You Are the Main Character.

I was born in Malaysia, in 1975. My grandfather, ahead of his time, gave me the greatest gift: he accepted me for who I am and let me be the main character of my own story, even when the world was confused by the role I chose. His vision? That I'd go to a university overseas. He wasn't just hopeful. He was directing.

When I finally started school at 11 — four years late — and finished in the top five of my class within six months, they said I cheated. My grandmother simply said, "Prove them wrong." So I did. I graduated from Marquette University with an engineering degree and something more useful than the degree: the belief that the world's script for you can be rewritten.

My life has been a series of scenes that looked like failure. My first cafe business? I lost everything — my savings, my confidence. It took years to recover. But the real story wasn't in the loss. It was in the rescue.

On March 11, 2007, my best friend and I found five puppies abandoned beside a mall and took them to the SPCA. The next day my grandmother passed away, and I drove nine hours alone to my hometown for the funeral. On the way, my best friend called. She had checked on the puppies: they were only days old, nobody could care for them, and the SPCA was going to put them down. She asked if we should take them. I said yes. She brought them home that day.Grief and joy arrived together, wearing different faces. From five, I soon had thirteen.

They became my co-stars, my reason, my teachers. I started training them, making videos. Then came the scene that changed everything. A video of me celebrating Eid with my rescued dogs sparked a national uproar. In Malaysia, dogs are considered impure by the dominant religion — you're not supposed to touch them, let alone have them in your home. Many people were offended that I would include dogs in a religious celebration. They accused me of insulting Islam. I was remanded for three days.

That was my inciting incident — and the moment I stopped trying to belong to a story that was never mine. Forced to stop, I had two weeks to find a new way to write it. That's when I found Abraham Hicks. It wasn't just "woo." It was the first time the logic of the thing clicked.

I stopped asking for things and started playing the part of the person who already had them. I tripled my income without a job search. When Jersey got cancer, I found the right vet. In 2021 I resigned to take care of her full time — and I did, until she passed in February 2023.

After that I stopped. I was not going back to a 9-to-5, and I could not find a reason to do anything else, so I gave up and took whatever came. What came first was homelessness. What came next was a friend I had lost touch with, offering his off-grid cottage — so Reo and I didn't have to live in my truck.

In that cottage in the middle of the jungle, I had a vivid dream: Jersey transformed into another dog who looked just like her. In less than four months I had the money, a home, and the puppy from the dream. Her name is Jihan. Jasmine came after.

None of it came from believing harder. It came from rehearsing — writing the scene, then playing it before reality agreed to it. Twenty years of engineering taught me one thing that mattered here, and it wasn't systems thinking. It was that you don't get to skip the build.

Getting the miracle did not end the story. I hit the floor again — worse, because this time I had proof the thing worked and still couldn't move.

That's where I found Alan Watts saying life is a play. Not a problem to solve. A play to perform. That was the turn. I stopped picturing a life and started producing one.

Rewrite the script. Rehearse the new one. Roll. That is JadiJe Reality Production, and I built it while I was using it to get myself off the floor. It is not a theory I read. It is the plan I used — and it is why I trust handing it to anyone else.