told me that people would someday call me “SUPER PANDA” or “Lao Dou.” I was simply a child from an ordinary family.

Looking back, those days were materially simple, but they contained a kind of simplicity that is difficult to reproduce later in life. Happiness did not need to be photographed or proven to anyone. Children found games within whatever environment they had. A meal, time spent together or a small word of encouragement could be enough to make them happy.

As adults, we easily begin to treat ordinariness as failure. Society constantly tells us to be faster, stronger and more famous, as though life only has value when we are standing somewhere other people can see. I, too, was once pushed by this idea and wanted to prove that I was no less capable than anyone else.

But after fifty, I no longer think being ordinary is frightening. What is frightening is losing the ability to feel happiness because we are trying so hard to escape ordinariness. If, after gaining more, the heart still says it is never enough, life can become poorer than it was in childhood.

My childhood taught me that happiness is connected to circumstances, but is not completely determined by them. The most important things a family can give a child may not be expensive objects, but a sense of safety, clear boundaries and the feeling of being accepted. A child should know that mistakes are allowed, that some actions are not, that the family is imperfect, and yet someone will still be waiting when he comes home.

Later, when I entered schools to do community work, I met many children. I became increasingly certain that education cannot ask only about grades. Whether a child learns to respect the elderly, express gratitude, face failure and care for others will also shape the adult he becomes.

I brought this understanding into darts education. When a beginner throws for the first time, the movement may not be beautiful and the score may not be high. If people nearby laugh, that beginner may never come back. If someone takes his first small improvement seriously, he may discover a new version of himself.

Growth is often not about suddenly becoming extraordinary. It is about someone protecting, during ordinary days, the small willingness in a person to keep trying. I was once that ordinary child. That is why I want the spaces I operate today to be places where more ordinary people can begin without fear.

CHAPTER 3: AFTER SECONDARY SCHOOL

While others were still thinking about the future, I had already begun facing life.

After finishing secondary school, I did not have a long period in which to slowly discover my direction. I entered society and began trying to start businesses. My thinking at the time was simple: if life was not going to arrange a path for me, I would have to find one myself.

Young people often imagine entrepreneurship as freedom. Only after beginning do they discover that the other side of freedom is responsibility. No one tells you what time to start work, but no one guarantees an income at the end of the month either. Every decision may affect what happens next, and every wrong judgement must be carried by you.

In my early years, I lacked many things, so I had to learn by doing. If I did not know something, I asked. If no one could answer, I tried it myself. Failure does not usually teach gently. It often makes you pay in time and money first, and only later leaves the lesson behind.

Those years shaped how I act. I became used to stepping out first and adjusting as I went. That helped me seize opportunities, but it also made me pay for being unprepared. The ability to act is an advantage, but without reflection, speed only makes a person repeat the same mistake faster.

I also began to understand relationships and reality. Some people came close when things were going well; others stayed when things became difficult. Cooperation is not only about terms. It tests values, communication and the willingness to take responsibility. Many relationships do not change because one side is completely right and the other completely wrong. Sometimes people simply begin imagining different futures.

When I was young, I cared deeply about whether others approved of me. If someone doubted me, I wanted to prove myself immediately. If I met resistance, I pushed harder. Later, I learned that real confidence is not winning every time. It is the ability to look back honestly at yourself even when the result is not what you hoped for.

Entering society after secondary school made me face certain realities earlier than many of my peers, but it also meant I missed some stages that could have been learned more slowly. I cannot choose a different starting point now, but I can choose how I understand it. Those years without teachers or textbooks later became an important reminder when I designed educational programmes: people should not have to learn only by falling. If someone is willing to teach systematically, a learner can avoid some unnecessary costs.

That is also why I later came to value coaching systems. A good coach does not walk the road for a student. He helps the student understand why he is walking in a certain way. He does not force-feed answers; he helps the student build judgement. Because I once travelled without a map, I now want to leave one behind for those who come after me.

CHAPTER 4: I THOUGHT HARD WORK WAS ENOUGH

A person can work very hard and still be moving in the wrong direction.

I once believed that if I was willing to work, fight and endure, I could solve any problem. That belief carried me through many difficult periods, but it also made me keep forcing myself forward when I should have stopped.

There is nothing wrong with hard work. The problem is that people often use busyness to hide a lack of direction, and persistence to hide an unwillingness to admit a mistake. The more we invest, the harder it becomes to accept that the original choice may need to change. So we add more time, more money and more emotion, hoping that the next attempt will somehow be different.

Entrepreneurship taught me that outcomes do not improve automatically simply because someone has worked very hard. The market does not understand your grievances, and bills do not disappear because your dream is meaningful. Effort must be matched by judgement. Courage must be matched by discipline. Passion must be supported by a system that can last.

Relationships are the same. I can say that I work hard for my family without actually giving them the presence they need. I can say that I carry responsibility for a team without making the direction clear to my partners. When a person measures his contribution only by his own standards, he often fails to notice that the people around him are already exhausted.

After fifty, I began to understand responsibility differently. Responsibility does not mean taking everything onto myself, and it does not mean refusing to let go no matter what. It includes admitting that my capacity is limited, building methods, developing others and examining my own decisions first when mistakes happen.

This change also entered my coaching. In the past, people often treated training as endless repetition, as if more hours must automatically produce better results. But if an incorrect movement is repeated a thousand times, it simply becomes harder to correct. Effective training requires goals, observation, records, feedback and rest.

Life is also a kind of training. We need to extract patterns from experience, not merely accumulate years. Fifty does not automatically bring wisdom. Age becomes experience only when a person is willing to face the past and admit which methods no longer work.

I still believe in hard work, but I no longer worship blind persistence. Principles should be protected; methods should be adjusted. Once the direction is clear, every step can truly move me closer to where I want to go.

PART THREE
THE BIRTH OF SUPER PANDA

A change in direction often begins not with a grand plan, but with an encounter we cannot forget.

CHAPTER 9: THE ELDERLY WOMAN WHO KEPT ME AWAKE

She did not give me an answer. She left a question inside my life.

Some people appear in our lives only briefly, yet change the direction of everything that follows. That elderly woman was one of those people. After meeting her, I could not shake a sadness I could not fully explain.

I did not immediately receive some great revelation. Instead, I lost sleep. One question kept returning: What is happening to our children today? This was not about blaming children. It was about asking what kind of world we adults were giving to the next generation.

Are children still willing to listen to older people? Is there still room in families to express gratitude and care? When grades, work and phones take up all our attention, do we forget the most basic human warmth? These questions had no simple answers, but I could no longer pretend I had not seen them.

In the past, whenever I encountered a problem, I immediately looked for a solution. This time was different. Loneliness, distance between generations and family relationships are not problems that disappear after one event. I had to understand first. I also had to change the way I myself looked at older people and children.

I told my wife what was troubling me. We talked many times, moving from one elderly person’s wish to the expectations of parents, and then to what children truly need while growing up. The more we talked, the more it became clear that this was not merely an emotion. It was a responsibility that called for action.

“SUPER PANDA” was not a character I designed on a particular day. It began with that sleepless night, when an ordinary person decided that another person’s sadness could no longer be treated as something unrelated to him. Every school sharing session and every mural that came later can be traced back to that night.

Looking back now, I am still grateful to that elderly woman. She may never have known whom she changed, but that itself reveals something important: the influence people have on one another often goes beyond what we can imagine. A look, a sentence, or one moment of genuinely stopping to listen may become the starting point for someone else to begin again.

CHAPTER 10: MY WIFE AND I WROTE THE ELDER’S WISH

Once a wish is written down, more people have a chance to hear it.

Because I could not let go of what I had felt, my wife and I decided to put it into words. The Elder’s Wish was not written to portray older people as objects of pity, nor to blame the younger generation. We wanted families to see one another again.

The writing process kept forcing us to ask: What do older people truly want? Very often, it is not an expensive gift. It is a meal someone is willing to sit down and finish with them, a phone call that is not rushed, or a sincere greeting. Companionship appears simple, yet it is one of the first things to be postponed when life becomes busy.

We also did not want to place all responsibility on children. How a child understands love often comes from how adults demonstrate it. If parents demand obedience but rarely listen, or demand gratitude while never expressing thanks themselves, it is difficult for children to learn relationships out of thin air.

My wife gave me important reminders throughout this journey. She notices emotions and details more readily than I do, helping the writing carry warmth instead of becoming a collection of lessons. We discussed and revised it again and again because we wanted readers to recognise their own families in the pages, rather than simply see someone else’s problem.

The Elder’s Wish eventually took us into schools. A book left on a shelf can reach only a limited number of people. Once a story is spoken aloud, children respond with their own experiences. Some think of their grandparents. Some remember that they have not hugged their parents for a long time. Some seriously ask for the first time how love should be expressed.

Doing community work together as husband and wife was not romantic or easy. Preparation, communication, travel and real expenses all had to be carried. But because we believed in the same purpose, when difficulties came, there was always someone beside us to remind the other why we had started.

The Elder’s Wish was not an answer. It was a door. We hoped children and parents would walk back toward one another through that door. We also hoped society would remember that when we measure progress, we cannot look only at how fast we are moving. We must also ask whether we are bringing older people and children along with us.

CHAPTER 11: FROM NOT KNOWING HOW TO SPEAK TO STANDING ON STAGE

I did not go on stage because I had stopped being afraid. I went because some words were worth saying even while I was afraid.

I was not naturally good at public speaking. Standing in front of a group of students and teachers and expressing what I felt clearly did not come easily to me. When I prepared for the first time, I worried that I would forget my words and that the audience would not respond.

But if The Elder’s Wish was truly going to reach children, the written word alone was not enough. I had to stand up and let them hear the reality behind the story. So I did not wait until I had become a professional speaker. I began first, and learned through one sharing session after another.

At the beginning, I cared too much about whether I was speaking correctly, and I kept looking for signs of approval. Later, I realised that speaking is not about performing yourself. It is about observing the audience. When children become quiet, when they laugh, or when their eyes begin to wander, they are telling you whether you are truly connecting with them.

I gradually reduced empty big ideas and spoke more about real people and real choices. I did not expect children to become different people immediately. I simply hoped they would go home and do one small thing: hug their parents, greet an elderly person, or say one sentence of thanks.

Every school is different. Some students are energetic, some are shy. Some halls are well equipped, while others have very limited facilities. What matters is not the size of the stage, but whether I treat every child sitting in front of me as someone worth taking seriously.

Standing on stage changed me too. In order to answer children’s questions, I had to examine my own life first. I could not speak about companionship while neglecting my family. I could not speak about respect while using authority to overpower people in my team. Every sentence spoken by an educator eventually returns to demand something from the educator himself.

Later, when I gave my first public speech in English at fifty, I felt the same nervousness all over again. In that moment, I understood that courage is never a completed state. Whenever we enter a new field, we become beginners again. That is evidence that growth is still taking place.

CHAPTER 12: MORE THAN 150 SCHOOLS AND OVER 2,000 PANDA MURALS

Numbers record scale. What truly remains is the memory of people completing something together.

Between 2014 and 2019, we took part in sharing sessions and community service activities in more than 150 schools, and we painted over 2,000 panda murals on school grounds. Looking back, those numbers make me grateful, but they were never the reason I began.

Behind every mural was an ordinary wall and a group of people willing to give their time. Some designed, some mixed colours, some carried materials, and some painted stroke after stroke under the sun. When the work was complete, the wall had changed, and so had the way participants looked at their school.

The meaning of a mural is not only that it looks good. Children pass it every day, and its colours and words become part of their environment. A sentence about gratitude, dreams or character may one day be seen by a child who happens to need encouragement at that exact moment.

After visiting so many schools, I became much more aware that educational resources are not evenly distributed. Some schools have abundant facilities, while some teachers care for many students with very limited resources. Yet everywhere I went, I saw the persistence of educators and the same needs in children: to be seen, to be affirmed and to be guided well.

Large-scale community projects can easily fall into the trap of chasing numbers. How many schools were completed? How many people were reached? Those figures are useful in a report, but they cannot replace genuine impact. We must keep asking what remains after the event ends. Can the school continue using what was created? Did participants learn responsibility and cooperation?

That experience later helped me plan darts education. Entering a school should not mean bringing a few hours of excitement. There must be clear learning goals, safety standards, teacher cooperation and follow-up practice. Without these, even an impressive demonstration is only a short performance.

More than 2,000 panda murals taught me that many small actions can come together to form a large picture, but every stroke still has to be painted seriously by someone. Changing society is the same. We should not wait for one hero to appear. We should help more ordinary people understand which stroke they are able to contribute.

CHAPTER 13: A CHILD BROUGHT LOVE HOME

I finally understood that sometimes the value of a sharing session can be proven by a single hug.

After conducting many school sharing sessions, it was natural to become tired. Travel, preparation and repeated content can make a person wonder: Did the children really listen? After the applause ends, will life simply return to what it was before?

Then one day, a parent sent me a message. She said that after listening to my talk, her child came home, hugged her voluntarily and said, “I love you.” It was a very short sentence, but it stayed with me for a long time.

To someone else, it might seem like an ordinary family moment. But for that parent and child, it may have been an expression that had been missing for a long time. Many families are not without love; they simply do not know how to say it. Children feel embarrassed, while parents become used to hiding care inside reminders, criticism and arrangements.

I cannot know how many people one talk truly affects, and I should not claim all credit for a child’s change. Education is always the accumulated result of family, school and society. But that hug convinced me that a sincere reminder can become the beginning of a relationship being renewed.

From then on, I stopped measuring an event only by attendance. If one child goes home willing to express love, if one father puts down his phone and listens to his child, or if one student refuses to give up because someone encouraged him, then that day has meaning.

This also shaped the way I work with darts beginners. The success of a lesson is not only a higher score. It can also be a child who lacked confidence daring to stand behind the throw line, a parent practising side by side with a child for the first time, or a player who has lost learning to thank an opponent.

The most moving results of education often happen where the teacher cannot see them. What we can do is plant carefully, without constantly digging up every seed to check whether it is growing. Some changes will quietly become a hug in some home, on some night, long after the lesson has ended.

PART FOUR
STARTING AGAIN AFTER FIFTY

I did not stop beginning because of age. I simply became clearer about where each new beginning should lead.

CHAPTER 14: WHY I OPENED A DARTS CAFÉ

At first it was a shop. Later, I realised it could become a second home for many people.

In 2022, SUPER PANDA Darts Café opened its doors. Opening a darts café is never just about placing machines in a room and waiting for customers. It means opening and closing every day, handling countless small tasks, and gradually building the culture you believe in.

Darts venues are often associated with alcohol and noise. I wanted to create something different: a smoke-free and friendly space where beginners would not feel intimidated and where women, children and families could enter comfortably.

This was not necessarily the easiest business route. Changing an existing impression takes time, and culture cannot be built by one poster. The way we welcome beginners, handle wins and losses, and watch stronger players treat weaker ones determines what kind of place the venue ultimately becomes.

After partnership changes during our first year, my wife and I continued to hold the space together. Vern Nie did not only help with operations. Through meal after meal and gathering after gathering, she slowly turned strangers into familiar faces. A place becomes “home” not because of decoration, but because someone remembers you and waits for you to return.

Eventually, more and more people began calling me “Lao Dou.” The name warmed me, but it also made me cautious. When people place their trust in you, you cannot affirm them only when they perform well. Some lose matches. Some go through breakups. Some face business setbacks. Some wonder whether they should continue at all. Many times I cannot solve their problems, but I can walk that stretch of road with them.

In 2024, we established the KM1 West training centre. In 2025, SUPER PANDA Darts Academy was founded. In 2026, the club completed its registration, KM1 became an official MY Darts Academy outlet, I received Elite Darts Coach certification, and I took on the role of MY Darts Academy Director.

These titles are not the end of the story. They remind me that what was once driven mainly by passion now requires courses, standards, assessment and a team of coaches. If everything can only be completed by me personally, then the work can never truly be passed on.

So my answer to the question “Why did you open a darts café?” has changed over time. At first, it was about running a business. Later, it became about building a community. Eventually, I came to see darts as a tool through which people could learn focus, discipline, thinking and character. The shop led me, in the end, toward education.

CHAPTER 15: AFTER CLOSING THE SHOP LATE AT NIGHT

When the lights go out, the questions that truly need answers begin to appear.

Nights in a darts café are usually longer than an ordinary workday. Some people only come to practise after work, and a competition may continue late into the night. When the final member leaves and the machines fall silent, my wife and I still have to clean up, settle accounts and prepare for the next day.

After closing late at night, exhaustion makes many things more honest. During the day, we are busy welcoming people and have no time to doubt. At night, when only we remain, the question appears: Can this road continue? Income, rent, activities, partners and family are all very real concerns.

During our first year, when partnership changes took place, this uncertainty became especially clear. When a space is just beginning to build its culture, the greatest fear is that the people at its core lose confidence first. Some people chose to leave, and I respected their decisions. Those who stayed had to carry weight we had not expected.

My wife and I are not full of fighting spirit every night. Sometimes we simply finish what needs to be done. Persistence is not always dramatic. Often it means being tired and still putting away the last table properly, then preparing what will be needed the next morning.

Those nights taught me that mission cannot be separated from operations. If the venue cannot survive, even the best educational philosophy has nowhere to take root. So while protecting our principles of being smoke-free, friendly and suitable for families, we also had to learn how to design courses, activities and membership systems that give the ideal a stable structure.

Late at night, I sometimes watch young people who are still practising. They throw again and again, not always because they want to become champions. Some simply need a place where they can focus. In moments like that, I know the value of the shop cannot be measured only by the day’s revenue.

Every time I switch off the lights, it feels as though the shop is asking me: Why open again tomorrow? If the answer is only money, it becomes easy to quit when difficulties come. We open the doors again after daybreak because this place carries the trust of a group of people.

CHAPTER 16: WHY EVERYONE CALLS ME “LAO DOU”

When a name carries trust, it also carries responsibility.

“Lao Dou,” a Cantonese term meaning “Dad,” was a name people gradually began using for me. I did not create it for myself, and it is not a management title. People use it because the shop holds not only training and competitions, but also many moments that feel like family life.

Young people sometimes bring more than technical questions when they come here. Some struggle at work. Some argue with family. Some lose a match and begin to doubt themselves. I cannot give answers to every problem, but I can listen to the whole story before judging, and I do not push someone away simply because he is not doing well at that moment.

Fatherly concern is not indulgence. Rules still matter. Punctuality, attitude and respect for opponents cannot be lowered just because relationships are close. In fact, when you truly treat someone as one of your own, you are willing to tell him seriously where he needs to change.

I also remind myself not to let “Lao Dou” become an excuse to control people. Children eventually grow up, and students must develop their own judgement. My responsibility is not to make everyone dependent on me. It is to help them become independent and eventually capable of supporting the next beginner.

“Ma Zi,” the affectionate name members use for my wife, is just as important in the shop. She cares for people in her own way and reminds everyone that this place is not only about competition. Eating together, celebrating birthdays and checking on someone who has been absent are small actions that turn a group of customers into a community.

The closer a relationship becomes, the clearer the boundaries need to be. The roles of operator, coach and friend can sometimes conflict. I must handle competitions and resources fairly, while protecting the safety of children and families. Love does not mean having no principles. It means preserving respect within those principles.

When people call me Lao Dou, what I most want to leave behind is not a personal image. It is a culture: stronger players help beginners, people listen when someone is struggling, mistakes must be owned, and yet there is still a chance to start again.

CHAPTER 17: FROM ONE SHOP TO AN ACADEMY

Passion can light the fire. A system is what allows the flame to be passed on.

A shop can survive through the founder’s effort alone. An academy must answer far more questions: What exactly are we teaching? How do we know students are improving? Who is qualified to teach? What learning path should people of different ages and levels follow?

In 2024, we established the KM1 West training centre. In 2025, SUPER PANDA Darts Academy was formally founded. By 2026, the club had completed its registration and KM1 had become an official MY Darts Academy outlet. These developments were not simply changes in signage. They were steps in turning accumulated experience into a system.

In darts, a common traditional method is for an expert to demonstrate and a beginner to imitate. But every person has a different body, rhythm and way of understanding. A good programme must progress step by step from safety, stance, grip and aiming to release and review. Students also need to learn competition etiquette and psychological management.

An academy must also develop coaches. A person who can throw well may not know how to teach. A champion may not know how to communicate with a child. Coaches need to observe, ask questions and keep records. They must know when to correct and when to allow a student to discover the answer.

I received Elite Darts Coach certification and took on the role of MY Darts Academy Director in 2026. These recognitions made one thing even clearer to me: professionalism is not using titles as decoration. It is accepting the responsibility of being tested against a higher standard.

As we moved from shop to academy, we kept the sense of family while adding systems. Friendliness must not become carelessness, and professionalism must not become coldness. The ideal classroom is one where students feel safe while clearly understanding that they are expected to be serious.

After the academy was established, I no longer saw only a group of darts players. I began to see future assistant coaches, coaches and community leaders. If they learn more than technique, the academy can carry its influence to places I will never reach personally.

CHAPTER 18: MY FIRST PUBLIC SPEECH IN ENGLISH AT FIFTY

The clearest proof that I am still growing is that, at this age, I am still willing to look awkward.

At fifty, I gave my first public speech in English at Universiti Utara Malaysia. For someone fluent in English, it might have been an ordinary sharing session. For me, it was a barrier I had to cross.

I worried that my pronunciation would be wrong. I worried that I would forget the lines I had prepared. I worried that the audience would lose patience because my English was not good enough. The older we become, the more likely we are to protect the image we have already built and avoid becoming clumsy beginners again.

But I often tell my students that missing the target the first time is not a problem. What matters is being willing to throw again. If I retreated simply because I was afraid of making mistakes, my own words would lose their strength. So I practised. I broke the content down and learned to say it clearly, one sentence at a time.

I was still nervous when I stepped onto the stage. But when I shifted my attention from “What will people think of me?” to “What do I want them to hear?”, the fear became a little smaller. I was not sharing perfect English. I was sharing a life I had actually lived.

That experience changed how I understood learning. Adults are not incapable of learning. They are often simply more afraid of being seen not knowing. We carry identities, positions and past achievements, so we prefer to remain inside familiar territory rather than begin from zero.

In the darts academy, I want adults to have the right to be beginners too. It is not too late to hold a dart for the first time at fifty or sixty. Learning does not have to be about beating younger people. It can be a way to rediscover your own focus and possibility.

When the speech ended, I did not suddenly become an English expert. But I had completed something I would once have avoided. After fifty, I want to keep this kind of courage: not demanding that every step look impressive, only refusing to stop starting because of age.

PART FIVE
DARTS EDUCATION

Darts is the tool. Education is the purpose.

CHAPTER 19: THREE DARTS REVEAL A PERSON

A dart lands on the board, and a person’s habits become visible with it.

A turn in darts contains only three darts. It lasts a short time, yet it reveals a great deal: how a person prepares, how he adjusts after a mistake, whether he becomes restless when leading, and whether he rushes when falling behind.

The first dart may land differently from what was expected. Some people immediately blame the environment. Others stop and observe. With the second dart, will they repeat the same action or adjust the rhythm? The third dart tests whether they can still do what needs to be done under pressure.

That is why I say darts is a mirror. It reflects focus, but also excuses. It reflects technique, but also character. The board does not mock anyone, yet it honestly records every choice.

Darts also teaches ownership. Once a dart leaves your hand, no one else can be made responsible for where it lands. In life, we often have many reasons and explanations. Behind the throw line, we must accept: I threw this dart, and I am responsible for adjusting the next one.

Darts also reminds us to break large goals into small actions. Wanting to win a match is not enough. In the present moment, all we can complete is one stance, one breath and one target. The biggest plans in life must still become the one thing we can do well today.

When I teach beginners, I do not rush them to chase high scores. Safety, stability and the habit of reviewing must come first. Only then do results have roots. If a child learns through darts to focus for ten minutes, respect turns and put equipment away properly, those abilities can return with him to school and daily life.

Three darts are light, yet they can carry a complete lesson: make a choice, face the result, adjust and begin again. No matter how good or bad the previous round was, when the next round begins, everyone stands once more at the same line.

CHAPTER 20: BE A GOOD PERSON BEFORE BECOMING A DARTS PLAYER

Skill determines how fast you can go. Character determines whether others are willing to travel with you.

“Be a good person before becoming a darts player” is one of our most important principles. No matter how high a person can score, if he disrespects opponents, bullies beginners or avoids responsibility, then he is not yet the kind of player we hope to develop.

Darts is a competitive sport, so of course results matter. But competition is not the same as hostility. Greeting an opponent before a match, shaking hands after it, and respecting officials and the venue are all part of the sport. A truly strong person does not need to belittle others in order to prove his own strength.

Character is also revealed when no one is watching. Do you clean up after practice? Do you fulfil what you promised? Are you still willing to review a match after losing? Small actions like these say more about a person than slogans ever can.

When teaching children, adults must model what they expect. If a coach loses control because of a result while demanding that children remain calm, or if experienced players laugh at beginners while asking the team to be united, then even the best classroom speech has no value. Culture is not a sentence on a wall. It is behaviour repeated every day.

“Be a good person” does not mean talking only about morals and ignoring skill. Serious training is also an expression of character. If you respect your goal, you arrive on time, keep records and accept feedback. If you respect your teammates, you prepare properly when the team needs you.

I hope people developed by SUPER PANDA carry these habits into work and family even if one day they stop throwing darts. I hope they know how to face failure, work with different people and understand that the greater their ability becomes, the greater their responsibility becomes too.

Champions will eventually change, and scores will be broken. But the way a person treats others when things are difficult may be remembered for a very long time. That is why being a good person will always come before being a darts player.

CHAPTER 21: THE STRONG SHOULD HELP BEGINNERS

Real strength is not making others see the gap. It is helping those who come later move forward too.

In any sport, beginners can easily feel uneasy. They do not know the rules, their movements are unfamiliar, and their scores are low. If experienced players spend time only with other strong players, someone who was initially interested may leave after the very first experience.

I ask our team to welcome beginners actively. Explain the safety rules. Explain the order of play. Give them a set of movements suitable for a first step. Help does not need to be a long lecture. A friendly look or a simple “Take your time” can reduce the pressure of a first attempt.

When strong players are willing to teach, they also begin to understand their own technique more deeply. We can often perform a movement without being able to explain it clearly. To help a beginner, an experienced player must break the movement into steps and notice differences. That process helps the experienced player grow as well.

But helping is not showing off. Giving a beginner too many instructions at once, or repeatedly displaying your own high scores, can make the beginner more discouraged. Good guidance starts from what the other person needs and gives only the feedback he can absorb at that moment.

A team should also create a cycle of opportunity. The person who receives help today should, after improving, turn back and support the next beginner. In this way, friendliness does not depend on one coach. It becomes a habit of the whole community.

I came from a poor family, so I know how important one sincere act of support can be when resources are limited. Helping someone else does not reduce your own place. It expands how far the sport can reach.

A strong team should not be judged only by how many champions it has. Look at how the weakest and newest people are treated. When beginners dare to ask, practise and fail, that is when a place truly has a future.

CHAPTER 22: EVERY CHAMPION WAS ONCE A BEGINNER

Everyone surrounded by applause has also known what it feels like to miss.

When beginners see skilled players scoring consistently, they easily assume it is talent. What they cannot see are the countless times those players stood behind the line adjusting one small movement, or the competitions in which they performed poorly and doubted themselves.

Every champion was once a beginner. That sentence is both encouragement and reminder. For beginners, it says that awkwardness is not the end. For strong players, it says: do not forget that you once needed patience and help too.

We often show only the result. Trophies, rankings and high scores are easy to photograph, while repetitive training happens without an audience. If children see only glory, they may mistakenly interpret the difficulty of the process as proof that they have no talent.

Coaches need to describe progress specifically. A more stable stance today, a more consistent rhythm across three darts, or the ability to return to breathing after a mistake are all forms of growth worth recording. Scores may not change immediately, but the foundation can still be getting stronger.

Champion education also includes how to deal with victory. Winning does not give a person permission to look down on others. It gives him a greater responsibility to set an example. Mature players appreciate opponents who give them a quality match and are willing to share experience.

Failure should not be romanticised either. Losing hurts, and preparing for a long time only to perform badly can be deeply disappointing. We do not need to pretend it does not matter. But after the emotion settles, we can learn to identify the next step rather than allowing one result to define the whole person.

I want everyone who enters the academy to remember: you do not need to look like a champion at the beginning, but from the first day you can build the attitude a champion should have. As for when the trophy arrives, let time and training answer.

CHAPTER 23: A COACH INFLUENCES LIVES

A coach teaches more than movement. The way a coach sees someone may become the way that person learns to see himself.

When a student places himself in a coach’s hands, he also places part of his trust there. One careless negative comment from a coach may stay with a child for years. One specific and well-grounded affirmation may help someone without confidence believe for the first time that he can do it.

That is why knowing how to throw is only the beginning of coaching. A coach must also understand observation, communication and protection. He needs to understand the attention characteristics of different ages, respect physical differences, and maintain clear boundaries around child safety and professional conduct.

A good coach does not train every student to become a copy of himself. He provides principles and methods, then helps each person find a rhythm that suits him. Movement may need correction; personality does not need to be forced into one shape.

A coach should not appear only when a student is winning. Defeat, injury, stagnation and the desire to quit are moments that test leadership even more. We can expect students to take responsibility, but we must never use humiliation to manufacture obedience.

Feedback must be specific. Instead of saying, “You have no talent,” identify where the stance is unstable or where the training plan broke down. Instead of saying only, “Good,” explain which adjustment actually worked. Clear feedback gives a person a next step.

I want to build systems for coach training, observation records and continuing development. A title is not something earned once and kept forever without review. Coaches need supervision. They must also be willing to admit what they do not know and work with other professionals when necessary.

One coach may influence hundreds of students, and those students carry the impact back into families, schools and workplaces. Because influence spreads, we must be even more careful in developing coaches than in developing players. What we pass on is not merely skill, but an attitude toward people.

CHAPTER 24: BRINGING DARTS INTO FAMILIES, SCHOOLS AND COMMUNITIES

When a sport lowers the barrier to entry, it can become a table around which people reconnect.

Darts does not require a large amount of space, nor does it require everyone to have the same physical ability. With suitable equipment, safe distances and proper guidance, people of different ages can participate. This makes darts well suited for families, schools and communities.

In a family, parents and children can stand at the same line. Adults are not always stronger, and children may surprise them with focus and calculation. Practising together creates a form of companionship that does not rely on lecturing.

In schools, darts can connect mathematics, concentration, strategy and emotional management. Students calculate scores, plan routes, follow turn order and deal with their reactions when they miss. When the programme is designed well, darts becomes a very concrete classroom for life.

Safety must come first in schools. Equipment, distance, number of participants, supervision and storage all need clear standards. The more we emphasise educational value, the less casual execution can be. Parents and teachers should understand the learning goals, not simply watch an exciting demonstration.

In communities, darts can reduce the distance created by age and background. Young people, older people and families share the same space, building relationships beyond competition. For someone with a small social circle, this may become an entrance back into community life.

I hope future dojos will not be only competition centres. They can also host parent-child days, school experiences, activities for older adults and coaching courses. Each location can develop according to the needs of its community, while holding to shared standards: smoke-free, friendly, safe and respectful.

When darts moves beyond its traditional image as entertainment, it has the potential to become a social education tool. Our aim is not to train everyone to become a professional player. Through three darts, we want more people to practise focus, companionship and the ability to face outcomes.

PART SIX
WHAT I WANT TO LEAVE BEHIND

After fifty, I began measuring life less by how much I possess and more by how much I am able to pass on.

CHAPTER 25: MY DEFINITION OF SUCCESS CHANGED

When I was young, I asked how much I had gained. Today, I care more about how many people are able to stand up because of what we built.

When we are young, success is easily understood as possession: income, business, reputation and other people’s approval. These things are not meaningless. They can improve life and give a person more choices.

But along the way, I discovered that external achievements do not automatically fill internal insecurity. A goal is reached, there is a brief moment of happiness, and then another number quickly appears. If life is driven only by comparison, there will always be someone faster, bigger or with more.

Community work changed my scale. A child goes home and hugs a parent. A dull wall becomes a piece of work completed by an entire school. Results like these are difficult to convert into money, yet they feel deeply real to me.

The darts business is the same. Opening more locations and developing more members certainly matters, but if numbers are not accompanied by human growth, expansion only magnifies problems. I care more about whether beginners are treated well, whether coaches are responsible and whether families are willing to participate together.

Today, I understand success as being willing to carry responsibility after gaining ability, and leaving signposts for others after travelling a section of road myself. It also means knowing when to go home, when to rest and when to thank the people beside me.

Success does not mean giving up on results. It means putting results back in the correct place. A trophy proves one performance. A system proves that a mission can continue. Character determines whether any of it is worth preserving.

After fifty, I still have goals and I still want to build something larger. But I no longer ask only, “Can I win?” I ask, “Why do we want to win, and whom will we help after we do?” When that answer is clear, success has weight.

CHAPTER 26: TIME, HEALTH AND PRESENCE

The three most expensive things in the rest of life cannot be postponed until we have spare time.

When I was young, my body seemed willing to follow whatever my will demanded. Sleep a little less, work a little longer, rest for a few days and recover. At fifty, the body began reminding me more clearly that it is not a tool that can be overdrawn without limit.

Health is not something to think about only after becoming ill. Regular checks, sleep, nutrition and exercise need to become part of life planning. A person who wants to care for many others but first exhausts himself will eventually become another source of worry for his family.

Time is the same. Everyone has only twenty-four hours each day. The real choice is not whether we spend time, but where we spend it. A calendar is very honest. It shows whether the people and things we say matter most are actually receiving our time.

Presence cannot mean only having the body in the room. Answering messages during meals, or listening to someone while continuing to think about work, is not true companionship. I am learning to give my full attention to the person in front of me, even if the time is short.

Operating late into the night is part of reality, but it cannot remain a permanent situation that is never adjusted. Building a team, delegating and creating processes are not only about efficiency. They are also about freeing a founder’s life from endless small tasks.

I also want students to understand that rest is part of training. Overtraining damages movement and emotion. Knowing when to stop is not laziness. It allows us to continue in a more stable condition.

Health, time and presence do not offer a resit. After fifty, I will protect them more seriously—not because I am afraid of growing old, but because there are still things I want to complete and people for whom I want to be fully present.

CHAPTER 27: DEVELOPING COACHES HAS A LONGER LEGACY THAN DEVELOPING CHAMPIONS

A champion lights up one stage. A coach can light the starting point for many people.

Competitive sport needs champions. Excellent players raise standards and help more people notice the sport. But if a system has only a few stars and not enough good coaches, its influence is difficult to sustain.

A champion’s peak may be concentrated in a few years. A coach can accompany different generations for far longer. Every student who is taught well becomes another person practising the coach’s philosophy. When that student becomes a coach, the influence expands again.

That is why I regard coach development as one of the academy’s most important responsibilities. We need a pathway from student to assistant coach to coach, with responsibility increasing gradually as ability increases. High scores alone should not place someone directly into a teaching role.

Coach training should include technique, course design, child safety, communication, ethics and competition rules. There should also be a practicum, observation and feedback so candidates learn in real classrooms how to work with different kinds of students.

We also need more female coaches and leaders from different backgrounds. When students see someone like themselves standing at the front, it becomes easier to believe that they, too, have a place. Diversity is not decoration. It is a way to make education more accessible.

Only when the coaching team matures can the founder truly let go. If every judgement still has to come back to me, then one hundred dojos is only a slogan. Shared values can cross locations only when common standards are understood and practised.

Of course, I am proud of champions. But I look forward even more to the day when a coach I trained tells me that one of his own students has begun guiding a beginner. That will mean a chain of inheritance has formed.

CHAPTER 28: THE BLUEPRINT FOR ONE HUNDRED DOJOS

The blueprint is not to copy the same shop one hundred times. It is to let the same values take root in different communities.

I have set a goal of one hundred dojos, one thousand families and one hundred thousand members. It sounds large, but if it becomes only a set of expansion numbers, the direction will quickly be lost.

The dojos I imagine do not all need the same size or interior design, but they must share common standards: safety, smoke-free environments, friendliness, respect for beginners and education at the centre. Form can adjust to the community. Values cannot simply be discounted.

To achieve the blueprint, the first step is not rushing to open locations. We must first establish courses, coach certification, operating procedures and assessment systems. One poorly trained location that causes harm can consume trust the whole brand took years to build.

One thousand families means darts has truly entered daily life. Parents and children do not experience it only on event day. They continue practising, joining the community and learning together about focus, communication and how to deal with winning and losing.

One hundred thousand members should not be only names in a database. I want every person to find a level of participation that suits him or her: recreation, learning, competition, volunteering or coaching development. The larger the scale becomes, the more carefully we must avoid turning people into numbers.

The blueprint needs partners, not followers. I am looking for people willing to take responsibility in their local communities. We give them tools and standards while respecting their understanding of the community. Headquarters should not control every detail. Its role is to protect quality, training and common direction.

One hundred dojos cannot be completed by me alone, and should not be. The real purpose is to prove whether an idea that began in one small shop can grow into an educational movement owned by many people.

CHAPTER 29: TO THE NEXT GENERATION

I do not ask you to walk my road. I only hope you protect a few things while walking your own.

If you are young and reading this book, let me tell you first: do not feel ashamed because your starting point is ordinary. My family could not give me much, but it gave me the most important boundaries. Do not steal. Do not rob. Do not break the law. Do not harm others. These simple principles can protect you in a complicated world.

Do not be in too much of a hurry to prove yourself. Other people’s opinion of you today is not your whole identity, and the speed you see on social media is not the real speed of life. Do one small thing well first. Build habits that can be repeated. Time will accumulate strength for you.

You may have ambition, but do not treat the people who love you as background scenery that will always remain. Remember to go home. Remember to express gratitude. If important words are always delayed until the “right time,” the opportunity may eventually disappear.

When you make a mistake, do not rush to hide it. Admit it, correct it and accept the outcome. Mistakes do not automatically create growth. Only when you face them honestly can the price become experience.

When you meet someone weaker, slower or just beginning, keep your kindness. The ability you have today was also supported by other people somewhere along the way. A truly strong person opens the door instead of standing in the doorway proving that others are not qualified to enter.

Do not be afraid to begin again either. At fifty, you can still start a business, learn to give a speech in English, or enter a new profession. Age may change the method, but it does not have to close possibility.

Finally, find something larger than personal gain or loss. It does not have to be dramatic. It may be caring seriously for one family, teaching a group of children well, or protecting one community. When your abilities meet someone else’s need, life gains a different kind of weight.

CHAPTER 30: WHEN I AM NO LONGER THERE

Real legacy means that one day, even when I am not present, people still know what should be done.

I used to handle many things personally. It was fast and gave me a sense of security, but it also meant that the work could never grow beyond one person’s capacity. If I was absent, things could stop.

After fifty, I have become increasingly focused on systems and development. Courses need to be written down. Standards need to be established. Coaches need to be trained. Culture must be protected by more than one person. Only then can experience become the ability of a group rather than the possession of one individual.

I have proposed a blueprint of one hundred dojos, one thousand families and one hundred thousand members. The numbers are large, but the starting point remains small: take care of the beginner standing in front of us, teach this lesson well, organise this event properly, and help this parent see a change in a child.

I do not want SUPER PANDA to exist only because of one person. I want every future dojo to be a place where beginners are respected, children grow in a safe environment, and people of different ages and backgrounds sit together because of darts.

I also want to develop more female coaches, young darts players, assistant coaches and educators. A champion can create one moment of applause. A good coach may influence an entire generation of students.

If one day I am not there, but someone still says to the beginner walking in for the first time, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll teach you”; if people still respect opponents after winning and review themselves seriously after losing; if people still remember that darts is about more than winning and losing—then what I have done will not have disappeared.

That is also why I write books. Human memory fades, and stories change as they are retold. Only by organising experience, mistakes and methods can the people who come later understand why we began.

Fifty is not the end. I will still make mistakes, become tired and encounter new difficulties. But I no longer wait until everything is perfectly ready before I begin. With the time I have left, I want to walk the road more clearly and complete, one by one, the things worth leaving behind.

AFTERWORD: THE REST OF LIFE IS NOT LEFTOVER TIME

After finishing this book, I can see the road I have travelled again. It is not straight, and there was no answer I already knew when I was young. Many encounters that seemed accidental later became directions. Many prices I did not want to face at the time later became reminders.

I am especially grateful to my wife, Tee Vern Nie. She wrote The Elder’s Wish with me, entered schools with me, and stood beside me to protect the shop during the hardest periods of the darts journey. The book speaks about “my” experiences, but those experiences were never supported by one person alone.

I am also grateful to every partner, teacher, student and parent who took part in our school community work, and to every member of SUPER PANDA. You taught me that the warmth of a place does not come from what a founder says. It comes from many people choosing to protect it together through their actions.

This manuscript is not a final judgement on the past. Life is still continuing. The academy, the club and the blueprint for one hundred dojos are still on the road. If the future brings new experiences, new mistakes and new answers, I am willing to keep revising my understanding rather than be trapped by what I write today.

After fifty, I no longer call the years ahead “the time that is left.” They are the years I can finally use more consciously after living through the first half of life. May none of us wait for perfection before beginning, and may we never give up simply because we started late. As long as we are still willing to throw the next dart, life still has another place for it to land.