I was what most would call a high achiever: A well-behaved GEP (Gifted Education Programme) student who handed in her homework and generally did well for exams. 

I had a packed activity schedule: School team for track and field and table tennis. Playing in the Guitar Ensemble Club. Piano lessons. 

The author (back row, third from right) with the track and field at Raffles Girls’ School. All photos courtesy of Wong Yuan Sy.

At the end of my Secondary Three year, my father told me I had to make time to study for my “O” levels the following year. 

I was to give up all my beloved activities except one. I had to choose which.

So after completing my Grade 8 ABRSM piano exam that year, I gave up piano lessons. I quit the Guitar Ensemble Club at school as well as the table tennis school team. 

I chose to remain in the school track and field team because I enjoyed it the most.

Also, I had just won a gold medal at a national competition. So expectations were high that I would also take home gold in August of my Secondary Four year.

I told myself: “After this, I’ll stop and just study.”

But life never goes the way we plan. 

A taste of failure for a high-achiever

Whatever free time I had was spent catching up on school work.

It was tiring. But the activities gave me purpose and I lived for the adrenaline.

Winning medals and excelling academically also made me feel better about myself. I was a perfectionist, but I felt I was never good enough. 

The author (left, in glasses) also actively competed in inter-house games like table tennis, volleyball and swimming, and trained juniors twice a week in track and field.

This perhaps stemmed from growing up in an environment where praise for doing well was rare.

If I scored 48/50 for a Maths test, I would hear: “Why were you so careless to lose those two marks?”

I attached my self-worth to my achievements, believing that I would only be loved and affirmed if I did better.

Just two weeks before the national track and field competition, I injured my ankle. It was not severe, but I could not recover sufficiently in time and completely crashed out of the finals. 

I had given up everything for this competition, and this failure was completely devastating. 

Everyone had expected me to win gold, or take home a medal at least. But I had failed. 

That failure crushed me. I felt worthless, condemned and lifeless.

“Did you get the gold?” one teammate asked. 

I was silent. 

“No? Silver? Bronze?” 

I never replied, because I could not hold back my tears. 

During my kindergarten years, I had been taught that crying was not acceptable, not even when I was hurt or scolded. I was told: “Stop crying. You’re not allowed to cry.” 

So gradually, I learnt to steel myself against any pain I felt – whether physical or emotional. It had been a long time since I shed tears, much less in front of anyone. 

But that day, right after the competition, I wept.

More than three decades on, Yuan Sy no longer looks at her now-tarnished medals from her days as an athlete.

 In the days that followed, I was like a zombie. I went to school, I ate, I slept. I did my homework. But I hardly spoke. 

My preliminary exams were round the corner and I had to study, but could absorb nothing. My mind wandered through all the what ifs, and repeatedly relived the memory of my failure at the National Stadium. 

When no one was looking and listening, I would cry at night in the darkness.

Until this point, I had never failed at anything I had put so much effort into. 

It felt like the sacrifices were not worth it. Everything was futile, meaningless. Striving to be the best was pointless; getting to the top means you can only fall after that. 

I was exhausted, I wanted to give up, but I was terrified of doing badly for my exams. It was all I had left. 

What if I failed to do well? What would be left of me? 

“I was now God’s problem”

A study published in the Singapore Medical Journal on August 5, 2025 highlighted elevated levels of psychological strain in athletes. 

Back in Sec Four, I didn’t realise that I was experiencing a mental health challenge – and did not know of any avenues of psychological help.  

The idea that I could cry out to God came four years earlier when I was 12.

After the PSLEs (Primary School Leaving Exams), my English teacher and I were talking in the basketball court. 

Then she asked me if I wanted to say a simple prayer to invite Jesus into my life. I had heard several stories about Jesus when I was in primary school, and He seemed like something good to have in my life. 

So I said “yes” and repeated the prayer line by line after her. But I did not really understand what it meant, and He did not seem all that real at that point.

I lost touch with my teacher when I entered secondary school.

When Yuan Sy (left) entered secondary school she lost touch with her Primary Six English teacher – there was no Internet or mobile phones back then, so she had no opportunity to learn more about the Christian faith.

While writing this story, Yuan Sy found and reconnected with that Primary Six English teacher Mrs Carol Sng, now a private tutor. Carol was deeply encouraged to hear how she had played a role in Yuan Sy’s journey to faith.

But that night, I decided I was doing a terrible job trying to live my life.

I did not dare to end it, so I desperately – and somewhat defiantly – asked God to take over and do a better job of it if He is real. What audacity! 

Nothing supernatural happened and I did not hear any still small voice whisper to me. 

But I know I stopped crying and had some sense of peace thinking that I was no longer my problem – I was now God’s problem. 

In the days after that, I was somehow able to concentrate and study. I did reasonably well for my preliminary exams and eventually aced my “O” Level examinations, scoring eight A1s.

To me, it felt like God had stepped in when I cried out and met me in my lowest moment – not with judgement, but with kindness, patience and grace.

God loved me so much that He came running to his prodigal child with open arms. 

A brand new start

Subsequently, I made a decision that most people would consider rash and wilful at that age of 16.

Almost everyone around me was aiming to go to the same top-tiered JC (junior college) affiliated to my secondary school. 

I had the grades to go anywhere I wanted, but decided I needed a change of environment and opted for a junior college nearer home. 

I also decided to quit track and field. My wounds were still raw and I could not face my own pain. 

In a new school surrounded mostly by people who did not know me, I joined the choir and tried to keep a low profile. 

Yuan Sy (second row, behind the conductor’s right shoulder) and the choir she joined in JC.

I also began my spiritual journey, trying to figure out who God really is.

I wasn’t allowed to attend church or go out with friends during the weekends. So I read the Bible secretly, but found it difficult to understand.

Then one day after school, I went to a large church with a bookshop near my JC. I picked up a book that seemed to speak to me about my pain, and bought it with savings from my pocket money. 

I devoured it and began to learn about Jesus who knew pain and suffering well.

I read about God’s love and wondered if I was worthy of being loved by God. I was comforted to read that the Bible was full of flawed characters who failed often and were afraid, yet God used them.

Some of the books that Yuan Sy found helpful while searching for God in JC (front), and additional ones she read later (in the back).

Through this, I faced my perfectionist nature and slowly tried to let it go. Gradually, I began to believe that even when I had not done anything to earn His love, God already loved me and Jesus had already died for my sins. 

I can do nothing to save myself no matter how hard I try – except to believe in Him. 

“Okay, go lah” 

Towards the end of my time in junior college, I asked God to make a way for me to get permission to attend church with my friends. 

As a new Christian, I did not even know how to pray. I couldn’t see God, but I just talked to Him as though He was right next to me. 

I prayed that after my “A” level exams, someone would invite me to go to church, and that my parents would finally relent, as I would not have anything much to do during that period.

As a Biology student, I was among the last to complete their “A” level exams, on a Friday. I went straight from the exam hall into school choir rehearsals for a concert taking place that Sunday. 

On Saturday evening after rehearsal, some girls in the choir were making arrangements for the full dress rehearsal and performance the next day. One of them suddenly asked me: “We are going to church first, would you like to join us?”

I had forgotten about my prayer, but God had not forgotten. 

The invitation I had prayed for arrived – one day after my exams finished. How could this be a coincidence? 

I was excited and also fearful as I took the bus home. What if my parents refused again? 

With faith as small as a mustard seed, I asked my mother if I could go to church with my friends before the rehearsal. She said “no”.

As I nursed my disappointment over dinner and in the shower, I felt I had to ask again even if I ended up being scolded. So I did. 

This time, my mother said: “Okay, go lah.” 

That was probably the moment I became completely convinced that God was real and cared about me. 

Being in a church community also helped Yuan Sy (left) grow in faith. She is pictured at age 19, with members from her first cell group at the church she attended before going to the UK to study.

He had heard my prayer and answered it with perfect timing. 

Not only was I able to go to church the next day, my parents did not stop me either in the weeks after.

Who I am is different from what I do

It was a long process to let go of my perfectionist nature, and I am still very much driven to excellence, even today.

But it is no longer to earn the praise of others. I’ve accepted that I did not need to be the best or perfect as “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23)

God loves me even when I fail and I certainly cannot ever be perfect. When God answered my prayer with that church invitation and permission to go, I finally believed that God sees me, He hears me, He knows me, and I didn’t do anything for Him. He didn’t need me to do anything for Him. 

Very often, we do things in our own strength and use our achievements to build who we are. 

We cannot accept our failures, because it makes us feel worthless. 

But I have come to realise that who I am is distinctly different from what I do.

(Editor’s note: Yuan Sy became a  biomedical researcher and obtained her PhD. She then taught aviation physiology for 10 years at Singapore Aeromedical Centre. In 2024, she left her job to attend Tung Ling Bible School to invest more in God’s Kingdom.)

These days, Yuan Sy uses her musical talents in the worship ministry at church and at Tung Ling Bible School (pictured).

Preparing a new generation of keyboardists to lead worship: At church, Yuan Sy (in pink) and a friend (right) teach chords and improvisation to some kids with classical piano training.

Yuan Sy and her son came in second at a recent intergenerational table tennis competition at church.

People don’t necessarily remember your achievements when your time on earth is up. Those who show up at your funeral remember you for who you are to them and your relationship with them.

God loves us as we are, and it is not conditional on what we do. What the world counts as achievements that defines our resume may not matter very much when we see the Lord again face to face at the end of this life. 

You are loved, you are precious, and Jesus died for you unconditionally.

A version of this story first appeared on Stories of Hope.

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