en yan hua fang

If you had a time machine and could send just one message to your past self, what would it say?

If I could send one message to my past self, I would send a question, not a statement: “Sensibility and sensitivity—which matters more?”

Wisdom is born from experience—both triumph and failure. Yet too many warnings from a future self might cause one to lose by trying too hard not to lose.

My own motto—Forget the past, strive for the future, and press towards the goal—offers a different lens for today’s prompt.

In my younger years, I weighed every decision between sensibility and sensitivity. But it was never easy, because—as Pascal wrote—”The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.” The tension between the two is not easily resolved. Yet wisdom, accumulated through lived experience, becomes the gateway to understanding.

Throughout my career, I have practised according to law, reason, and emotion—in that precise order. Prioritising them this way helped me walk through many unreasonably imposed challenges without chaos or grave consequence.

For me, logic and fairness prevail over empathy, within proper bounds. Yet this approach stands in contrast to traditional Chinese culture, which often reverses the sequence. Traditional mediation emphasises restoring relational harmony, but may do so at the expense of fairness—or even jeopardise legal integrity.

In organisations staffed by Chinese employees, the cultural preference for personal connection often makes governance-focused management difficult and unpopular.

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Consider this example.

Last week, I visited a very ill elderly man in hospital—a highly respected leader I had not seen or spoken to for nearly twenty years. In his extreme pain, he whispered: “No one liked me…” That conversation revealed a deep sorrow over long-distant relationships with his staff. As department head, he had embodied integrity, uprightness, and honesty. But in doing so, he may have made himself feared and disliked.

To reassure him, I whispered back what Scripture says: “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it” (Hebrews 12:11). By God’s grace, he was restored to peace.

If I could send one message to his past self, it would be: Hold steadfastly to your belief, conviction, and high standard of integrity in all your dealings.

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That said, today I have grown more comfortable with both my head and my heart. The saying “The law is dead, but people are alive” makes better sense to me now. The art of law is not compromise, but widening the latitude of discretion within legal and reasonable limits. For law itself does not hold society together—the way we apply it does.

Regulations may become outdated, yet wisdom bridges the gap. Human intelligence and empathy interpret the spirit of the law, giving life to what was “dead”—orderly and humane at once.

If my past self heard that question, she would unequivocally answer: “I am who I am, and I happily accept the price of venturing my life into the future.” For I love wisdom more than pearls of the sea. All that my heart longs for is Wisdom’s own voice—in stillness, I listen; in trust, I rejoice.

May this poem stir your own desire to follow Wisdom’s voice.

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✨ Who Is Listening? ✨

Dedicated to the weary leader, the searching self, and the voice of Wisdom.

—

You don’t heed my words—that is defiance;

I heed your words—yet that is not compliance.

But the heart has its reasons

that reason can’t know—

a tension that deepens

the more that we grow.

Sensibility measures,

sensitivity feels—

one builds the foundation,

the other, it heals.

Yet wisdom walks gently

between law and grace,

and finds in the stillness

a wider space.

The law may be dead—

but the spirit gives breath;

not compromise,

but discretion that conquers death.

For rules without mercy

are pillars of stone,

but mercy with justice

makes warmth from the bone.

—

I visited an old man,

frail and vulnerable—

his life built on honour,

on integrity’s throne.

He whispered in anguish:

“No one liked me…”

I held his hand softly

and spoke quietly:

“Discipline bears its harvest—

not pleasure, but peace;

what seems harsh in the moment

will later release

a righteousness, quiet,

a peace that remains,

through grace that restores

after sorrow and pains.”

—

So if I could send

one word through the years—

not to my past self,

but to all who fear—

it would not be a warning,

nor a formula cold,

but a question that deepens

as we grow old:

“Sensibility and sensitivity—

which matters more?”

And the answer?

To listen—

and still explore.

For I love Wisdom

more than pearls of the sea—

all that my heart longs for

is found in Thee.

In stillness, I listen;

in trust, I rejoice—

and follow, at last,

that still, small voice.

—

Proverbs 8:12

“I, Wisdom, make prudence my dwelling place,

and knowledge and counsel I lovingly embrace.”

—

May we all learn to listen—not only to the voice of reason, nor only to the cry of the heart—but to Wisdom herself, who speaks in the quiet space between them.

—✨