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</NOBR> </TD><TD class=msgDate width="30%" noWrap align=right>6:59 am </TD></TR><TR class=msghead><TD class=msgT height=20 width="1%" noWrap align=right>To: </TD><TD class=msgTname width="68%" noWrap>ALL <NOBR></NOBR></TD><TD class=msgNum noWrap align=right> (1 of 3) </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE></TD></TR><TR><TD class=msgleft rowSpan=4 width="1%"> </TD><TD class=wintiny noWrap align=right>24445.1 </TD></TR><TR><TD height=8></TD></TR><TR><TD class=msgtxt><TABLE border=0 cellSpacing=0 cellPadding=0 width="100%"><TBODY><TR><TD>Schooled for success, on my own terms
</TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- headline one : end --></TD></TR><TR><TD>You can't escape social conventions but you need not be complete slaves to them either </TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- Author --></TD></TR><TR><TD class="padlrt8 georgia11 darkgrey bold" colSpan=2>By Lee Wei Ling </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
Jonathan Liautrakul, a 19- year-old student who has a place to read arts and social sciences at the National University of Singapore, wrote an article for this newspaper arguing that there was no escaping school branding.
He began, tongue in cheek perhaps, with this observation: 'How many A-level students does it take to change a light bulb?
'Well, none at Anglo-Chinese Junior College (ACJC), where the school would rather pay someone else to do it. And one at Victoria Junior College, with the rest waving banners in support.'
I was impressed. Mr Liautrakul's analogies were well put, though close to the bone. The jokes were 'not without some truth when it comes to portraying Singapore's education scene', as Mr Liautrakul himself observed.
A disproportionate number of medical students come from Raffles Junior College, Hwa Chong and ACJC. Did the cream automatically float to the schools that repeatedly churned out good examination results or did these schools transform academically mediocre students into academic stars? I rather believe it was the former.
I studied in Nanyang Girls High School up to Secondary 4, because my parents wanted me to have a firm grounding in Mandarin, both written and spoken. But since I was in the science stream, it made little sense for me to continue my pre-university education in a Chinese medium school. The teachers would have taught me in Chinese, but the textbooks would be in English, and I could have chosen to write my examination answers in either language.
The National Junior College (NJC) had just started when I had to choose an English medium school for my 'A' levels.
The only junior college at that time, NJC was given the best facilities and the best teachers - poached from other schools, inevitably. I shunned the blatant favouritism that the Ministry of Education showed towards NJC and decided - almost as a protest, actually - that I would go to Raffles Institution (RI) instead.
RI at that time consisted of dilapidated, structurally unsound, old buildings along Bras Basah Road. It had lost some of its best teachers to NJC. But so what, I thought.
It was like playing golf against someone who was arbitrarily given a higher handicap than you but I did not want any special privileges. And for the years I was there, RI had no special privileges.
I must confess, however, that though I chose RI, like many others in both NJC and RI, I too had an overwhelming drive to top the examinations and if possible be awarded the President's Scholarship. I achieved both aims.
I was no less ambitious in medical school and again topped my cohort.
It was the inexperience and foolishness of youth that drove me on. But more than competing with other students, my closest rival, the one who drove me on most, was in fact myself. I was trying to prove to myself that I was competent. At that age, I did not see the distinction between academic intelligence and wisdom.
Still, because of my upbringing and the values I imbibed at Nanyang Girls, I was never arrogant. To me, the hewers of wood and the drawers of water had as much right to be part of Singapore society as I did. Indeed, while holding myself to my own standards, I empathised with those who tried but did not make it to university.
My father, Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew, places high value on IQ, which is almost analogous to academic intelligence. On his 75th birthday, my mother and I persuaded him that he had donated enough book prizes and scholarships to the academically gifted students. We were delighted that the funds raised by selling autographed copies of his memoir, The Singapore Story, were devoted instead to polytechnic and ITE students.
Over the years, he has continued to fund these awards so as to encourage students who may not excel academically but which our society must also recognise.
Mr Liautrakul ended his article thus: 'All I can do is to focus on my future and take life with a pinch of salt. After all, academic identity is still my top priority in life - a sad but unavoidable truth.'
Unfortunately, that is true of Singapore society. When I was younger and lacked self-confidence, I too felt as Mr Liautrakul did. Now much older and a little wiser, I no longer bow to social convention and I don't allow society's judgments to determine how I should behave or feel.
When I look back on the 32 years I have worked as a doctor, what matters to me most is that I have helped my patients. It is irrelevant to me whether the public knows about it.
When I was younger, I drove and challenged myself intellectually. Now, I drive and challenge myself ethically. I'm growing older - and I hope wiser.
The writer is director of the National Neuroscience Institute.
[email protected]
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</TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- headline one : end --></TD></TR><TR><TD>You can't escape social conventions but you need not be complete slaves to them either </TD></TR><TR><TD><!-- Author --></TD></TR><TR><TD class="padlrt8 georgia11 darkgrey bold" colSpan=2>By Lee Wei Ling </TD></TR></TBODY></TABLE>
Jonathan Liautrakul, a 19- year-old student who has a place to read arts and social sciences at the National University of Singapore, wrote an article for this newspaper arguing that there was no escaping school branding.
He began, tongue in cheek perhaps, with this observation: 'How many A-level students does it take to change a light bulb?
'Well, none at Anglo-Chinese Junior College (ACJC), where the school would rather pay someone else to do it. And one at Victoria Junior College, with the rest waving banners in support.'
I was impressed. Mr Liautrakul's analogies were well put, though close to the bone. The jokes were 'not without some truth when it comes to portraying Singapore's education scene', as Mr Liautrakul himself observed.
A disproportionate number of medical students come from Raffles Junior College, Hwa Chong and ACJC. Did the cream automatically float to the schools that repeatedly churned out good examination results or did these schools transform academically mediocre students into academic stars? I rather believe it was the former.
I studied in Nanyang Girls High School up to Secondary 4, because my parents wanted me to have a firm grounding in Mandarin, both written and spoken. But since I was in the science stream, it made little sense for me to continue my pre-university education in a Chinese medium school. The teachers would have taught me in Chinese, but the textbooks would be in English, and I could have chosen to write my examination answers in either language.
The National Junior College (NJC) had just started when I had to choose an English medium school for my 'A' levels.
The only junior college at that time, NJC was given the best facilities and the best teachers - poached from other schools, inevitably. I shunned the blatant favouritism that the Ministry of Education showed towards NJC and decided - almost as a protest, actually - that I would go to Raffles Institution (RI) instead.
RI at that time consisted of dilapidated, structurally unsound, old buildings along Bras Basah Road. It had lost some of its best teachers to NJC. But so what, I thought.
It was like playing golf against someone who was arbitrarily given a higher handicap than you but I did not want any special privileges. And for the years I was there, RI had no special privileges.
I must confess, however, that though I chose RI, like many others in both NJC and RI, I too had an overwhelming drive to top the examinations and if possible be awarded the President's Scholarship. I achieved both aims.
I was no less ambitious in medical school and again topped my cohort.
It was the inexperience and foolishness of youth that drove me on. But more than competing with other students, my closest rival, the one who drove me on most, was in fact myself. I was trying to prove to myself that I was competent. At that age, I did not see the distinction between academic intelligence and wisdom.
Still, because of my upbringing and the values I imbibed at Nanyang Girls, I was never arrogant. To me, the hewers of wood and the drawers of water had as much right to be part of Singapore society as I did. Indeed, while holding myself to my own standards, I empathised with those who tried but did not make it to university.
My father, Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew, places high value on IQ, which is almost analogous to academic intelligence. On his 75th birthday, my mother and I persuaded him that he had donated enough book prizes and scholarships to the academically gifted students. We were delighted that the funds raised by selling autographed copies of his memoir, The Singapore Story, were devoted instead to polytechnic and ITE students.
Over the years, he has continued to fund these awards so as to encourage students who may not excel academically but which our society must also recognise.
Mr Liautrakul ended his article thus: 'All I can do is to focus on my future and take life with a pinch of salt. After all, academic identity is still my top priority in life - a sad but unavoidable truth.'
Unfortunately, that is true of Singapore society. When I was younger and lacked self-confidence, I too felt as Mr Liautrakul did. Now much older and a little wiser, I no longer bow to social convention and I don't allow society's judgments to determine how I should behave or feel.
When I look back on the 32 years I have worked as a doctor, what matters to me most is that I have helped my patients. It is irrelevant to me whether the public knows about it.
When I was younger, I drove and challenged myself intellectually. Now, I drive and challenge myself ethically. I'm growing older - and I hope wiser.
The writer is director of the National Neuroscience Institute.
[email protected]
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