As any conservative Asian relative might say: “Only do what you’re good at. Mai gehkiang”. (“Don’t be a smart alec”, for the uninitiated.) That was my mantra growing up: stay out of trouble, stay safe, and don’t provoke trouble. It shaped how I saw the world.
I was raised in an average family of four. Now a pillar of strength, my sister was once my fiercest competitor. Her academic track record was flawless. Eventually, she studied medicine at a local university, turning down an Ivy League offer due to circumstances.
In contrast, I was a last-class student, both figuratively and literally. Overweight, acne-ridden, braces-wearing, and painfully self-conscious, I dreaded school and fell behind, mostly due to anxiety and low self-esteem. Watching my sister excel only amplified my belief that I would never be good enough.
Finding that spark
During the school holidays, while other kids flocked to the movies or arcades, I stayed home—not by choice—and found unexpected company in Jamie Oliver. The Naked Chef was a fixture on the Asian Food Channel and a surprising source of comfort. I didn’t know it at the time, but those afternoons were quietly rewiring something in me.
The first big decision I made was what course to take after secondary school. As the Integrated Resorts were being constructed, I enrolled in Temasek Polytechnic to study Culinary & Catering Management. That decision changed everything. For the first time, I was doing something I genuinely loved, and I thrived. Among 60 students, I stood out.
Reality struck when I interned without pay in several kitchens before landing my first job at Guy Savoy’s three Michelin-starred restaurant at Marina Bay Sands. It was glamorous on paper, but gruelling in practice. Long hours, low pay, and solitary train rides home wore me out. During one of those rides, I asked myself, “Is this it? Is this what I want to be doing a decade from now?”
I told myself that if I can rise to the top from last place, I can also do it again. At 21, I became Asia Junior Champion at the 2011 Hans Bueschkens Young Chefs Challenge Asia in Hong Kong. The irony? I went from being the last student in class to the top student in a competitive culinary school.
Falling forward
Since leaving the professional kitchen, I’ve started (and shut down) multiple businesses. My first, an F&B consultancy co-founded with an ex-lecturer, failed. Then I bought a one-way ticket to Vietnam and tried seafood trading. That failed, too.
With $10,000 left to my name, a friend and I began distributing a Korean backpack brand called RawRow in Singapore. It picked up, and Benjamin Barker eventually acquired it. I learnt the hard way that failure wasn’t fatal, but tuition.
Eventually, I circled back to food. I opened a creperie with a small loan, followed by a 40-seater cafe, then a restaurant and bar. This time, things clicked. With stability came space to think: was I only good at food, or had I just never dared to try more?
Pivot points
As finance has always intrigued me, I applied for a low-ranking position at NWD Holdings. I now serve as the company’s managing partner, overseeing the Growth Equity and Real Estate Development division. My food business, Mojo Singapore, evolved as well. We pivoted into a corporate workspace solutions company, providing F&B services to top MNCs.
My food business, Mojo Singapore, evolved as well. We pivoted into a corporate workspace solutions company, providing F&B services to top MNCs. As a result, it now runs like a well-oiled machine; I am only involved at a strategic level.
When I was made partner at NWD Holdings, I took a personal stake in our largest investment to date: the Radisson Blu Hotel and Apartments Penang, a five-star beachfront mixed development. I have also invested as a limited partner in several top-performing private equity and VC funds— from Singapore’s own SeaTown Holdings (a Temasek arm) to Sky9 Capital and LA-based Fika Ventures.
So, should you only do what you’re good at? I’m glad I didn’t. If I had stuck to that, I would still be in a hot kitchen wondering what else I could have done. Having passion was a great place to start, but it was never the end goal. Even though it opened doors, it was not the room I wanted to remain in.
It turns out that being a little gehkiang isn’t such a bad thing after all.
Here’s my playbook for reinvention.
1. Make passion your launchpad
Passion isn’t the end goal; it’s merely a starting point. Use it to venture into new territories, anchored by something you genuinely enjoy.
2. Seek, Explore, Reap
Seek out opportunities. Explore boldly, but assess risks and returns with clarity. Taking decisive action will reap rewards.
3. Maintain a Malleable Mindset
Don’t hold on to fixed ideas. Be adaptable and open to change. Rather than getting stuck in setbacks, learn to see possibilities in shifting landscapes.
