Why do you write about this famous actor only after he has passed away, and not when he was alive?
My daughters innocent question made me ponder on how we often tend to wait till someone is gone to truly appreciate his or her life and legacy.
The passing of Abdullah Ahmad Badawi, Malaysias fifth prime minister, has made me reflect on a familiar human pattern: we often recognise and celebrate greatness only after it has quietly slipped away.
Abdullah, affectionately known as Pak Lah, was a leader marked by humility, integrity, and a commitment to reform. His tenure from 2003 to 2009 saw meaningful strides in governance, judicial reform, and interfaith understanding.
The government honoured him with the highest decoration of the title Tun in 2009. Yet, after stepping down, he lived a life of relative silence, away from the public eye until his passing on April 14, 2025.
His death invites us to ponder a deeper question why do we so often wait until great people are gone to truly appreciate their contributions?
This applies to other prominent Malaysian figures, too. Consider the life of P Ramlee, Malaysias legendary artist and filmmaker. Despite his significant influence on Malaysian culture, P Ramlee faced neglect and criticism during his lifetime.
It was only after his death in 1973 that his genius was fully embraced, his films and songs becoming national treasures.
Today, institutions bear his name, streets are named after him, and his legacy is celebrated widely a posthumous honour that reflects collective regret for not valuing him enough while he was alive.
Similarly, Ahmad Boestamam, a prominent Malaysian writer and nationalist, inspired generations with his literary works and political activism.
Yet his name is not as widely recognised as it deserves to be, reminding us how easily significant contributions can fade from public consciousness if not actively acknowledged.
Looking beyond Malaysia, the same question resonates across Asia, too. Indias Subramania Bharati, known as Bharatiyar, was a revolutionary Tamil poet and social reformer who challenged entrenched social norms and inspired the independence movement.
Bharatis poetry, rich with calls for equality and freedom, was only fully appreciated decades after his untimely death in Chennai in 1921 after injuries sustained from an elephant attack at a temple.
Notably just over a dozen people, including close friends and relatives, turned up for his funeral. Apart from practical reasons such as the inability of distant friends and relatives to arrive on time, there also were societal prejudices against him.
Despite his stature as a Mahakavi (great poet) and nationalist, Bharati was not widely recognised or honoured by the contemporary elite during his lifetime.
In China modernist painter Sanyu, whose art blended East and West, lived a quiet life but political turmoil and his own silence meant his work was nearly forgotten until rediscovered long after his death in 1966.
Similarly, in the West, artist Vincent van Gogh, who sold only a few paintings in his lifetime, is now hailed as a master of art.
Father of genetics Gregor Mendel and scientist Alfred Wegener, who proposed the continental drift, were dismissed or ignored while actors Heath Ledger and James Dean only became legends posthumously, their talents fully appreciated when it was too late to hear their thanks.
Why are we slow to appreciate greatness? Perhaps familiarity dulls our senses. When presented on a daily basis, greatness becomes invisible.
Cultural norms also play a role. In Asian societies, the emphasis on humility and emotional restraint makes open praise less common during ones lifetime.
Our natural discomfort with mortality also means that celebrating ones greatness deeply may feel like it is in preparation for his or her death.
Also, social rituals often reserve grand tributes such as statues, obituaries, editorials, and the naming of airports and roads, for after death, creating accepted moments for collective mourning and honour.
However, this delay comes at a cost. Those who shape our arts, sciences, politics, and culture often miss the encouragement and gratitude that could inspire and sustain them.
What a difference it would have made to these everyday heroes if their contributions had been acknowledged and celebrated during their lifetime; such recognition would not only uplift the individual but would also enrich society, inspiring others to pursue their own gifts with confidence and joy.
Instead, with our choice to keep silent with our praise, society loses the chance to engage with living legacies, to learn directly from their wisdom and passion.
Reflecting on P Ramlee, Ahmad Boestamam, Subramania Bharati, Sanyu, and many Western luminaries, the message is clear: we must change.
We must learn to recognise and celebrate greatness when people are alive, encourage them, express our gratitude to them, and share admiration openly.
We should honour them with our words and actions today instead of waiting to erect statues, write editorials, or name roads after them when they have no more tomorrows.
Pak Lahs life and passing has brought this truth into sharp focus. Known for his quiet leadership, emphasis on integrity, and efforts to promote moderation and reform, he chose humility over spectacle.
Yet, his retreat from public life after his premiership, especially as he battled dementia, meant Malaysians had fewer opportunities to express their appreciation and support while he was still with us. His dignified departure reminds us that greatness does not always shout it can be gentle, silent, and still profound.
So, as we remember Abdullah Ahmad Badawi and all the great souls whose legacies shine brighter after their passing, let us ask ourselves: should we not strive to appreciate and encourage greatness while it still walks among us? Your thoughts?
The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.