Victor Tan

The author has 140 posts

The Small Art of Enjoying What We Do

Victor Tan
 

If we enjoy what we do, we are more likely to do it, for it is what we enjoy.

That’s the small insight that appeared in my mind today; that it is through enjoyment that a person practices for long hours, refines their craft, creates entire tapestries from mere words stitched together beyond exam sheets and scripts – it is how a person can write a book without using AI when the payoff is uncertain and the hours are long.

It is true that writing a book or practicing for an exam shouldn’t purely be a matter of passion and should be a matter of systems, processes, and discipline; without systems, you limit your attainment to the height of your passion, after all.

Yet, it is true that without enjoyment, you limit your motivation to the dictates of planning – useful and needed – but discount the greater possibilities ahead that come from a genuine passion.

To find that passion is almost a matter of chance – and I was deliberate with that wording. Passion must be ‘found’ – actively located, whether searched for or come across; yet it is ‘almost’ a matter of chance and not certainly, for while it is possible that the literary child can form in a home with books, so too can she come into being in one without them through the sheer force of will and conscious effort to see…

These words matter.

The words I choose matter.

If I stitch the quilt a different way, people will understand it differently – by the staccato drumbeat of my fingers on this page and by the smell and markings of black ink on my fingers, they will see new possibilities – possibilities that I will unearth by the written page word by word, minute by minute, asking myself:

Why is this good?

Why is that better?

Why was that bad?

Why was what he did, she said, they wrote so incredibly captivating?

I want to know – I want to know – I want to know!!!

When that frame of mind begins to set in, a subtle realignment happens; refining your craft ceases to be a chore, but instead a higher aspiration; work becomes play, and practice becomes meaningful in ways that it never had before – something valuable for the possibilities that it unlocks within a person’s soul and something valuable enough that you would set forth on the journey of writing even if the chance of a reward was that of a snowflake’s right to exist in an inferno – and thus you refine ceaselessly no matter where you are, what you are doing, wherever you are, without anyone telling you to do so; before you know it, you are directing the ship and improving for your sake, not mine.

It’s strange that it’s through that frame of enjoyment for enjoyment’s sake that a person might be best able to reap the external rewards of an A*, isn’t it?

To go above, one must first go below.

It is a strange irony.

Narrative Essay Reflection and Breakdown:  Write a story which involves an extraordinary journey. (May 2025 Variant 2, Question 4) 

Victor Tan
 

Welcome back, friends!

We call everything extraordinary now—a sandwich, a sunset, a Tuesday afternoon.

The word comes from Latin: extra ordinem, “outside the usual order.”

It was meant to describe things that break the pattern, that violate what we expect from the world. But we’ve inflated it until it’s lost all pressure. Maybe that’s because we’re afraid of ordinariness, or maybe it’s because English doesn’t give us a good middle ground between “boring” and “life-changing.” We don’t have words for the subtle gradations of remarkableness—the moment that’s interesting but not stunning, memorable but not transformative. So we reach for “extraordinary” and flatten its meaning. Here’s what I find fascinating: when something truly extraordinary happens, we often go quiet. We strip away the adjectives. We say, “I can’t describe it.” The real extraordinary resists language altogether.

This week’s essay prompt: “Write a story which involves an extraordinary journey.”; it’s question 4 from the May 2025 Paper 2 series.

This prompt sets a trap that most students will walk straight into: they’ll confuse “extraordinary” with “exotic.” They’ll write about plane crashes in jungles, time travel, or epic quests through fantasy landscapes. But here’s the challenge buried in that single word “involves”—it doesn’t say the journey is extraordinary; it says the story involves one. That’s a crucial distinction. The strongest responses understand that an extraordinary journey isn’t necessarily about spectacular events; it’s about a journey that transforms the person taking it. This is where narrative writing diverges from adventure storytelling: you’re not just chronicling what happens, you’re revealing why it matters. Can you write about a bus ride up a mountain and make it feel extraordinary because of what the narrator is carrying—guilt, fear, unfinished business? Can you create a journey where the external obstacles (fog, landslide, broken bridge) mirror the internal ones (shame, courage, the decision to return home)? The prompt tests whether you understand that “extraordinary” is a judgment made in retrospect, not a quality inherent to the events themselves. A journey becomes extraordinary when the person who took it is no longer the same person who began it—and your job as the writer is to show us that transformation through action, choice, and consequence, not through telling us it was extraordinary.

You’ll find the essay here!

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Thank you all, and look forward to seeing you in the next one!

You Are Who You Choose to Spend Time With: On environment, language, and the conscious reshaping of our intellectual lives

Victor Tan
 

“You are the average of the five people you spend time with.”


I spent some time this morning reflecting on this familiar adage, turning it over in my mind alongside thoughts about my friendships and the trajectory of my life.

The more I considered it, the more profound it became. There’s no question that the people we spend time with shape our norms, expectations, and capabilities in ways both subtle and substantial.


The Environmental Architecture of Language

If decades of academic research into human language acquisition have taught us anything, it is this: we are deeply shaped by our environment.

The language parents speak to their children from birth forms the very first linguistic memories a child absorbs and later replicates through imitation.

Those of us who did not grow up with English as our first language understand this viscerally.

A child in rural China or India has no incentive to speak English daily—the environment provides none. Instead, they navigate the world through Mandarin, Tamil, or any of the myriad languages that form the rich tapestry of human communication.

The language spoken at home becomes the linguistic lens through which they view the world, shaping not only vocabulary but values, moral frameworks, and even which dictionary—English or Malay—they might one day reach for.

The Limits of Environmental Determinism

Of course, human beings are not merely products of their environments. Individual agency matters profoundly.

From Mandarin-speaking environments have emerged scholars of English literature. Jiang Zemin, former General Secretary of the Chinese Communist Party, rose from destitution to master multiple languages and lead a nation. The mathematical prodigy Srinivasa Ramanujan, working in isolation from formal training, revolutionized mathematics through sheer intellectual force.

Critics of environmental determinism might invoke Noam Chomsky’s concept of the “poverty of the stimulus”—the observation that the linguistic input children receive from parents and caregivers cannot possibly account for the full complexity and creativity of their eventual language use. There must be something more, something internal, that drives our development.

This is true. And yet, it would be unwise to discount the profound role environment plays.

Explicit Rules and Tacit Knowledge

Traditional education tends to emphasize explicit rules: grammatical structures, punctuation conventions, the mechanics of avoiding comma splices. These are lessons that can be taught systematically, absorbed from textbooks, and applied with conscious effort.

But ask someone truly proficient in English—someone whose prose flows with natural eloquence—to explain why a particular turn of phrase works, and they often struggle to articulate it. I’ve observed this phenomenon countless times when questioning students who write exceptionally well. They cannot always explain their choices. They simply know.

This is tacit knowledge—the accumulated wisdom of countless interactions, texts read, patterns absorbed, habits compounded over time. It reshapes how we process, understand, and ultimately articulate language in ways that resist codification. It operates beneath conscious awareness, yet powerfully determines our linguistic capability.

Probability Is Not Destiny

Yes, someone living in an environment devoid of English speakers will very probably never speak English. The probability is higher. Much higher.
But probability is not destiny.

As human beings, we possess a remarkable capacity: we can reshape our environments. We can change whom we interact with, whom we spend time with. Those five friends—whether from family, school, workplace, or public life—can be consciously varied.

Are we not free to choose? Must we accept environments that limit us? Should we settle for spending time with those who refuse to grow, who remain content with mediocrity? Or can we seek out people who share our goals, motivations, and aspirations for excellence?

That conscious choice shapes our trajectory. And it is a choice we must recognize we possess.

Beyond People: Reshaping Your Linguistic Landscape

But environments consist of more than just people. We can also reshape the content we consume, the words we encounter daily.

It is not destined that we spend our days doom-scrolling through social media captions and Instagram reels. We have the option to read substantive blog posts, to engage with the great books that have shaped human thought across centuries – to expose ourselves to good writing and to speech and things that more represent what we want to be as we move from where we are towards a better life.

This is the harder choice, of course. Most people don’t make it.

But precisely because it is both harder and more beneficial, it holds the key to the mastery that so many casually abandon. The path less traveled rewards those brave enough to walk it.

By reading this post today, you’ve already begun to reshape your environment in small but meaningful ways.

Thank you for being part of this journey.
If you’d like to extend that commitment, I invite you to explore our vibrant member section, where you’ll find sample works, detailed resources, and a community dedicated to linguistic excellence and intellectual growth.

Whether you’re writing from Beijing or Bangalore, Cape Town or rural Kentucky, you’re welcome to join us in consciously reshaping the environment of language and thought we inhabit.

The choice, as always, is yours.


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