#11 The Hardest Decision is Usually the Right One
After meeting with the lawyers, I saw the truth: the outdated Power of Attorney was a dead end, and if we didn’t act while Grandmother was still with us, the lands would plunge into probate, ensuring years of costly family strife. Before I could tackle the external legal system, I had to fix the most volatile element: the imbalance within the human system.
The Weight of the Legacy: An Unfair Division
The inheritance, passed down verbally for years, was fundamentally flawed. It was based on an old division, that, as everyone in the family told me, orchestrated by Pak Ngah Ghazali when the other siblings were uninterested. Most likely Grandmother left the decision to Pak Ngah Ghazali as all other siblings were less knowledgeable and less interested about the land. The truth, once written down, was undeniable:
| Family Member | Land Lots and Acreage | The Hidden Cost |
| Pak Long Latiff | Palm oil land Lot 4213: 2.42 acres | Valuable, commercially viable land. |
| Pak Ngah Ghazali | Palm oil land Lot 4970: 2.25 acres | Valuable, commercially viable land. |
| My Mother | Palm oil land Lot 5050 (1.49 ac) + Lot 5635 (1.03 ac): Total 2.52 acres + a house | The largest share and a house—a clear advantage. |
| Mak Su Ummi | Fruit orchard (2.35 acres) | The least commercially valuable land, despite receiving over two acres. |
This distribution seemed weighted to my mother, particularly because she received the biggest acreage and a house. This arrangement is explained by the region’s unique legal context: the customary law system practiced in Negeri Sembilan is Adat Perpatih, which is matrilineal. Under Adat Perpatih, land and ancestral houses are typically inherited by the eldest daughter to keep the lineage property within the female line of the clan. This tradition influenced why the house fell into my mother’s intended inheritance, creating the current imbalance.
This imbalance—especially Mak Su Ummi’s inheritance of a low-value orchard—was a ticking time bomb. Proceeding with the legal transfer before addressing this injustice would validate the unfairness and guarantee future conflict.
The Sacrifice: A Mother’s Final Yield
The first and most excruciating battle was with my mother. She fiercely claimed ownership of the 1.03-acre Lot 5635, a promised inheritance some years ago by Pak Ngah Ghazali. It took tense discussions, but I had to hold firm: securing Grandmother’s legacy and family peace demanded sacrifice.
In the end, she made the agonizing choice to relinquish a portion of her claim. The 1.03 acre land (lot 5635) was split into two: 0.5 acre for my mother and 0.53 acre for Mak Su Ummi, yielding a fairer division:
| Family Member | The Hard-Won Result | The Outcome |
| My Mother | Total 1.99 acres + a house | A loss in acreage, but the gain of family unity. |
| Mak Su Ummi | Fruit orchard (2.35 ac) + Lot 5635 Palm Oil Land (0.53 ac) | Gained a valuable commercial asset, correcting the core injustice. |
The Final Wall of Resistance
With the family unified on the division, we moved to the execution. We drove to Mak Su Ummi’s house to discuss regarding the offer to give her the 0.53 acre land. I also invited Fatin, her daughter to witness the discussion, promising there will be a positive discussion. Without hesitation, Mak Su Ummi accepted the valuable palm oil acreage—land my mother had sacrificed—without a single word of gratitude. My mother’s disappointment was profound. This absence of thanks revealed a deeper truth: Mak Su Ummi, who had previously been willing to relinquish all claim to the palm oil land just to prevent my management of the fruit orchard, immediately accepted the valuable palm oil share once it was offered. The emotional price of my mother’s sacrifice was clear.
Having solved the inheritance of Lot 5635, I pressed for the use of a lawyer to manage the complicated ownership transfer from Grandmother for all her lands. Mak Su Ummi fought back, certain she could handle the process herself. The final wall was breached by the unlikeliest ally: Fatin. She cut through the resistance, pointedly asking Mak Su Ummi what guarantee there was she would act now, having failed to manage the simpler transfer of the orchard for years. The truth landed hard. Using a lawyer, though a financial cost, was the only escape from procrastination. Mak Su Ummi finally conceded.
The Path to Confrontation
Driving home, the relief was palpable, but the strategic next step hung heavy in the air. The choice was between the relative ease of approaching the older uncle, Pak Long Latiff, or the inevitable, high-stakes confrontation with Pak Ngah Ghazali.
The latter meant facing Kalsom, his lawyer daughter, the very person who drafted the Power of Attorney. It was a guarantee of a bitter legal debate about why we were invalidating her professional work.
My usually silent brother, Husin, spoke the decisive words: “The next steps should start from the hardest one.” I took a deep breath. He was right. The deepest truth of this project is that you must face the biggest challenge first. I inhaled deeply, preparing for the battle ahead. The hardest decision is usually the right one.