In November 2025, I was attending a leadership workshop when a trainer I had just met came over and struck up a conversation.
She asked how I found the pace of the session, and whether I had been in education for a long time. I told her I had been in service for 19 years.
Then she asked me something unexpected: “Do you see yourself doing this long-term?”
I was surprised. She barely knew me. What made the question particularly striking was that, just the evening before, I had seriously asked myself the very same thing.
I had just visited my chiropractor, and she was horrified at how my spine alignment had deteriorated so quickly over just one week. I knew I had given too much of myself to work and had been neglecting my spine.
I asked the trainer what had prompted her question. She explained that she had felt a prompting that was “quite strong” to ask me this specific question, and that her initial thought was, “This is so random. I don’t even know her name.” However, as the prompting was strong, she went ahead and asked.
I went home and told my husband about the unusual encounter. He was immediately supportive of the possibility of my leaving the education service.
The next day, I left for Nanjing on a school exchange programme.
The questions that germinated in Nanjing
I was travelling with a group of lovely students and colleagues. The students were kind, compassionate and respectful. I remember how gently they responded even to the stray animals they encountered.
Yet throughout the trip, I found myself reflecting deeply on what it really takes to prepare young people for the future.
We put tremendous thought and effort into education. We design curricula, develop programmes, and implement supporting structures and processes to reinforce outcomes. Yet it seemed that more needed to be done.
Thus, I grew increasingly convinced that providing an experience does not necessarily achieve real, lasting growth.
A student may participate in a thoughtfully designed programme, but new understandings may still not take root or influence the choices the student subsequently makes.
What would help young people make the relevant connections for themselves?
How could their many experiences in school and in life add up to something coherent, so that their formative years truly prepare them for the future?
I also thought about the world they were growing into. Technological change, economic developments and wider shifts in society were reshaping the conditions under which they would eventually live and work. In Singapore, we cannot take our continued relevance and prosperity for granted.
I wanted young people to learn to look beyond what was immediately in front of them — to read the world, understand the larger forces at work, recognise their place within it, and connect what they were doing today with the people they were becoming.
I felt that this went beyond curriculum and pedagogy. It involved the perspectives, values, motivations and dispositions taking shape within a young person, often quietly and over many years. I knew that a well-developed way of engaging with life and the world could benefit a person for life.
It is hard for schools to engage young people at this level. There is just too much on their plate, and it cannot be entirely their responsibility. In contrast, families, communities and the wider environment can potentially reach young people more deeply and bring about change that gives life to what students experience in school.
Somewhere in the midst of these reflections, the idea of The Bridge began to take shape.
I wanted to build bridges between the present and the future, between schools and families, and between parents and their children. I began imagining books, experiences and other resources that might help.
I sent my husband a WhatsApp message sharing the idea.
At that point, it was still very much an idea. I did not know what building The Bridge would actually involve.
A dream about books
After Nanjing, I went on two family trips, one of which was a cruise.
One night, I had a vivid dream about writing parenting books.
Most strikingly, I took three strategies away from the dream with unmistakable clarity. Small, white books. Clear, simple English. Relatable characters belonging to one family.
I woke up asking myself, “What is this?!”
The part about simple English made particular sense to me. I knew that my natural voice could easily become too academic, and that I might lose readers if I did not communicate plainly.
I held on to those ideas.
A cargo ship at Mount Maunganui
On 6 December, our cruise ship made a port call at Tauranga, New Zealand.
I was standing on Mount Maunganui when I saw a Maersk cargo ship passing by.
It was moving slowly but steadily, carrying an enormous load.
As I watched it, I found myself thinking about Singapore's education system.
The Ministry of Education carries an extraordinary responsibility. It must provide for every child, across a wide range of needs, while responding to an increasingly complex world. I thought about how difficult it must be to turn a very large ship. The people steering it may understand exactly what needs to be done, but the ship cannot turn as quickly as a smaller vessel.
It struck me again that some of the changes we hope to bring about in young people may need to come from the wider ecosystem — from families, communities and initiatives working alongside schools.
I had spent 19 years in education. I knew its goals and aspirations as well as its constraints, and I began to see a possible contribution I could make beyond school.
Perhaps I could give it a try.
“U-turn Ahead”
After we returned to Singapore, we went to church that Sunday. I had not attended a service for about a month because of the travelling.
The sermon was titled “U-turn Ahead.”
Our pastor spoke about how God sometimes leads us along one path in life, only to redirect us at a critical juncture.
Then he shared something I had never heard him mention before. He had once been in education and had been promoted to Head of Department early in his career. He had thought that he might eventually become a Principal or Vice-Principal.
My jaw dropped at that point.
Only weeks earlier, a complete stranger had asked me a question that was already in my heart. In Nanjing, I saw with clarity the need for a bridge. Then there was the vivid dream with strategies, and Mount Maunganui. And now, I was listening to a sermon about God redirecting a person's life, delivered by someone who had followed a career path similar to mine.
I believed that God was redirecting me.
Two days later, I tendered my resignation.
A new chapter
Leaving education after 19 years was no small decision. I had poured so much of my life into the work.
Yet there is a season for everything, and it was with much peace and a great desire to serve that I made this move.
I do not know where this journey will take me or how much impact I will make. But I know I see a need, and I am going to do my best with it.