Personal Statement Examples: Singapore Students Admitted to Top UK and US Universities

Undergoing treatment for my impacted maxillary canine tooth gave me a profound appreciation for dentistry. As I was treated by a multi-disciplinary team, I witnessed their skilfulness during each treatment stage, ultimately saving my tooth and relieving my jaw-aches. Gaining an anterior tooth in my dental arch also improved my self-esteem. The relationships I formed with each member of the team were meaningful, and I realised that as a dentist, I too, could improve patients' oral and mental health, developing similar connections.

Inspired to learn more about dentistry, I shadowed Dr. Shahul Hameed, an experienced general dentist. I observed the maintenance of a dental implant - the planning, execution and patient management. Curious to learn more about implant dentistry, I read up on the fundamentals of dental implants; principles of osseointegration and factors that influence the treatment plan, such as the load-bearing capacity of the implant compared to occlusal forces. Fascinated by dental sciences, I attended 'Discover Dentistry', a course by Sheffield University, where I learnt about current research, such as using cultured cells to assess biocompatibility of prostheses, giving me insight into the exciting future of dentistry. This spurred me to do my own research on the oral health status of the elderly living in care facilities globally. Having learnt about their poor oral health, measured using indices like the O'Leary Plaque and DMFT index, it was interesting to discover how this would greatly improve with routine care.

Another memorable experience involved Dr. Shahul extracting a wisdom tooth from a nervous patient. He explained the treatment plan concisely, making clear the possible risks before gaining her consent, in line with GDC principle 3. Upon completing the procedure, he congratulated her, demonstrating genuine care for the patient. Seeking to emulate his empathy and communication skills, I volunteered with Dementia Singapore. One event involved teaching elderly dementia patients to make lanterns using red packets. Overcoming the language barrier between us, I spoke in both English and Tamil, being understanding and displaying a flexible approach to communication. Currently being in National Service, which I will complete in 2025, I learnt how to provide first aid and CPR, improving my effective communication in emergency situations. Furthermore, I researched 'capgras syndrome,' a mental condition causing delusional misidentifications of people, for an arts competition, Destination Imagination. Acting out its symptoms made me more empathetic towards individuals with health conditions.

I also led a data analytics project, using machine learning to predict the virality of YouTube videos. This involved organising meetings and delegating tasks to my team based on their strengths, ensuring our project's progress. Such leadership skills are vital in managing a dental team. Using machine learning prompted me to consider its potential role in dentistry, in predicting the efficacy of treatments using digitally-stored patient data. I am intrigued about how this relates to patient confidentiality and how to balance patient beneficence with patient data protection. Moreover, I honed my manual dexterity skills by playing fingerstyle guitar pieces in my school's guitar ensemble. I also upload guitar covers online, garnering thousands of views. Additionally, I enjoy solving Rubik's cubes and participate in competitions. Recognising patterns during solves improved my focus - and such attention to detail is needed throughout dental procedures, to ensure successful treatments.

Dentistry is a complex field which requires technical skills and qualities like leadership and communication. Being treated by the skilled dental team has instilled in me fervour for wanting to learn more and mirror their expertise in the future.

Throughout my upbringing, I have seen the different cultural traditions of the US, UK, and Singapore; it has been captivating to compare the different focal points from US individualism to collectivism in Singapore. I also explored issues faced by Muslims in America while placing first in a writing competition. Societies are critical in either acting as barriers or support mechanisms, and I am intrigued by the interplay between sociology and the world we have collectively crafted.

Living in a variety of cultures, I have found it compelling to understand how we have been shaped by the cultural patterns and social principles in which we have lived. This has inspired me to explore social action theory. This was fascinating to apply to my own life as I have observed how Singaporeans have used their work ethic and collectivist values to promote 'Tiger Parenting'. Intrigued by the difference in parenting methods between Western and Asian cultures, I engaged with the scholarship of Max Weber's concept that we should interpret the lived experiences of others subjectively rather than objectively, prompting me to further explore the world around us.

I completed the 'Social Context of Mental Health' course at the University of Toronto, and gained insights into the interplay between social contexts and their impact on mental health. This has deepened my understanding of how family, infrastructure, and culture are critical to healthcare. Comparing the traditional values that impeded accessibility to healthcare in the collectivist Asian culture and the Western focus on mental health was fascinating.

Subsequently, I read 'The History of Psychiatry in India' by S. Haque Nizamie, where it can be seen that the Atharva-Veda in ancient Vedic India suggested that mental illness might be linked to divine curses, sin, and witchcraft. The establishment of mental hospitals and more humane approaches were influenced by British psychiatry during the early colonial period. I reflected on the delicate balance required to achieve an optimal societal structure that fosters an individual's mental well-being without jeopardising the rich culture that defines communities.

I am working on a research project with a Ph.D. professor to explore gender performance and what it means to 'do' gender in diverse social contexts. Gender roles are critical in shaping identities and social structures with stereotypes also impacting the experiences of social groups; often, the traditional norms and inequalities make social change seem unattainable. I have explored how gender norms are socially constructed and enforced. I applied this to the motorsport industry, which is traditionally dominated by masculine ideals. Perceived gender roles have affected the perception of female racers, thereby shaping their experiences and limiting their opportunities; in other words, there is a complex interaction between societal expectations, gender norms, and individual experiences. I hope to continue contributing to this discourse, and create positive change.

I have worked as part of the corporate communications team in Singapore's largest real estate company, where I have focused on connecting with a specific part of society by developing articles and podcasts for Gen Z. Beyond this, I was a school prefect and mentor during my A Levels, and aimed to support students academically. I am a passionate dancer having won the East England Grand Final Championships, and I was a captain of a dance team for five years.

Sociology uniquely offers insight into the root causes of issues, namely the challenge of inequality, systematic injustice, and the unravelling of social structures. I hope to pave the way for a more equitable future and challenge ingrained norms by studying this degree. To undertake challenges affecting the twenty-first century, one must have a fundamental understanding of sociology; it informs and dictates the world around us, setting the course and boundaries for change.

When my younger brother was born with Sacrococcygeal Teratoma (SCT), I was told that he was born with a “bunny tail” on his bottom. When I saw the teratoma, the fantasy of having a half-bunny, half-human brother quickly faded, but my curiosity grew. In studying Biomedical Sciences, I hope to feed my childhood curiosity by deepening my knowledge of how the body works, and how it fails. I aspire to connect this knowledge to congenital disorders such as SCT having seen the health and self-esteem issues it can cause. This has inspired me to go further in my acquisition of knowledge and its real-world application.

Research suggests SCT arises from the incomplete migration of primordial germ cells from the yolk sac to the gonadal ridges during embryogenesis. Other sources state that SCT may be due to the failure of the Hensen’s node to regress or due to the residual totipotent stem cells from the Hensen’s node. While ultrasound, amniocentesis or chorionic villus sampling can be used to visualise and diagnose congenital disorders, it is difficult to elucidate abnormal gastrulation, for example, as it occurs very early on in pregnancy. This, along with the multifactorial nature of congenital disorders, impedes on the understanding of conditions that manifest during foetal development. It is this ambiguity that compels me to use my Biomedical education to help further the understanding of congenital disorders like SCT.

I decided to investigate the emerging research on the interplay between our microbiome and health in my Extended Essay (EE). Initially, I wanted to explore the topic of the skin microbiome using biological models. It was difficult to replicate the conditions of the human skin microbiome, but these challenges motivated me to be more creative and proactive in my experimental design. For example, I tried to measure the difference in turbidity between L. casei, B. subtilis, and a solution containing both species, to model the relationship between the commensal skin bacteria S. aureus and S. epidermidis. While this trial did not yield conclusive data, I gained valuable knowledge such as learning the aseptic technique, alongside personal growth through discovering the importance of maintaining morale and motivation through failed trials, developing my independence as a scientist. Additionally, through my EE process, I discovered a passion for research and was fascinated by Zhang et al’s study into the role L. acidophilus S-layer proteins play in the inhibition of pathogenic E. coli. Some of the techniques used by Zhang et al to explore this were gel electrophoresis and mass spectrometry, which I had learnt about in my IB biology and chemistry courses. I had previously only associated these techniques with limited applications such as DNA separation and relative atomic mass. To see their use in a sophisticated manner alongside more complex methods was inspiring. I look forward to cultivating my laboratory skills and becoming proficient in conducting research; allowing me to delve deeper into my understanding of the intricacies within the human body.

I am also passionate about fitness and enjoy applying my knowledge of muscle contraction, the cardiac system, and the muscular system to my fitness journey. In October 2023, I competed in my first endurance fitness race, Hyrox, where I was the youngest of 3500 participants. This pushed me to my limits in the best way, as sticking to a strict training plan while doing the IB was challenging, but showed me the value of consistency, hard work, and teamwork. While I appreciate the rigour of science, I also enjoy learning Spanish, playing the piano, and cooking for friends and family. I hope studying Biomedical Sciences not only fuels my interest in understanding our bodies but also enables me to contribute to its broad positive impact on human health.

The sickening smell of chrysanthemums mixed with incense made me nauseous. I stared at the white pearl placed precariously on my great-grandmother's lips, and tried to identify her through her embalmed face.

It was the 31st of July. I was sixteen, and this was my first time at a funeral wake.

It was in an open space, on a windy day, and I felt suffocated.

Leaving the altar, I joined a sea of faces foreign yet so familiar: distant cousins, uncles, relatives that were my age. We shared the same eyes, but I could not remember ever seeing them.

Suddenly, I was startled by joyous sounds. It was unmistakable — someone was laughing. At a funeral? That can't be right. Looking up, I saw my relatives cracking jokes while folding Joss paper. I was bewildered. How could they still laugh in grief? Curious, I joined them.

They were folding gold ingots from Joss paper, spirit currency at Chinese funerals. I, their new recruit, was handed a stack. Following the movements of my relatives, I kept pace. As we folded the Joss paper in unison, my reservations of displaying anything other than grief subsided. I sensed a tinge of sadness from everyone at the table, and realized they were joking around not because of their lack of sensitivity, but rather because of their empathy. We all shared the same grief that threatened to consume us, so why not share the burden?

We put our despondency into those sheets of paper and shaped them into gifts for offering. The jokes and laughter continued as we filled bag after bag with the paper gold ingots, and I found myself joining in their conversation, consoled by the hopeful atmosphere amidst a somber day. As per tradition, we burned the filled bags. I watched the flames of renewal eat up our hours of labor and consume along with it the worst of our sorrow. The dancing flames were laughing at death, stealing the spotlight in the ballad of goodbyes. Despite all the smoke, I could finally breathe better than before.

"Zai jian," I said with a smile when the fire finally died. In Mandarin, zai means 'again' and jian means 'meet'. When put together they express goodbye but simultaneously imply hope of future encounters. I knew that there would be more of such.

The sweet smell of chrysanthemums now reminds me of new beginnings. Just as the funeral wake brought my family closer than ever, I understood from this experience that goodbyes could also allow for new connections. I later found out that the pearl I had seen on my late great-grandmother's lips symbolizes rebirth: just as the oyster goes through a process of transformation to create the pearl, the memories we have made can grow into something beautiful and valuable. Although I did not realize this before, goodbyes were not any indication of the end, but rather a necessary prelude to metamorphosis.

“And the award goes to...”

My eyes were glued to my computer screen, and my heart was pounding in my chest. Could we do it? Did we do it?

“Team Quasar!”

Allow me to tell you a story of the last few months of the year 2020. Those few months would launch me into the endless space of ideas and possibilities.

It was the Singapore Space Challenge 2021. Teams were required to design a lunar rover mission. It was a highly demanding competition that needed a technical understanding of engineering and space, not to mention the incredibly heavy workload of making a 50-page report and 10-minute video within a few months. Space engineering was completely new to me and my team, and the other teams were mostly university students who were experts in the field. Could we really do it? Are we even qualified for this? I was captivated by the possibilities the challenge could open up, but I second-guessed myself over and over again.

“You know what? Let’s do it.”

And so my team and I signed up for the Singapore Space Challenge 2021.

Over the course of the competition, we were stumbling on our feet. We scoured the internet for research reports and videos to learn about space engineering, from the structure of rover wheels to lunar lander modules. We couldn’t come up with anything that satisfied our high expectations for ourselves, though. So my team and I decided to take a step back. We were at a disadvantage because we knew little about engineering. We were only fifteen, after all.

But what if we turned this constraint into an opportunity? Our lack of experience in the field meant that we weren’t restricted by preconceived notions of what should and shouldn’t be. We could take lots of liberties in technicalities. We could sell a creative idea that takes inspiration from nature to demonstrate its conceptual suitability for its task of excavation. So, we went back to the drawing board. We went back and forth with all sorts of ideas until one of us said the word “worm”. Everyone went quiet but our eyes lit up.

We then came up with our award-winning idea: the lunar excavation worm.

We stopped questioning whether something would work without giving it a try, and went crazy with what our worm could do. Turning ice on the Moon to rocket fuel? Sounds fun! Making it do backflips to climb hills? Let’s do it!

The deadline was approaching, and it was time to get serious. We put our strengths of research, designing and writing together to design a full-fledged robotic worm. After 3 weeks of intense work, we submitted our entry with satisfaction, hope, and inspiration.

When the organizers announced that our team won the Women in STEM Award, I jumped from my seat and screamed. Our WhatsApp group flooded with exclamations in capital letters.

I took away so many lessons those few months. I learned that we should never give up on something because we think we’re not good enough. Instead of asking “why”, how about asking “why not”? Instead of undermining our potential by comparing ourselves to others, why not leverage our own talents to create something that is uniquely ours?

Inspired by our achievement, my team and I continued to take part in similar competitions, coming up with various project ideas from biology experiments in space to autonomous delivery systems.

But what could our ideas do if they just stayed on paper? Physically building a rover is certainly no easy feat, but by combining our knowledge and expertise we could learn in college, I believe we could really bring our beloved worm to life. I hope that by continuing to innovate and create, I will be able to make some contribution, no matter how small, to the scientific community, or to the betterment of people’s lives.

“Nam-myo-ho-renge-kyo”

The chant gave the funeral a more somber tone. As I said my goodbyes to my grandmother, Obaba, and looked back on her life, I took comfort in knowing that the important lessons that she taught me will continue to guide me. I remembered the same soft melodious chant reverberating around Obaba’s prayer room. Just Obaba and I in this haven of peace. I was five years old, sitting attentively on the tatami mat next to her, chanting Lotus Sutra, a Buddhist chant that extols the significance of compassion.

By eight years old, I was accustomed to rising at daybreak, walking through the mist to visit the temple and offer prayers to my ancestors. At ten, clothed in a white robe, I ascended the towering 3,783-foot expanse of Minobu Mountain with my family on a pilgrimage to experience a monk’s daily lifestyle. Obaba started this tradition in 1950; my family has upheld it ever since.

Obviously, at such a young age, I didn’t fully understand the deep significance of these religious practices: reciting morning Sutras, offering prayers, nightly expressions of gratitude to my ancestors, nor the religious talisman I wore. At times, prayers floated above my little head while I dozed off. Other times, I was simply bored. But when Obaba passed away, something changed.

After her death, I felt compelled to explore Buddhism at a deeper level to understand the source of Obaba’s boundless kindness and resilience. In her 101 years, she’d climbed the mountain annually for more than half a century, and now I felt the urge to practice Buddhism. I dove in by reading the classic texts–The Metta Sutta, The Lankavatara Sutra, and The Kalama Sutta. While I understood the meaning of the words, they didn’t reach my heart. It wasn't until I began to do the daily practice that Buddhism began to unveil its revelations.

Slowly, it dawned on me: Buddhism's essence lies in “compassion.” By immersing myself in active practice, I came to recognize Buddhism's role as a hub of social support. Its compassionate teachings played a pivotal role in helping my Obaba navigate the challenges of World War II and cultivate a lifelong spirit of empathy. Obaba was an inspiration to people from all walks of life, and they’d often seek her to pour out their problems. She’d lend a patient ear and offer advice or simply provide a comforting presence. Obaba led a life dedicated to service. She worked on cultivating her inner peace, which enabled her to assist others in their own journey towards inner tranquility. It became clear to me this was the lesson I’d been seeking all along.

Throughout the pandemic, I became increasingly aware of the struggles within the Buddhist community, where many people experienced significant economic hardship. Embracing Obaba's legacy as my guiding spirit, I initiated a video project for the Buddhist community, since in-person gatherings were restricted. Every morning, after cleaning the temple, I arranged my equipment to create relevant content for our community. These videos featured meditation sessions, insightful teachings from revered monks, and highlights of our community's events.

In the beginning, doubt gnawed at me. Would anyone be interested in online sessions? However, as heartfelt comments poured in, my anxieties dissolved, replaced by a determination to provide more for our community. It was, then, that I recognized how compassion for each of the community members is crucial in cultivating a sense of unity. Through this experience, I gleaned the profound importance of extending compassion by harnessing my own skills to uplift my community members during challenging times, including the pandemic–similar to what Obaba did during WWII.

Having said that, I am who I am today because Obaba exemplified what compassion and resilience are. As a result, I hold her as my role model, aspiring to adopt her qualities by becoming an individual who extends compassion and care to others within the community.

The piercing sound of the school bell marked the end of the day. But I found myself reluctant to exit the classroom. I didn’t want to go home.

While growing up as an only child allowed me to enjoy all the attention focused from my parents, it also meant that I was faced with high expectations. Since they have always worked hard and would often return home late, I felt that cooking dinner was my way of giving back to my family.

Cooking was not easy, and this was especially true of Chinese dishes. While I am no professional, I have improved rapidly over the years. From changing how I slice the pork belly to adapting the proportion of oyster sauce I use, I have always taken satisfaction in refining every detail to optimize the taste of my dishes so that my parents could enjoy a hearty meal after an exhausting day. Cooking was more than a chore - cooking Chinese food and eating it at the round table at the end of the day was my language to connect with my busy parents. I felt I would disappoint them if I messed up the dish.

And so, inevitably, cooking turned out to be the most stressful part of my daily routine. At the end of every school day, the sparks of knowledge acquired would quickly be extinguished by my anxious thoughts of what to cook that night. Walking towards the kitchen, I would notice my pace slowing down. I was worried that even one mistake would completely ruin the dish. And so, I was more careful in the style I tossed the fried rice and was more afraid to experiment with different spices that I infused in my Kung Pao chicken. As the screeching tires signaled the arrival of my parents, I could feel my heart drumming; in a matter of minutes, my food would be judged and critiqued. The pressure of this routine started to smother my enjoyment of cooking.

A couple of years ago, I was asked to cook for my Taoist community for the ‘Birthday of Quan Yin’ festival. I was excited to connect with my community through my cooking skills. I proudly pulled out the wok, threw in the ingredients, and focused on the tempo of sizzling, as the perfect ‘wok hay’ aroma of ‘char kuey teow’ was unleashed into the air. I poured my passion, mastery, and love for my culinary heritage into the dish and forgot about everything else. As I was distributing the food onto plastic plates, I was startled by my mother standing right behind me.

“Smells good, son,” she said. The single sentence wasn’t just any compliment - it expressed emphatic approval after years of fastidious evaluation of my dishes.

Looking back, my self-discipline and perfectionism, which my culture considers as admirable traits, had created fear and pressure in everything I did, preventing me from enjoying my passion for cooking and sharing a meal. I always thought that this was caused by the high expectations set by my parents. From my enjoyable experience of connecting people through my cooking, I realized that all along it was my own expectation of my parents’ approval that fueled me to set ever higher expectations for myself.

While I cannot deny these very expectations are what led me to accomplish things that I thought were not possible athletically or academically, I am now aware that my passion for cooking would have slowly deteriorated if I only focused on the results. And, perhaps most importantly, I consider this experience a great metaphor for other things in life: even if the noodles are too salty or otak-otak slightly overcooked, as long as I pour my passion into it, enjoy myself in the process, and share my joy with the people I love, we will be having a hearty meal.

At 6, I really wanted to be a swan. A peculiar profession to most, this impassioned declaration was often met with baffled stares. Luckily, the reality was much more attainable: I wanted to be the White Swan from the classic Swan Lake. Gazing upwards from my booster seat at my first ballet, I grew enamoured by the unparalleled grace of the White Swan. Entranced, I pictured myself in her dainty little shoes floating across the stage. An excitement quelled in my chest–the early embers that would spark into a raging flame. No matter what, I will be the next White Swan.

Fast forward ten years and I can barely do a split! Forget backbends or leaps, I’ve yet to grasp the baseline for flexibility. It appears that as I grow older, I become less like the graceful swan I once aspired to become and more like Big Bird. I lack natural grace and elegance. My hips are stubbornly turned inwards and standing in the basic ‘fifth-position’ hurts my joints. My non-existent stamina deters me from sustaining high jumps through a routine. It seems that my only aptitude in dance is making every move look more laborious than it already is.

All around me I see friends excelling at their passions, boasting shelves of trophies and accolades. Meanwhile, I’m still struggling to attain a ‘distinction’ grade in my ballet exam. Merit grade’s not bad, but not very good either. I’ve watched my ballet classmates covet and achieve solo opportunities, while I remain shrouded in the background of ensemble dancers. I’ve watched them walk out the studio glowing with satisfaction after mastering a move, while I stay back, alone, fumbling with the exact same step.

Somehow, despite the frustration, passion would still drive me to attend every rehearsal, fraying countless ballet-slippers. I’ve gone on painfully restrictive diets all in a bid to achieve the ideal ‘ballerina’ physique. I’ve committed to demanding workout plans to build up my stamina, and dedicated myself to a consistent stretching regimen to increase flexibility. I’ve done all I could, ticked off all the prerequisites for progress, and yet I’ve plateaued in my ballet skills. I’ve trusted the process, but it seems that the process has failed me.

But here’s the thing: I still love ballet. Despite the adversities, I still find myself yearning to slip on my slippers and perform my routines. Invariably, I find myself loving dance.

Maybe it’s because the beauty of passion is the courage to continue even in the face of failure. Through this arduous journey I’ve learned that passion isn’t the brilliant spark of a raging fire, but the muted embers that glow, unwaveringly. It doesn’t matter if I fail to achieve my splits or ‘distinctions,’ because I’ve come to appreciate the gnawing ache in my legs as I leap and pirouette, and respect my ardour in continuing every dance despite mistakes and cramps. Passion isn't the extreme highs and lows of victory; it’s the persistent fight in enduring what we do, for the sake of doing what we love. I don’t enjoy the pain, nor the disappointment, but it’s these factors that are testaments to my depth of passion. Passion does not equate to greatness, but I don’t dance for greatness. I dance for the people. The lessons. The understanding of a beautiful art form.

Now when I watch ballet, I no longer envision myself as the dancer on stage. I’ve stopped dreaming of a career on stage. I no longer proudly showcase my routines to my family. But I haven’t stopped showing up, giving my all, and most importantly, enjoying it. Maybe I’ll never be a white swan, but that’s irrelevant. Because I know that I'll keep dancing for a long time to come. The truth behind doing what we love is that we never stop fighting for it, no matter the cost. Such is the beauty of passion.