Origin Story

Written by Mark

Edited by Janis

I was born in Colombo, Sri Lanka, on the night the city exploded into violence. 

In July 1983, now known as Black July, a civil war raged as riots tore through the capital city and Tamil civilians (including my father and uncles) were hunted in the streets. During this unrest, my mother quietly went into labour with me. By the grace of God, our Sinhalese neighbours hid my labouring mom and 14 others in a tiny, secret room in their home. Outside, the city collapsed into chaos. 

As my mother’s labour progressed, a Sinhalese police officer stepped up to drive her and my grandmother through the wreckage of the city to the hospital. My mom was refused admission because she was Tamil, but the officer would have none of it. He slammed his baton against the gate, demanding they let her in.

I was born that night in a deserted hospital wing. Later, we were discharged to a home destroyed by looters. My mother and grandmother stayed awake all night by the dim light of an oil lamp, desperately trying to keep me from crying, fearing the return of raiders.

Then, another miracle: Muslim neighbours saw our plight and took us in. They gave us a safe, air-conditioned room, fed us, and cared for my mom while my father and the rest of our family survived on rations in a refugee camp outside the city. 

Ten days after I was born, we fled to India. A year later, Canada became home.

My life was saved by the brave actions of ordinary people. My Tamil Christian family was protected by our Sinhalese, Muslim, Hindu, and Buddhist neighbours—people who put their lives on the line to ease our suffering. 

Is it possible we all have this power? Could it be that looking out for each other's best interests brings out the best in us? Since the very beginning, I’ve had the sense life is a gift that must be actively passed on. 

“The great gift of service is that it also helps the one who serves.” —Sundar Singh

Imagine traveling through the bitter cold Himalayan mountains, struggling to breathe at an altitude of 16,000 feet, and doing it barefoot. In an excerpt from Sadhu Sundar Singh: Essential Writings, Singh shares a story from one of many such journeys during his life.

On an especially treacherous path along a mountain precipice, Singh and his travelling companion feared they wouldn’t make it to the next village before succumbing to the sub-zero temperatures. Just then, they saw deep in the valley below, an arm faintly waving for help—a man who had fallen from the same precarious path Singh and his companion were traversing. Knowing he could not leave this soul behind, Singh asked his travelling partner to attempt a rescue. But the companion refused, insisting leaving the path would mean all of them freezing to death. With that, the companion continued on his way, leaving Singh to trek down into the valley alone. 

Slowly, painfully, Singh made his way down to the fallen man. He lifted the man onto his back and wrapped his thin blanket around them both. And slowly, painfully, he made his way up out of the valley and continued towards the closest village several brutal miles away. Just a few hundred yards from the village, while carrying the man, Singh nearly tripped over a frozen object in the snow. It was the dead body of the traveling companion who insisted on saving his own life. 

Miraculously, Singh and the man he carried survived. The exertion of carrying the man and the contact of their bodies created enough warmth to keep both of them alive. Singh explains in his book, “This is the way of service. No one can live without the help of others, and in helping others, we receive help ourselves."

As much as Singh wanted to survive his arduous journey, he cared about the wellbeing of the fallen traveller more. Like a Navy Seal, he wasn’t willing to leave anyone behind. He was rewarded with the saving warmth Ecclesiastes 4:9–11 talks about: “Two are better than one... For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up. Again, if two lie down together, they will keep warm; but how can one be warm alone?” 

Later in life, when asked what his life’s most difficult task was, Singh responded, “Not having a burden to carry.” There is a paradox here, and I believe it’s deeply tied to what it means to be a true leader. Leadership that puts individual success or comfort aside for the sake of others ends up unlocking our own greatest potential.  

Hidden Potential

Potential is what drew me to volunteer in a prison’s recovery program. As an investor, I pride myself in being able to spot hidden, unloved opportunities with great potential. As far as humans go, there’s no richer soil for hidden, unloved people with great potential than in prison. 

The individuals in prison often come from devastating and tragic circumstances, but through one of our country’s only in-prison rehabilitation programs, these men choose to do the brutal and difficult inner work required to heal and grow from past hurts and wounds. I have the privilege of seeing this inner change and growth permanently change their outer performance and behaviours. Some of these men become extraordinary examples of redemption and pillars in their community, often becoming recovery coaches themselves. 

Like Sadhu Sundar Singh and like my family’s Sinhalese, Hindu, Muslim, and Buddhist neighbours, these prisoners unlock a potential in themselves that comes only by looking after the wellbeing of fellow inmates and beyond their communities upon being released. 

Real Success

As much as I strive to be a success and the absolute best at whatever I do, I’ll never reach my potential if I’m not willing to give up my greatest hopes and dreams for the success and wellbeing of the people around me. It’s a paradox and a tension that must be weighed day-by-day, hour-by-hour, decision-by-decision. 

This is my life’s work. To be a small part of the story of anyone putting themselves on the line to be the best and bring out the best in the people around them. For leaders who go all out for their teams. For groups of people who leave it all on the table for each other.