Looking back over the past twenty years, I have realized an uncomfortable truth: where I am today owes far less to my own abilities and far more to the people around me, specifically, the sheer force of will of my father.
My story begins at Nanyang Primary School, best primary school in the country, where children of multimillionaires and ministers studied. In fact, one of my classmates was the daughter of a minister at the time.
How did I get into such an exceptional school? Not by merit, but through tens of hours of my father's volunteer work, a $50,000 contribution to the school's expansion fund, and some luck.
But the system is designed to filter, and I was nearly filtered out. While Nanyang streamed students into "Gifted" and "High Ability" classes, I struggled. Despite attending numerous tuition classes, I struggled academically and was placed in the mixed-ability stream.
It signaled that my PSLE prospects were limited, so we bypassed the standard route. My father spent tens of thousands more preparing me for Direct School Admission (DSA).
By Primary 6, the goal was Raffles Institution, with River Valley High School as my backup. Despite a relatively easier admission year for Raffles, I failed to secure a place. At River Valley, I barely made it in, not because my table tennis abilities were lacking, but because of my lackluster Higher Chinese scores.
River Valley required a minimum score of 75 for Higher Chinese in the first half of Primary 6. I scored 74. My father emailed the principal, listing six distinct reasons to persuade her to accept me. Fortunately, she agreed.
River Valley's students were mainly top performers from neighborhood schools, with few from elite primary schools. Despite this, I consistently underperformed, ranking near the bottom of my class.
In my defense, my lower secondary class was unusually competitive. I then took triple science and geography in upper secondary, followed by the standard Physics, Chemistry, Mathematics, and Economics combination in junior college. My JC grades were particularly horrendous. I consistently received S and U grades.
In the end, I scraped by. My results were just good enough for my safety choice: Computer Engineering at NTU. Meanwhile, my study group peers all scored six distinctions at A-levels.
An inflection point came mid-last year when I learned about a DIS work-learn scheme. This program allowed me to study at university while working at DIS under a four-year contract that paid for two years of tuition and provided a decent salary. Most importantly, the contract would not increase my NS liability compared to my peers.
I passed the selection test and security checks, securing a spot in NTU's CCDS program. Only later did I learn that not everyone passed the selection test. Could I have failed? Regardless, as a Singaporean citizen, my security clearance was high, and I got in.
Now in this program, I believe the dynamic has shifted.
In formal education, success was measured by grades. My underperformance stemmed not from inability, but from disinterest in the subjects and distraction by AI, crypto and the stock market. Those were things that actually mattered to me.
My position has never been stronger. I have half my university tuition paid, I have my trainings in University seminar rooms instead of a jungle, and I enjoy stay-out privileges that give me tremendous freedom. For the next few years, I will earn a decent income while working on technology.
This reflection reveals an uncomfortable truth: my current position would have been impossible without my father keeping me in the game. Had I attended a neighborhood school, I might not have entered university at all, let alone secured this contract. His interventions acted as a relentless safety net, ensuring that my failures never became fatal.
However, I have reached the limit of his influence. He cannot code for me. He cannot navigate the AI revolution for me.
I am now in an enviable position to capitalize on the biggest tech shift of our generation. Privilege brought me to the starting line, but the race has finally changed—from one of rote memorization to one of agency and innovation.