It was a gloomy late afternoon on 27 April 2012, and I was at level 24 of the Revenue House. The conference room was freezing cold, but I was perspiring from nervousness. I sat across from six senior management, my hands flat on the table, elbows tucked in.
I wore my only suit that day. A $250 purchase that hurt to make when every dollar mattered. But Napoleon Hill’s Think and Grow Rich taught me the world judges by appearance: dress for the success you’re seeking, not the struggle you’re in.
The scholarship on the table would pay for everything—tuition, overseas exchanges, accommodation, monthly allowance. Four years of university fully funded, four years of public service after.
For the first time in my life, I wouldn’t need to juggle studying and working after hours while surviving on five hours of sleep.
Everything rode on this.
“Well, I think of you as Robinhood, distributing wealth from the top to the bottom. Except in this case, everybody wins because the economic pie gets bigger.”
I spoke slowly, forcing my words not to race. I made eye contact with every interviewer, acknowledging their presence.
They chuckled. The head interviewer leaned forward. “First time anyone’s compared us to Robinhood. But yes—good tax policy grows the pie for everyone.”
I popped an imaginary champagne in my head. I knew being smart wasn’t enough at these interviews. I had to charm them too. So far, so good.
We moved to Singapore’s policies. I was ready: weeks of clipping articles, drawing mindmaps, absorbing Lee Kuan Yew’s vision for Singapore. Then came the typical “where do you see yourself in five years” question.
As the interview concluded, the head interviewer looked left and right at his colleagues. They smiled and gave each other reassuring nods.
“Very well, it was a pleasure speaking with you. HR will reach out in two to three weeks about the outcome.”
I smiled, stood up, thanked them, and walked to the door. Before leaving, I turned back, careful not to let my back face the interviewers—something I’d learned in an interview workshop. I gave a small bow and thanked them again.
I thought I’d have to wait weeks. I was wrong.
Boarding the train, I was already thinking about tomorrow’s scholarship interview with another organization. Then, fifteen minutes after leaving that cold room, my phone rang.
It was HR.
“Did I leave something behind?” I thought, dreading the return trip during peak hours.
“Congratulations! The panel has decided to award you the scholarship. I’ll send over the scholarship deed. You have one week to decide.”
Holy shit. Dopamine flooded my system. My shoulders felt lighter. I could actually experience university without financial anxiety weighing on every decision.
A week later, the scholarship deed arrived. Eleven pages and a four-year bond.
The pen felt heavy as I signed. With each stroke, I was burying my aspirations for four years after graduation.
It would grant me freedom—yet lock up my dreams.
I knew my passion: analyzing stocks, investing, maybe working at an investment firm or starting my own fund someday. But to pursue your passion is a privilege. Unless you come from wealth, you have to earn that privilege.
The scholarship freed up my capital to invest instead of paying tuition. It gave me the university experience I couldn’t have afforded otherwise. But those four bonded years? I counted every one of those 1,460 days.
When you’re living through it, all you feel is the weight. The countdown never stops. But looking back now, that heavy pen taught me something: The weight isn’t about what you’re giving up. It’s about what you’re building.
After years of hustling, saving, and investing, I earned my privilege. Today at Steady Compounding, I’m living my passion: analyzing businesses, studying markets, growing wealth. I’m able to do what I love because of your readership.
That freezing conference room where I perspired through my only suit, that heavy pen—yes, they were obstacles. Heavy ones. But heavy pens build strong hands. They bought me time to build what I have today.
We all face heavy-pen moments, where commitment and dreams diverge.
Forward this to someone whose pen feels heavy right now: steadycompounding.com/life/the-heavy-pen/
Thomas
P.S.
It’s never easy when we’re going through our heavy pen moments. All you feel is the weight, the countdown, the sacrifice. But more than a decade later, I can tell you this: the pens that felt heaviest built the strongest hands.
If you’re in the middle of counting your days right now, leave a comment down below. I read everything.