Kuala Lampur, June 3 -- I grew up watching the hardest-working people I've ever known - my parents - build their lives with discipline, thrift, and remarkable resilience.

They didn't talk much about sacrifice. They lived it.

One of my fondest memories from childhood is the scent of spray starch on my father's army uniform, particularly his No. 3 work dress, a light olive-green ensemble worn for daily duties.

Every morning, he'd iron it with military precision: sharp creases and clean lines. The scent of starch filled the air. It was oddly soothing.

It signalled structure (pun intended, as my father served in the Royal Signal Regiment), responsibility, and a quiet pride in serving something bigger than oneself.

Back then, hard work me...