“Becoming myself was never a solo project.”

One of my most vivid fieldwork memories was riding a jeepney in the Philippines and realising, too late, that I didn’t know how to ask the driver to stop. I ended up calling the helper who raised my sister and me – 1,000km away – and she told me, “Just tap the roof and say para po.”

That small, practical gesture would come to define how I approach research: stay present, ask for help, and keep learning.

From working with volcano-hit farming communities in the Philippines to a cancelled interview in Indonesia that led to a chance encounter, fieldwork has taught me that the most valuable insights often arrive unannounced.

Today, as I complete my PhD in disaster response at the age of 35, I also teach piano online, publish independently, and work on translating complex research into accessible, community-rooted stories. It’s work that has shaped not just how I think, but how I live across cultures: with humility, and through deep listening.

From footage to framework

A brief trip to Kenya affirmed that instinct. I had travelled there with a Kenyan family I’m close to in Singapore, and while it wasn’t a research assignment, my supervisor had told me: “Film everything. Record everything. You won’t know what’s important until later.”

He was right. Two years on, while writing my dissertation and trying to articulate the gap I felt in academic work, I remembered meeting Francis Opiyo – a UN policy specialist whose work bridges theory and ground realities.

His dual approach to research and community engagement crystallised what I wanted to do: connect policy with lived experience, and design solutions that empower local capacity.

This experience was something I had once dreamt of as an undergraduate at the National University of Singapore (NUS). But as work and life took over, that dream faded quietly into the background.

The invitation that changed my path

In 2021, while planning to pursue a part-time PhD at NUS alongside my career in corporate communications, I received an unexpected e-mail during a meeting: “Would you consider doing a PhD full-time, on a scholarship?”

I hesitated, torn between the safe path and a rare opportunity. In hindsight, it wasn’t sudden at all; life had been leaving quiet clues through my lifelong fascination with different cultures.

Whenever our family travelled, my mum made sure that my sister and I documented the experience through stories, scrapbooks and videos. Pursuing a PhD felt like a continuation of that – except this time, the scrapbook took the form of a dissertation.

Owning my voice, one step at a time

In my final year, I joined the Her World Mentorship Programme and was paired with Gloria Arlini, CEO of Generation Singapore, whom I clicked with immediately.

She asked thoughtful questions – not just about the kind of job I wanted next, but about the kind of life I wanted to build. Meeting others in the Her World community also gave me practical glimpses of how to balance the many facets of purpose across different seasons of life.

One moment that stuck with me was when I admitted to feeling out of place glamming up for a Her World event. Instead of brushing it off, Gloria gently reframed it: “How is showing up in a way that doesn’t feel like ourselves an expression of boldness and fearlessness?”

That helped me reflect on what authenticity really means, and gave me the confidence to own my choices – whether I’m dressing for a photo shoot or designing my next chapter.

It reminded me of a conversation I once had with my pastor, Valerie Nezianya. I remember sitting on her couch as she asked what I truly wanted to do.

I was nearly 30, when many my age were starting families. As a Christian, she urged me to wait, yet keep moving. She’d done the same – pursuing a master’s while waiting for children, graduating with her degree in one hand and her firstborn in the other.

“Go develop yourself,” she told me.

From then to now

Looking back at the women who have shaped me – my mum, Valerie, my PhD supervisors Prof Vatthana Pholsena and Serina Rahman, my mentor Gloria, and the wider Her World network – I’m reminded of the saying: “You can’t be what you can’t see.”

Today, as a writer with many creative expressions, I’m deeply grateful for the people who have helped me become who I am.

To the version of myself standing at the crossroads four years ago, I would say: “You are an original. Don’t ignore your raw material. Discover your purpose – and keep learning, growing and becoming.”