We were somewhere over Malaysia, wedged into economy with four kids, when the fighting started.
It was hot. It was cramped. And the chicken satay I’d wolfed down in Singapore was staging a violent protest somewhere south of my belt buckle.
“Just shut up, the lot of you”, I thundered.
My five-year-old burst into tears. “Daddy said the F-word!”
“Shut up is not an F-word”, I protested.
“We don’t speak like that in our house”, he sobbed, like he was reading me my rights.
Liz just glared at me.
We were on our way to Cambodia. I figured the trip would teach my kids a thing or two about how good they’ve got it back home.
Little did I know the biggest lesson was waiting for me.
But it wasn’t some big temple or ancient ruin that did the teaching. It started three months before we even landed in the country.
A mother gave birth to a little baby boy.
She placed him in a plastic bag. Then she tied it shut and, for reasons only she will ever know, tossed him onto a rubbish pile to die.
Yet he wouldn’t die.
This tiny baby, only a few days old, no bigger than a footy, screamed through the plastic and the garbage until a rice farmer walking past heard him.
Now, this farmer had nothing. Dirt floor, hungry kids of his own, crops that barely fed his family. But he still took that baby home, and he and his wife fed him and held him for three weeks, until they simply couldn’t anymore.
So they carried him to a hospital and prayed someone could give him the life they couldn’t.
That someone was Geraldine Cox, an Aussie expat in her eighties who has spent the last 33 years running Sunrise Cambodia, an orphanage for kids nobody else wants. The kids call her Big Mumma.
My wife did a story on the place years ago for the 7pm Project and has sponsored a kid ever since. When we said we were coming, Geraldine invited us out.
As we arrived, my kids bolted off to play soccer with the Sunrise kids. Geraldine showed us around.
Walking into the nursery, I noticed a woman cradling a little baby.
I looked closer. The baby was staring straight at me.
It was the little baby in the bag.
His nickname is Sok, which means strong in Khmer. (Sunrise later gave him a proper name, which for his privacy I won’t share.)
And he is strong. He’s a fighter. After all, by rights, he shouldn’t be here. There is no trace of his parents. No birth certificate. No record he was ever born. No past for this boy in a bag.
So what becomes of him? What’s his story going to be?
That his mother wanted him dead?
No.
His story will be that, amid all the cruelty of this world, there are kind, caring people everywhere.
Like that dirt-poor farmer who pulled him out with his bare hands.
Like Big Mumma.
Like me.
And like you.
I’ve made a donation to help cover Sok’s costs, which are around eight grand a year (Sunrise gets no government funding – it all comes from donors).
Look, everyone has a lot of bills, too much work, and not enough time. But if you’ve got a Give Jar, consider sending a few dollars to Sunrise Cambodia. It’s tax deductible, and you can ask them to direct it towards Sok if you like. Every dollar makes a real difference.
You see, one day Sok will learn his story. But it won’t just be about a plastic bag. It will be about thousands of ordinary people on the other side of the world who decided this little fighter was worth fighting for.
Here’s the link: www.sunrisecambodia.org.au/donate
Tread Your Own Path!
Your Questions & Answers
Billionaire’s WARNING: I’m SELLING. The Crash Is Already Here!
My Heartbroken Son
Billionaire’s WARNING: I’m SELLING. The Crash Is Already Here!
Hi Scott,
I’d love your thoughts on billionaire investor Jeremy Grantham’s interview on Diary of a CEO this week. He reckons you should get out of US stocks and into emerging markets and bonds. He manages $78 billion, so he seems to know a thing or two, and his arguments sound logical. Is it time to move my super and share portfolio out of Aussie and US index funds? I’m 42 and want the best bang for my buck over the next 20 to 30 years.
James
Hey James,
I watched the interview … and felt kind of dirty by the end of it.
Grantham believes the US market is wildly overvalued, crypto is mostly worthless, and the AI boom smells a lot like the dot-com bubble wearing a chatbot costume. I agree with a fair bit of what he says.
So why did I feel dirty?
Years ago I put a ring on my share portfolio. I made a vow to stick with it through the good times and the bad. History shows shares deliver the best long-term returns of all investments, even though they scare the living daylights out of you sometimes.
Every crash has eventually been followed by new highs. So I keep a few months’ cash in the bank and accept that happily ever after only exists in fairy tales.
Good investments (like good marriages) go sideways sometimes. Stick around long enough and they compound into something that changes your life.
That podcast felt like the financial version of a married bloke on Tinder. The whole thing is designed to make you restless and think “Maybe I should ditch my boring old index funds for some sexy emerging markets”. Heck, the episode is literally called: “Billionaire’s WARNING: I’m SELLING. The Crash Is Already Here!”
That’s a rubbish way to invest your money.
You don’t throw away a solid relationship because some hot selfie on the internet looks like a better trade. You remember why you committed in the first place.
Now, Grantham might be right. The market could crash next week. But to make money from that, you’ve got to be right twice. First, you’ve got to sell before everyone else. Then you’ve got to decide when the coast is clear and buy back in.
Even Grantham has struggled with this. He’s been calling the US market a bubble since 2021. Meanwhile the market has climbed over 100 percent higher.
James, at 42 you’ve got your greatest advantage: time. Decades of pay packets ahead of you. Every market wobble is a chance for those dollars to buy more shares and compound.
My advice?
Stay married to your diversified share portfolio. Keep some cash aside so a crash never forces you to sell. And stay off the spicy dating apps.
My Heartbroken Son
Scott,
My 20-year-old son signed a 12-month lease with his high school girlfriend, against my gentle judgment. Four months in, she broke up with him via text as he drove to work at 6am. Now she’s out looking at new rentals, and he’s left with $600-a-week rent he can’t possibly afford on a part-time student’s wage. I’m offering support and advice, but he’s reluctant to act. Short of handing over cash, what’s the best way to help my son through this?
Concerned Mum
Hey Concerned Mum,
Right now your son is heartbroken. Humiliated. And broke.
He’s also 20.
Which makes this the cheapest life lesson he’ll ever buy … but only if you let him buy it.
So here’s my advice, and you probably won’t like it: Don’t fix it for him.
Don’t hand over cash. And definitely don’t move him back into his childhood bedroom. That teaches him that whenever adult life kicks him in the guts Mum will always make it better.
The truth is he’s in a stronger spot than he realises. His ex is still legally on that lease, text-message break-up or not. Her name is stuck there, same as his.
That gives him three options: they break the lease together (in this market it might only sting for a few weeks’ rent plus advertising), they find a new tenant to take over, or he gets a mate to move in and cover her share.
Your job isn’t to rescue him. It’s to point him at the tools. Tell him to ring the tenants’ union in your state (it’s free). Warn him not to go quiet and stop paying the rent, or he’ll end up on a tenancy blacklist that follows him for years.
Then step back and let the learning begin.
One day, in 15 years’ time, he’ll be telling this story at a barbecue. You’re deciding right now how that story ends: the time he sorted out his own mess at 20, or the time Mum rode in and saved him.
Thanks for reading,
Scott.