Eric Tian

The teacher’s primary goal is not to teach. That is done far better by libraries and the internet.

Instead, the teacher’s primary goal is to:

1. Instil a deep curiosity for learning in the student’s mind.

2. Convince the student of their limitless potential.

3. Reassure the student of #2. even when – especially when – things seem the contrary.

The best teachers I’ve had were rarely the most knowledgeable. Instead, they were patient, enthusiastic and possessed a belief in my ability that far surpassed my own.

And now, as a tutor, the most important part of my lessons is never explaining a concept. It’s to let the student know that they are far more intelligent and capable than they imagine.

It is a precious gift to give.

Name a book. What’s the first one that comes to mind?

If you’re into classics, it might be War and Peace, The Little Prince, or The Catcher in the Rye.

If you’re into non-fiction, it might be Atomic Habits, Sapiens, or How to Win Friends and Influence People.

If you’re into fantasy, it might be Harry Potter, The Hobbit, or The Hunger Games.

You probably didn’t think of a memoir. They’re just not that popular. And for a long time, I didn’t read any simply because nobody talked about them.

But recently, I’ve discovered the potential of memoirs. And now I’m addicted.

The short reason is this: reading another’s life helps shape our own. When we read childhood trauma, we inherit part of that trauma. When we read the struggles of alcoholism, we inherit those struggles as well. When we follow someone’s life, their story gradually moulds into ours.

This statement might be too much, one might argue. One’s lived experience outweighs a second hand recount. But I disagree.

The purpose of a memoir is to give others the gift of a story. It’s to offer them your childhood, your struggles, your hopes, your desires, with the goal that others may inherit some of these for themselves. What a beautiful achievement – sharing a part of oneself with others.

Nowadays, most of the audiobooks I listen to are memoirs. It’s amazing how another person’s crazy story immediately improves yours as well.

In September last year, I was on a Zoom call with a student. I had been coaching him on the GAMSAT (the medical school entrance exam) and it was our last session before his sitting.

“Before we finish,” I added, aware we had run overtime, “I just wanted to say that you should believe in yourself. You know more than you think and are more capable than you imagine. You can do this.” I smiled, trying to look as genuine as possible. He smiled back, said thanks and the call ended.

After his exam, I didn’t hear from him for over a year. I had no idea how he went, or where he was now. I assumed he didn’t do as well as he hoped and was reluctant to let me know.

To my surprise, he reached out to me last month.

Firstly, he did well in the GAMSAT and was due to sit medical school interviews very soon. I was glad to hear of his success and the small role I had to play in it.

But more importantly, he revealed his struggles outside of tutoring. How for most of his life, he felt worthless at school, was belittled by his parents and often struggled with depression. He was dealing with all this during our Zoom calls together.

I was blown away. I remembered him as a clever, studious student with a witty sense of humour. He always presented himself neatly and never arrived late. A part of me doubted this was the same person.

Then he told me that the last thing I said to him was the first time he had ever been affirmed. That the idea that somebody believed in him meant a lot – more than any amount of tutoring could’ve ever achieved. His self esteem was now at an all time high, and wanted to thank me for my encouragement.

I had never thought much about my final message – it was something I told all my students before their exam. It was a small act of kindness and effortless to say. But it helped change my friend’s life around.

The fun thing about words is we never know how they will be received. Abundant praise may do nothing for a person, yet a tiny piece of encouragement may turn another’s life around (this is also true for destructive language). What we hope one understands is rarely what one interprets.

Many people wonder how they can do good in the world. Here’s one suggestion. Default to small acts of kindness whenever and wherever you can. It doesn’t matter how small you perceive them to be. You never know what good might turn out.

From Several Short Sentences about Writing:

“One purpose of writing – its central purpose – is to offer your testimony
About the character of existence at this moment.
It will be part of your job to say how things are,
To attest to life as it is.
This will feel strange at first.
You’ll wonder whether you’re allowed to say things that sound
Not merely observant but true,
And not only true in carefully framed, limited circumstances,
But true for all of us and, perhaps, for all time.”

I have a theory that all books are testimonial. Memoirs and biographies do this in obvious ways. But even in fiction, a story reveals the author’s own universe – with its assumptions and secrets – to us.

The power we hold as readers is whether to experience this testimony for ourselves.

The week before an exam is the most productive I am all semester.

I tap into energy reserves, discipline and learn faster than I thought I ever could. I muster the ability to watch ten lectures a day, when I previously struggled with six a week.

Just as runners set personal bests at big races, the pressure to achieve something great pushes us to new limits.

Perhaps the key to consistent improvement is to always be under some artificial pressure; to have a deadline looming over you, urging you to action. Without these tests, one would always be performing less than they could.

But at what cost?

The familiarity heuristic is when the familiar is favoured over novel places, people or things. This happens everywhere.

We buy brands we have experience with. We hang around people we know. We visit websites that are familiar. The familiar is safe, and safe is good. But not always.

Occasionally, it’s good to venture out into the unknown and dive into the rabbit hole. There, we find things that stretch our worldview – that make us wiser.

Books do this. 1984 is a warning of totalitarianism and was considered barbaric at its time of writing. To Kill a Mockingbird examines racism and injustice in America and is frequently banned. The Little Prince reminds us to be children in a world dominated by adults.

These texts make our world bigger. They grab the edges of our world and stretch them ever so slightly, until we can see further than before.

Do not underestimate the power of stories to change lives.

Most of my best memories caught me completely off-guard.

Life-changing books began with zero recommendations.

Rewarding relationships began with chance encounters.

Memorable meals began on wild gambles.

The fact that these events took place when I wasn’t looking for them made it all the more special.

The fewer expectations you have, the more surprises can take your breath away.

Greatest painting? Mona Lisa.

Genius scientist? Einstein.

Composer extraordinare? Mozart.

The first answer to a question isn’t interesting because it’s automatic. It’s usually something we’ve heard said by those around us, which over time become the default.

These default responses are volunteer ideas. They’re thoughts that present themselves when they hear a familiar question, shaped from the voices of other people.

Volunteer ideas are low-quality; crudely shaped by conformity. The more interesting ideas are the ones that come with persistent deliberation – the winners from a chaotic internal debate. To base one’s views on volunteer ideas is to resign one’s capacity for thought.

Beware them.

As an amateur writer, it is natural to associate meaning to every single act of life; to turn brief observations into metaphors and “material”.

How can this be an allegory? What theme does that represent? What words best describe this feeling?

But the moment we attempt to capture a moment in words, the more we disappear from it. How ironic: the need for analysis dissociates us from existence.

The real goal is the opposite: to put our words, our phrases, as close as we can to reality. The one we are existing in.

Rushing to notice puts the cart before the horse.

Attention requires immense passivity.

I’ve been reading Several Short Sentences about Writing and it’s blowing my mind. It may well become my favourite book of the year. Because it’s taking up so much of my mental space, here are two ideas that I’d like to share.

1. Short sentences leave room for implication

Academic writing is boring is because it leaves no room for ambiguity. The sentences are long and the paragraphs are dense. Its nature forces it to be as thorough as possible.

Writing using short sentences is exactly the opposite. It is cut down to its pure necessity, giving opportunity for imagination.

“Every word is optional until it proves to be essential,
Something you can only determine by removing words one by one
And seeing what’s lost or gained…

Without extraneous words or phrases or clauses, there will be room for implication.

The longer the sentence, the less it’s able to imply,
And writing by implication should be one of your goals.
Implication is almost nonexistent in the prose that surrounds you…
That means you don’t know how to use one of a writer’s most important tools:
The ability to suggest more than the words seem to allow,
The ability to speak to the reader in silence.”

Writing long sentences is still a trap I fall into. It is tempting to correlate sentence length with intelligence, or the sophistication of an idea or thought. There isn’t one.

I have yet to fully grasp the power of short sentences.

2. Sentences are much more than just its meaning

“The purpose of a sentence is to say what it has to say but also to be itself,
Not merely a substrate for the extraction of meaning…

The sentence itself has a rhythm.
It has velocity.
It uses metaphor and simile
Or hyperbole or metonymy or alliteration or internal rhyme or one of hundreds of other rhetorical devices.
It helps define the dramatic gesture that you – the writer – are making in the piece.
It stirs or gratifies the reader’s expectations, on many levels.
It identifies the reader.
It gives the reader pause.
It names the world, using the actual names the world already contains.
Perhaps it renames the world.
And this is only the beginning.

You’re the curator of all these qualities in the sentences you make,
Which lie there almost unnoticed
If you’re interested only in extracting or depositing meaning.”

A book is more than its content. It is its nuances of language, its construction of sentences, its ability to drag a reader into a new world. This is why book summaries, no matter how thorough, will never hold a candle to an original text.

I wish I read this book when I first began my writing journey. It is one of those texts that saves you years of practice and stumbling.

Verlyn Klinkenborg, you are a legend.