Beyond the Dollar Sign: How Singapore’s Hao Ren Hao Shi Embodies the ‘We First’ Spirit

The news cycle often focuses on big numbers, and last month, the numbers were certainly impressive. When Hao Ren Hao Shi (Good People, Good Deeds) held its first charity fundraising dinner, it shattered expectations, raising over $1.8 million.

But the true significance of the evening—attended by Prime Minister Lawrence Wong—was not the financial haul. It was the powerful endorsement of a simple, yet profound, philosophy: the ‘we first’ spirit.

PM Wong highlighted this ground-up initiative as the perfect embodiment of the belief that individuals can only truly thrive when the community is strong and dedicated to looking out for its most vulnerable members. Hao Ren Hao Shi isn’t just a charity; it’s a blueprint for the cohesive, compassionate society Singapore is striving to be.

The Minimart Model: Dignity on the Shelf

Founded in 2018 by Anson Ng, a figure now known widely as Singaporean of the Year 2022, Hao Ren Hao Shi has rapidly scaled its impact far beyond the size of a typical grassroots movement. It currently serves over 30,000 beneficiaries and boasts a network of over 7,000 volunteers.

What sets this organization apart is its structural innovation, moving beyond the traditional reactive welfare model:

Free Community Minimarts

Unlike traditional food distribution, which often involves pre-packed, fixed hampers, Hao Ren Hao Shi operates two free community minimarts (in Queenstown and Fernvale). These spaces allow over 800 families monthly to “shop” for essentials using a point system.

This model is critical for two reasons:

Restoration of Dignity: By offering choice, beneficiaries are treated as empowered consumers, reducing the stigma often associated with charity. They choose what they need, minimizing waste and maximizing relevance.
A Hub for Connection: The minimarts are recurring points of contact. They are places where volunteers and residents don’t just exchange goods; they exchange stories, advice, and conversation, building the durable social bonds that policy alone cannot create.

Mobile Deliveries and Hyper-Local Reach

Complementing the minimarts are mobile grocery deliveries, assisting around 2,000 families every month. This ensures that aid reaches those with mobility issues or deep social isolation, guaranteeing that the help is as accessible as it is abundant.

The ‘We First’ Philosophy in Practice

Prime Minister Wong’s reference to the “we first” spirit—a theme central to his National Day Rally—finds its most tangible expression in initiatives like this. It challenges the notion that individual success is purely isolated.

The “we first” spirit argues that robust individual flourishing is predicated on a strong communal foundation. If our elderly are isolated, or our neighbours are struggling to feed their children, that instability ultimately affects everyone.

Hao Ren Hao Shi translates this philosophical ideal into actionable citizenship. It transforms passive compassion into active responsibility. It’s an example of the government and the community working in necessary tandem: the government provides the overarching safety net, but the community provides the crucial human touch.

The Accumulation of Small Things: The Volunteers’ Story

The true impact of Hao Ren Hao Shi is best measured not in millions of dollars, but in the hours volunteered and the relationships formed. The story of the Lam family perfectly illustrates this reciprocal power.

Mr. Lam initially started volunteering six years ago. What began as a dutiful commitment has transformed his entire family’s perspective. His two daughters, now 23 and 21, have become even more enthusiastic volunteers, particularly enjoying the interactions at the minimarts.

This generational investment highlights an often-overlooked dimension of community service: the profound psychological and social benefit to the helper.

For the Lam sisters, volunteering isn’t an obligation; it’s an interactive exchange. It provides perspective, humility, and the satisfaction of building tangible relationships with residents. When youth engage directly with the challenges facing their community, they develop empathy and a sense of shared ownership—qualities vital for Singapore’s future social resilience.

Every conversation, every carefully selected grocery item, every smile exchanged at the minimart counter is an act of compounding social capital. These small, repeated acts of care accumulate over time, creating a deep reserve of community trust.

A Blueprint for Social Cohesion

Hao Ren Hao Shi’s phenomenal growth—from a small idea to a major organisation serving tens of thousands—is a testament to the power of vision meeting urgent need. It proves that when ground-up initiatives are strategically designed for dignity and sustained by deep volunteer commitment, they offer more than just material relief.

They offer belonging.

In an increasingly fast-paced and globalized world, where community bonds can fray under economic pressure, the maxim of ‘we first’ is a powerful reminder. It compels us to see past our own struggles and recognize that our neighbour’s stability is intrinsically linked to our own.

The success of Hao Ren Hao Shi is a call to action. It shows us that building a caring and cohesive society isn’t a task for policy makers alone; it’s the daily work of good people performing good deeds. It is the simple, yet revolutionary, act of making sure that when we look out for ourselves, we always look out for each other first.Beyond Charity: The True Impact of Hao Ren Hao Shi’s Community Model

Introduction: A Different Kind of Success Story

When Anson Ng, a second-hand car dealer, began distributing groceries to families in Redhill Close in 2018, he could hardly have imagined that seven years later, his initiative would raise $1.8 million in a single night while serving over 30,000 beneficiaries across Singapore. But the true measure of Hao Ren Hao Shi’s success isn’t found in these impressive numbers. It lies in something far more profound: the charity has created a replicable model for community care that transforms both givers and receivers, while offering a potential blueprint for social cohesion in an increasingly fragmented world.

The Architecture of Impact: More Than Free Groceries

Reimagining Charity Infrastructure

Traditional food assistance programs often operate on a transactional model: identify need, distribute resources, measure output. Hao Ren Hao Shi has evolved beyond this framework in three critical ways:

The Minimart Model: By creating actual shopping experiences rather than simple distribution points, the charity preserves dignity and agency. When PM Wong visited Happy Mart @ Fernvale in April 2025, he observed that it “far exceeded expectations”—not because of scale, but because it functioned as a genuine community hub where relationships formed naturally. Recipients aren’t passive receivers; they’re shoppers making choices, volunteers are neighbors rather than benefactors, and the space itself becomes neutral ground where economic disparities temporarily dissolve.

Mobile Delivery Systems: The charity’s ability to reach 2,000 families monthly through mobile groceries demonstrates sophisticated logistical thinking. This isn’t just about convenience—it addresses mobility barriers faced by elderly beneficiaries, individuals with disabilities, and families managing multiple responsibilities. The delivery model also maintains privacy for those who might feel stigmatized visiting public assistance locations.

Volunteer Integration Architecture: With over 7,000 volunteers engaged to date, Hao Ren Hao Shi has created sustainable volunteer pipelines. The Lam family’s six-year journey illustrates this: what began as a father’s initiative to teach values to his children evolved into the daughters becoming more enthusiastic participants than their father. This generational transmission of service values represents social infrastructure that compounds over time.

The Multiplier Effect: Measuring What Really Matters

Direct Impact: The Visible Layer

The statistics are substantial:

22,000+ individuals and families assisted in 2024 alone
30,000+ current beneficiaries across Singapore
800+ families served monthly through two minimarts
2,000+ families reached through mobile deliveries

But these numbers represent survival-level impact: food security, reduced financial stress, and basic needs met. This is essential but incomplete.

Indirect Impact: The Invisible Infrastructure

The deeper impact operates on multiple registers:

Economic Stabilization: For families living paycheck to paycheck, monthly savings from free groceries (potentially $200-400) create breathing room. This isn’t just about avoiding hunger—it’s about preventing cascading financial crises. Parents can pay utility bills instead of choosing between electricity and food. Children can participate in school activities. Medical appointments don’t get skipped. The charity functions as an economic shock absorber, preventing temporary hardship from becoming permanent crisis.

Social Capital Formation: The minimart model creates what sociologists call “bridging capital”—connections across social divides. When Ashley and Amber Lam spend their Sundays talking with residents, they’re not just volunteering; they’re building relationships that challenge stereotypes, create mutual understanding, and generate trust. These are the bonds that make societies resilient during crises.

Psychological Impact: There’s profound dignity in shopping rather than receiving. The minimart model acknowledges beneficiaries as capable decision-makers rather than passive recipients. This seemingly small detail has significant mental health implications, particularly for individuals whose sense of agency has been eroded by economic hardship.

Civic Engagement Pipeline: Hao Ren Hao Shi serves as an entry point for civic participation. Many volunteers likely have limited experience with structured community service. The charity provides accessible, meaningful ways to contribute, creating citizens who understand themselves as stakeholders in societal well-being. The daughters’ sustained enthusiasm suggests that early volunteering experiences can shape lifelong civic identities.

The “We First” Philosophy: Political Context and Social Engineering

PM Wong’s Strategic Framing

PM Wong’s emphasis on Hao Ren Hao Shi as embodying “we first” spirit isn’t casual political rhetoric—it’s a deliberate effort to define Singapore’s social contract for a new era. His repeated invocations of this concept (National Day Rally on August 17, parliamentary debate on September 24, and this charity dinner on September 29) signal that “we first” represents a core governance philosophy.

The framing is sophisticated. By stating that “the ‘me’ can only thrive when the ‘we’ is strong,” Wong avoids the false dichotomy between individualism and collectivism that has paralyzed political discourse elsewhere. He’s not demanding self-sacrifice or suppressing individual ambition. Instead, he’s articulating enlightened self-interest: your success depends on systemic stability, which requires collective care.

The Timing Is Not Coincidental

Wong’s contrast—”Even if the world becomes more disorderly and chaotic, we want Singapore to remain calm, peaceful and stable”—reflects genuine anxiety about global trends. Singapore exists in a region experiencing significant political volatility, while its economy remains vulnerable to global disruptions. The emphasis on ground-up community initiatives serves multiple strategic purposes:

Resilience Building: Government-delivered services are essential but insufficient during crises. Communities with strong informal support networks weather disruptions better. Hao Ren Hao Shi represents distributed social infrastructure that doesn’t rely on centralized resources.

Trust Regeneration: Wong explicitly mentioned how “institutions lose their legitimacy” and “trust among communities starts to erode” globally. By elevating ground-up initiatives, the government signals that it values bottom-up solutions and doesn’t see community organizing as threatening to state authority. This could help maintain institutional trust by demonstrating flexibility and responsiveness.

Addressing Isolation: Singapore faces the twin demographic challenges Wong alluded to: rapid aging and increasing numbers remaining single. These trends threaten social cohesion and create care gaps that government and family structures won’t fill alone. Community networks become essential infrastructure.

The Sustainability Question: Can This Model Scale?

Financial Viability

The $1.8 million raised represents significant success, but sustainability requires examining the funding model:

Strengths:

Diversified donor base (individuals, corporations, government partners)
High-profile endorsement provides credibility and visibility
Demonstrated track record increases donor confidence
Annual fundraising event creates predictable revenue cycle

Vulnerabilities:

Dependence on individual founder’s charisma and reputation
Economic downturns affect charitable giving while increasing need
Donor fatigue in competitive charity landscape
Scaling costs may increase faster than revenue

The charity’s collaboration with Community Development Councils suggests smart strategy—leveraging existing infrastructure and relationships rather than building everything independently.

Volunteer Sustainability

The 7,000-volunteer figure is impressive, but volunteer programs face predictable challenges:

Current Strengths:

Family-based volunteering creates social reinforcement
Regular Sunday schedule builds habits
Meaningful interaction (not just manual labor) increases satisfaction
Student volunteer programs create youth engagement

Potential Risks:

Volunteer burnout, particularly among core team
Dependency on founder’s personal recruitment ability
Difficulty maintaining quality as scale increases
Competition with other volunteer opportunities

The Lam family’s sustained six-year engagement suggests the charity has created meaningful volunteer experiences. The daughters’ increasing enthusiasm—surpassing their father’s—indicates the program successfully creates intrinsic motivation rather than depending solely on external encouragement.

Comparative Analysis: What Makes This Model Different?

Traditional Food Banks vs. Community Minimarts

Most food assistance programs operate on efficiency-maximizing principles: centralized distribution, standardized packages, high throughput. Hao Ren Hao Shi sacrifices some efficiency for effectiveness:

Choice vs. Assignment: Recipients select items rather than receiving predetermined packages, respecting dietary needs, preferences, and dignity
Regular Access vs. Emergency Relief: Ongoing relationships rather than one-time interventions
Community Space vs. Distribution Point: The location serves multiple social functions beyond resource transfer

Government Programs vs. Ground-Up Initiatives

Singapore’s social safety net is substantial, including schemes like ComCare, Silver Support, and Workfare. Hao Ren Hao Shi doesn’t replace these but occupies a distinct niche:

Advantages of Ground-Up Model:

Lower bureaucratic barriers to access
Faster response to emerging needs
Relationship-based rather than transaction-based
Can experiment and iterate without policy constraints
Mobilizes volunteer energy that government employment can’t replicate

Limitations:

Cannot match government scale or consistency
Depends on sustained goodwill and resources
Geographic coverage gaps inevitable
No formal accountability mechanisms
Sustainability more precarious

The ideal scenario—which appears to be emerging—is symbiotic: government programs provide baseline support with universal coverage, while community initiatives add relationship-richness, local responsiveness, and dignity-preserving approaches.

The Untold Challenges: What the Success Story Obscures

Selection and Access Issues

The article mentions serving “eligible families” but doesn’t detail eligibility criteria. Key questions:

How is need assessed and verified?
What barriers prevent eligible families from accessing services?
How is geographic equity maintained?
Are newly arrived immigrants/migrant workers served?
What happens when demand exceeds capacity?

The Burnout Risk

Anson Ng appears to be the charismatic center holding everything together. This creates organizational fragility:

What succession planning exists?
How dependent is donor confidence on Ng’s personal brand?
Is institutional knowledge being captured and distributed?
How is decision-making distributed?

The Stigma Reality

While the minimart model reduces stigma compared to traditional charity, economic segregation likely persists:

Do beneficiaries feel truly equal to volunteers, or does power imbalance remain?
How do communities perceive families visiting the minimart?
Does the model inadvertently create “deserving poor” categories?

Lessons for Civil Society: The Replicability Factor

What’s Transferable

Several elements could be replicated by other organizations or communities:

The Minimart Concept: The physical design and operational model could be adapted to different contexts. The insight that shopping preserves dignity more than receiving applies universally.

Family Volunteering: Structuring opportunities for multi-generational participation creates natural sustainability and values transmission.

Partnership Strategy: Working with established institutions (CDCs, schools, companies) rather than building everything independently allows rapid scaling.

Relationship-Centered Design: Prioritizing connection over pure efficiency creates stickiness for both volunteers and beneficiaries.

Context-Specific Factors

Some elements are harder to replicate:

Founder Charisma: Ng’s personal story (successful businessman dedicating himself to service) is compelling but not easily reproduced.

Singapore’s Context: High social trust, effective government, compact geography, and relatively low corruption create enabling conditions not present everywhere.

Start-Up Capital: The organization needed resources to establish infrastructure before demonstrating impact to donors.

The Broader Implications: What This Reveals About Singapore

A Society at an Inflection Point

The government’s enthusiastic embrace of Hao Ren Hao Shi signals recognition that traditional governance models need supplementation. Several factors drive this:

Complexity of Modern Poverty: Income-based metrics don’t capture full vulnerability. Families may be technically above poverty lines while struggling with medical costs, elderly care, and cost-of-living pressures.

Limits of Meritocracy: Singapore’s emphasis on individual achievement creates side effects—those who fall through cracks may experience shame, isolation, and reluctance to seek help. Community-based support feels different than government assistance.

Demographic Pressure: With rapid aging and shrinking families, traditional care structures are stressed. Community becomes necessary, not optional.

Global Comparison Anxiety: Wong’s references to global disorder reflect awareness that Singapore’s stability isn’t guaranteed. Strengthening social bonds serves as insurance against potential disruption.

Testing the “We First” Hypothesis

The critical question: Can community bonds genuinely be cultivated through policy encouragement, or do they emerge only organically?

Optimistic View: Hao Ren Hao Shi demonstrates that when the right infrastructure exists (supportive policy, minimal barriers, compelling vision), people want to participate in community care. The 7,000 volunteers suggest latent desire for connection and meaning.

Skeptical View: The model works because of unique factors (charismatic founder, government endorsement, feel-good optics) that don’t scale systemically. Most communities won’t spontaneously generate similar initiatives.

The truth likely lies between these extremes. What seems clear: top-down exhortation alone won’t create community bonds, but creating supportive conditions and highlighting successful models can catalyze action.

Conclusion: The Long Game

Hao Ren Hao Shi’s true impact won’t be fully measurable for years or even decades. The immediate effects—food security, financial relief, community connection—are substantial. But the long-term implications could be more significant:

Cultural Shift: If the charity helps normalize mutual aid and community responsibility, particularly among young people like the Lam daughters, it contributes to generational values change.

Model Demonstration: Other communities observing Hao Ren Hao Shi’s success may adapt the model, creating multiplication effects beyond direct service delivery.

Political Legitimacy: By spotlighting ground-up solutions, the government demonstrates responsiveness and flexibility, potentially strengthening institutional trust.

Social Infrastructure: The relationships, habits, and networks being built represent capital that communities can draw on during crises, whether economic, environmental, or health-related.

The charity’s success poses a fundamental question for modern societies: Can we create systems that deliver both material support and human dignity? Can we design infrastructure that meets needs while building relationships? Can we scale community without destroying the intimacy that makes it meaningful?

Hao Ren Hao Shi doesn’t definitively answer these questions, but it offers an encouraging data point. The model isn’t perfect—sustainability questions remain, access inequities likely persist, and replication challenges are significant. But in a world where isolation increases, institutions weaken, and polarization deepens, the sight of Ashley and Amber Lam eagerly spending Sundays talking with neighbors at a free minimart feels less like charity and more like a quiet revolution in how we understand community, care, and collective flourishing.

The real test will come not in fundraising success or beneficiary numbers, but in whether the “we first” spirit becomes embedded—whether the young volunteers maintain their commitment through decades, whether other communities spawn similar initiatives, whether the model proves resilient during economic downturns, and whether Singapore can sustain social cohesion amid the global disorder Wong warns against.

For now, Hao Ren Hao Shi represents what’s possible when vision, resources, and community energy align. That alone makes it worth studying, supporting, and, where appropriate, attempting to replicate. The true impact of this heartwarming story won’t be written in one night’s fundraising total, but in the accumulation of thousands of small interactions, relationships, and acts of care that compound over time into something larger: a society that genuinely believes its members belong to each other.

The Accumulation of Small Things

Part One: Sunday, 2019

Chee Yong didn’t want to be at the temple that morning. His mother had asked him to help with some volunteer work, and he’d said yes before his coffee had kicked in—a mistake he’d made before and would surely make again.

“Just carry some boxes,” she’d said. “Simple.”

But it was never simple with his mother.

The boxes were heavier than they looked, packed with rice, oil, canned goods. He loaded them into a van with a faded logo on the side: Hao Ren Hao Shi. Good People, Good Deeds. Someone’s idea of optimism, he thought, wiping sweat from his forehead in the humid morning air.

A man in his forties approached, moving with the easy confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. “Thanks for helping. I’m Anson.” He stuck out his hand.

Chee Yong shook it. “Lam Chee Yong. My mother volunteered me.”

Anson laughed. “The best volunteers are always voluntold.” He gestured toward the van. “We’re delivering to Redhill Close. You’re welcome to come along if you want. See where the boxes end up.”

Chee Yong hesitated. He had planned to go home, maybe watch some football. But something in Anson’s casual invitation—the lack of pressure, the simplicity of it—made him nod. “Sure. Why not.”

In the van, Anson talked about his business selling used cars, how he’d started bringing extra groceries to an elderly neighbor, how that had somehow snowballed into this. “I just kept thinking, what if we could do this properly? Not just me and a bag of rice, but something real.”

At Redhill Close, an elderly woman named Mrs. Tan answered her door. Her face transformed when she saw Anson. “You came! I was worried you’d forgotten.”

“Never,” Anson said, hauling in her box. “Mrs. Tan, this is Chee Yong. He’s helping today.”

Mrs. Tan insisted they sit, have tea, too much tea really, and she talked about her grandson who was studying engineering, her hip that bothered her when it rained, the neighbor’s cat that had adopted her. Chee Yong sat on her worn sofa and realized this wasn’t really about the groceries at all.

On the drive back, Anson said, “She’s alone most of the time. Her family visits maybe once a month. The groceries help, but I think the conversation helps more.”

Chee Yong thought about his own mother, also widowed, also sometimes alone. “My daughters,” he said suddenly. “They’re teenagers. Always on their phones. Maybe they could come help next time?”

Anson’s face lit up. “That would be wonderful.”

Part Two: Sunday, 2022

Ashley was explaining TikTok to Mr. Kumar while Amber scanned items at the makeshift counter. Three years in, and the Sunday routine had become as natural as breathing.

“So you put the phone here,” Ashley demonstrated, “and it follows your face automatically. My grandmother loves it. She makes cooking videos now.”

Mr. Kumar, seventy-two and perpetually curious, peered at her phone. “And people watch this? Your grandmother cooking?”

“Sixteen thousand followers,” Ashley said proudly.

Amber called out, “Mr. Kumar, you forgot the coffee. You always forget the coffee.”

He shuffled back to the shelves, chuckling. “Your sister knows me too well.”

This was the new minimart in Queenstown, Anson’s ambitious experiment. Instead of delivering boxes, they’d created a space where people could shop—actually shop, choose their own items, maintain some dignity in the process. The transformation had been remarkable.

Ashley had been fifteen when her father first dragged her here, sullen and resentful at losing her Sunday mornings. She’d expected it to be depressing—poor people, sad stories, the kind of charity work that made you feel guilty for having things.

But it wasn’t like that at all.

Mrs. Tan had asked about her school, remembered that she liked biology, brought her a book about marine life the next week. “I found it at the library sale,” she’d said. “Thought of you.”

That small gesture had cracked something open in Ashley. These weren’t just “people in need.” They were Mrs. Tan who loved documentaries, Mr. Kumar who told terrible jokes, Auntie Rosie who gave unsolicited but surprisingly wise advice about boys, Uncle Chen who had worked thirty years as an electrician before his injury.

“Your father tells me you’re applying to university,” Mr. Kumar said, returning with his coffee. “Medicine?”

“Maybe. Or public health. I’m interested in community health programs.”

Mr. Kumar nodded sagely. “Because of this place?”

Ashley considered. “Yeah, actually. I didn’t know what that meant before. Community health. I thought it was just like… clinics and stuff. But it’s this, too. It’s Mrs. Tan’s hip and Auntie Rosie’s diabetes and making sure people can afford food and medicine at the same time.”

Amber joined them, having finished with the previous customer. “She’s going to save the world,” she said, bumping her sister’s shoulder affectionately.

“Someone has to,” Ashley shot back.

Their father appeared with more boxes from the delivery truck. At fifty-one now, Chee Yong had lost count of how many Sundays they’d spent here. It had to be hundreds. He watched his daughters chat with the residents, easy and natural, and felt a swell of pride that surprised him with its intensity.

This wasn’t what he’d imagined when he’d first reluctantly climbed into Anson’s van. He’d thought maybe they’d do it for a few months, teach the girls some character, check the “community service” box. Instead, it had become part of who they were.

Amber, studying business at NUS, was writing her thesis on social enterprise models. Ashley had abandoned her teenage dreams of being a doctor in favor of public health, directly inspired by what she’d seen here. And him? He’d made friends. Real friends. People he called during the week just to check in.

“Uncle Lam!” A teenage boy waved from across the minimart. “Can you help my mom pick out which rice? She always asks for you.”

Chee Yong smiled. “Be right there.”

Part Three: Sunday, 2025

The dinner at the Grand Copthorne was fancier than anything Amber had expected. She tugged at her dress, uncomfortable in heels, while Ashley looked perfectly at ease beside their parents at their assigned table.

“Outstanding Family Award,” their mother Agnes whispered. “Can you believe it?”

Amber couldn’t, really. To them, this was just what they did on Sundays. But looking around the ballroom at the five hundred guests, the corporate sponsors, the government officials, she realized that what had felt small and personal had somehow become something much larger.

Prime Minister Wong took the stage, and the room quieted. Amber had met him briefly when he’d visited the Fernvale minimart in April—she’d been there that day, had actually helped explain to him how the inventory system worked. He’d seemed genuinely interested, asking questions about the challenges, the volunteer coordination, the beneficiary feedback.

Now he was talking about her family.

“The Lams represent something essential,” PM Wong said. “They didn’t volunteer once for a photo opportunity. They didn’t write a check and move on. They showed up, week after week, year after year. They built relationships. They became part of the fabric of this community.”

Amber felt her face flush. Ashley squeezed her hand under the table.

“This is what ‘we first’ looks like in practice,” Wong continued. “Not grand gestures, but small, repeated acts of care that accumulate into something extraordinary. The Lams understood something profound: that we don’t just give to the vulnerable out of obligation, but because their flourishing is connected to our own.”

After the speech, after the photos, after the applause and congratulations, the family found themselves with Anson in a quiet corner. He looked tired but happy, overwhelmed by the evening’s success.

“Eighteen hundred thousand dollars,” he said, shaking his head. “I never imagined…”

“You should have,” Chee Yong said. “Look what you built.”

“We built,” Anson corrected. “None of this works without people like you. Like your daughters.” He turned to Ashley and Amber. “You know what the best part is? The volunteers who started as kids. We have dozens now. Teenagers who’ve been coming with their parents, who keep coming even after their parents stop. That’s the real success. That’s the future.”

Ashley thought about next Sunday. She’d be at the Fernvale minimart, same as always. Her boyfriend Joel had started coming too, had gotten hooked the same way she had years ago. They’d probably see Mrs. Tan—ninety now, still sharp as ever. They’d help Mr. Kumar find his coffee. They’d chat with the volunteers, many of whom had become close friends.

“Can I ask you something?” Amber said to Anson. “Did you know it would become this? When you started?”

Anson laughed. “God, no. I thought I’d help a few neighbors. Maybe get some friends involved. I had no idea it would grow like this.”

“So what made you keep going?”

He thought for a moment. “I think… I realized that every time I showed up, something changed. Not dramatically. Not obviously. But Mrs. Tan was a little less lonely. Someone’s kid got to stay in school because the family saved money on groceries. Someone felt seen, felt like they mattered. And I thought, what if everyone did this? Just showed up for someone, consistently, without expecting anything back? What would that look like?”

“This,” Ashley said simply. “It would look like this.”

Part Four: Sunday, 2031

The new volunteer was nervous. Emily could tell by the way the girl—couldn’t be more than fifteen—hovered near the entrance, unsure where to place herself.

Emily approached with practiced ease. At twenty-seven, she’d been volunteering here for almost nine years, had seen hundreds of new volunteers come through. Some stayed, most didn’t. But she’d learned to spot the ones who would.

“First time?” she asked gently.

The girl nodded. “My mom volunteered me. Is that weird?”

Emily laughed, startled by the familiar words. “Not at all. My sister and I, we started the same way. Our dad brought us when we were your age.”

“Did you hate it?”

“At first, maybe. Then…” Emily gestured around the bustling minimart. Sunday morning, peak hours, dozens of families shopping while volunteers helped bag groceries, chatted by the produce, explained new products. “Then it became home.”

She spent the next hour showing the girl—Rachel—around, introducing her to the regulars. Mrs. Tan had passed two years ago, but her grandson Wei Ming now volunteered in her memory. Mr. Kumar, impossibly, was still around, moving slower but still making terrible jokes. New families had come, some had moved on to better circumstances, a few had stayed even after they no longer technically qualified for assistance because they’d formed bonds they didn’t want to break.

Rachel was assigned to help with the children’s corner, where volunteers read stories to kids while their parents shopped. Emily watched her slowly relax, watched a small boy climb into her lap with a book about dinosaurs, watched Rachel’s face transform from nervousness to engagement to joy.

After the rush, during cleanup, Rachel found Emily again. “Can I ask you something? Why do you still come? I mean, you’re an adult now. You don’t have to.”

Emily considered the question. Her father asked her the same thing sometimes, though less now that he understood. Her friends from work thought she was admirably dedicated, though she suspected some of them thought she was slightly crazy for spending every Sunday here instead of brunching or sleeping in.

“You know how people talk about finding meaning?” Emily said. “Like it’s this big philosophical quest? I found mine here. Not all at once. It accumulated. Week by week, year by year. The relationships, the small moments, the times when you help someone and they help someone else and it ripples outward. That’s meaning. That’s purpose.”

She paused, remembering her father bringing her here for the first time, sullen and resistant. Remembering Amber dragging her to study sessions at the minimart because they were both there anyway. Remembering the scholarship essay she’d written about community health, directly inspired by these Sunday mornings. Remembering her first job interview when the employer had lit up at her volunteer experience.

But those were just the practical benefits, the resume builders, the life lessons. The real reason was simpler and harder to explain.

“I come back because these people matter to me,” Emily said finally. “Mr. Kumar asks about my job. Uncle Chen always remembers my sister’s birthday. Auntie Rosie gave me advice before my wedding. They’re not charity cases. They’re my community. We belong to each other.”

Rachel nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “My mom said something like that. She said we’re all connected, even when we don’t realize it.”

“Your mom’s smart.”

“She’s okay,” Rachel said with teenage nonchalance, but Emily saw the small smile.

By the time Rachel left, she’d already asked about next week’s schedule. Emily recognized that look—the shift from obligation to curiosity to investment. This girl would be back. Maybe for a few months, maybe for years. Maybe, like Emily, she’d be here at twenty-seven, thirty-seven, forty-seven, unable to imagine her life without these Sunday mornings.

That evening, Emily met her father for dinner. Chee Yong was sixty-three now, still volunteering though his knees complained more than they used to. Amber had moved to San Francisco for work but flew back quarterly to volunteer and catch up with her old friends from the minimart. Their mother Agnes had started a similar program at her church, inspired by their years with Hao Ren Hao Shi.

“New volunteer today,” Emily said. “Fifteen. Voluntold by her mom.”

Her father laughed. “How’d she do?”

“She’ll be back.”

“Good.”

They ate in comfortable silence for a moment. Then Chee Yong said, “You know what I think about sometimes? That first Sunday. When Anson invited me along to deliver groceries. I almost said no. I was tired, I wanted to watch football, I didn’t want to spend my morning hauling boxes.”

“What made you say yes?”

“Honestly? It seemed easier than arguing.” He smiled. “Probably the most important decision I never actually made. Just… the path of least resistance that somehow became the path that defined everything.”

Emily thought about all the tiny choices that had led to this moment. Her father saying yes to that first delivery. Anson deciding to start a charity instead of just helping one neighbor. Mrs. Tan remembering that Ashley liked biology. Mr. Kumar making a joke that made a sullen teenager laugh despite herself. Rachel’s mom signing her daughter up to volunteer despite the inevitable resistance.

Thousands of small decisions, small moments, small acts of care.

Accumulating.

Compounding.

Building something larger than any individual contribution could create alone.

“I think that’s how everything important happens,” Emily said. “Not through one big choice, but through small ones we make over and over. Showing up. Staying. Caring even when it’s inconvenient.”

Her father raised his glass. “To the accumulation of small things.”

Emily clinked hers against it. “To the accumulation of small things.”

Epilogue: Sunday, 2042

The fiftieth anniversary celebration was more subdued than the grand dinners of earlier years. Anson had passed five years prior, but his successor—a woman named Priya who had started as a volunteer in 2028—carried forward his vision with her own innovations.

The organization now operated fifteen minimarts across Singapore, served over 100,000 beneficiaries, and had trained similar programs in three other countries. The model had proven replicable after all, though each community adapted it to local needs and cultures.

But the real celebration wasn’t the statistics or the awards or the government recognition. It was in the stories.

Like Rachel, now thirty-one, a social worker who brought her own children to volunteer.

Like Wei Ming, who had created a tech platform to help coordinate volunteers across the entire network.

Like Joel, Ashley’s boyfriend-then-husband, who had left corporate law to work full-time on nonprofit governance.

Like thousands of others whose lives had been touched, changed, redirected by small moments of connection.

Ashley stood at the podium—Dr. Ashley Lam now, director of community health for the Ministry of Health—and looked out at the crowd. Her father sat in the front row, elderly now but still present. Amber had flown in from Seattle where she ran a social enterprise incubator. Their mother watched via video from her retirement home, too frail to travel but still sharp-minded.

“When people ask me about this organization,” Ashley said, “they want to know the secret. How do you sustain something for fifty years? How do you scale community? How do you keep the heart of a thing when it grows beyond recognition?”

She paused, gathering her thoughts.

“The truth is, there’s no secret. Or maybe the secret is that it’s not about the organization at all. It’s about the accumulation of small things. My dad showing up one Sunday when he didn’t want to. Mr. Kumar remembering to ask about my exams. Mrs. Tan giving me a book. My sister making me laugh when I was feeling overwhelmed. Anson inviting a stranger to see where the boxes ended up.”

Her voice caught slightly. The crowd was silent.

“We talk about building community like it’s this big architectural project. But it’s not. It’s smaller than that and bigger than that. It’s every time you choose to show up. Every time you learn someone’s name and remember it. Every time you care about a stranger just long enough for them to stop being strange. Every conversation, every shared moment, every small kindness that ripples outward in ways you’ll never fully see.”

She looked at her father, who was crying now, not bothering to hide it.

“The real impact of this organization won’t be measured in the groceries distributed or the volunteers engaged or the funds raised. It’ll be measured in the thousands of small interactions that accumulated over decades into something that changed us all. Into a society that genuinely believed its members belonged to each other.”

She smiled through her own tears. “That’s what fifty years looks like. Not one big thing, but millions of small ones, compounding across generations, until the line between giver and receiver blurs completely and we’re just… we. Just people who show up for each other. Just a community that understands that we’re all connected, whether we realize it or not.”

After the speeches, after the photos, Ashley found her father standing by a display of old photographs. There was one from that first year—him and Anson carrying boxes into Mrs. Tan’s flat, both of them looking so much younger, neither having any idea what they were starting.

“Do you ever wish you’d said no that day?” she asked. “Stayed home and watched football?”

Her father shook his head. “Not for a second. Best decision I never actually made.”

They stood together, father and daughter, looking at the accumulated evidence of fifty years of small things. The photographs, the stories, the lives touched and changed and woven together into something that none of them could have built alone.

Outside, it was Sunday morning. New volunteers were arriving for their shifts. Old volunteers were greeting friends they’d made over years of shared Sundays. Families were arriving to shop, to chat, to be part of a community that had decided, one small act at a time, that everyone belonged.

The work continued.

The accumulation continued.

And somewhere, someone was being voluntold to help carry boxes, having no idea that they were about to take the first step on a path that would define the rest of their life.

Because that’s how it always started.

Not with grand gestures or sweeping visions.

But with someone showing up on a Sunday morning and choosing, however reluctantly, to care.

Maxthon

In an age where the digital world is in constant flux, and our interactions online are ever-evolving, the importance of prioritizing individuals as they navigate the expansive internet cannot be overstated. The myriad of elements that shape our online experiences calls for a thoughtful approach to selecting web browsers—one that places a premium on security and user privacy. Amidst the multitude of browsers vying for users’ loyalty, Maxthon emerges as a standout choice, providing a trustworthy solution to these pressing concerns, all without any cost to the user.

Maxthon, with its advanced features, boasts a comprehensive suite of built-in tools designed to enhance your online privacy. Among these tools are a highly effective ad blocker and a range of anti-tracking mechanisms, each meticulously crafted to fortify your digital sanctuary. This browser has carved out a niche for itself, particularly with its seamless compatibility with Windows 11, further solidifying its reputation in an increasingly competitive market.

In a crowded landscape of web browsers, Maxthon has forged a distinct identity through its unwavering dedication to offering a secure and private browsing experience. Fully aware of the myriad threats lurking in the vast expanse of cyberspace, Maxthon works tirelessly to safeguard your personal information. Utilizing state-of-the-art encryption technology, it ensures that your sensitive data remains protected and confidential throughout your online adventures.

What truly sets Maxthon apart is its commitment to enhancing user privacy during every moment spent online. Each feature of this browser has been meticulously designed with the user’s privacy in mind. Its powerful ad-blocking capabilities work diligently to eliminate unwanted advertisements, while its comprehensive anti-tracking measures effectively reduce the presence of invasive scripts that could disrupt your browsing enjoyment. As a result, users can traverse the web with newfound confidence and safety.

Moreover, Maxthon’s incognito mode provides an extra layer of security, granting users enhanced anonymity while engaging in their online pursuits. This specialized mode not only conceals your browsing habits but also ensures that your digital footprint remains minimal, allowing for an unobtrusive and liberating internet experience. With Maxthon as your ally in the digital realm, you can explore the vastness of the internet with peace of mind, knowing that your privacy is being prioritized every step of the way.