At 6:55pm last Friday, standing close to Albemarle Street, I had to make a decision. Should I take the next Tube home, or head to the Royal Institution (RI) as planned to attend physicist Carlo Rovelli’s discourse?

It was an embarrassing moment. I had invited Leyi to join me for the talk, yet I couldn’t find the tickets! And when I eventually did, I realised that the ticket was for the online stream, not the in-person event, which had already sold out when I booked. Apparently, I had completely forgotten about that!

I decided to go ahead anyway. In my cookbook, there’s always a chance if one shows up. Leyi was reluctant, but agreed to follow suit.

We saw a long queue, joined it, and quickly got our turn. Unsurprisingly, they couldn’t find our names! They checked the guest list and still couldn’t find us. I had to admit that we didn’t actually have the right tickets, even though both of us are RI members.

Surprisingly, we weren’t turned away. Instead, we were directed to reception, where they kindly put our names on the waiting list. Within 10 minutes, we were allowed in!

Once we were seated, I shrugged and told Leyi, “Just show up. That’s my philosophy!”

The simple rule is: you may or may not get in if you show up. But you definitely won’t get in if you don’t.

This rule has been etched in my heart through many, many real-world experiences.

Allow me to be nostalgic again and share a story from my past life.

I once took a PhD course from the business school on empirical research in investment. I was interested because the syllabus included two lectures, out of 13, on behavioural finance, which I thought might be helpful for my thesis in behavioural economics.

I had to write to Prof Hwang to apply, as the course was not offered from my school. He asked for my background and checked which courses I had taken, then rejected my request – I had none of the pre-requisites he specified – doctor-level classes in finance theory, economics, and econometrics.

I pleaded with him: let me attend the first class, and judge for yourself if I qualify.

He agreed.

His opening lecture was divine, and I still remember him telling us about his wife, who had left her career as a senior accountant, started medical school at 40, and was then practicing in Singapore and was immensely proud of her work.

I was totally captivated and asked tons of questions, trying to demonstrate that I actually knew a thing or two about finance and investment! And apparently I managed to fool him, because he invited me to take the class.

Yet, to my great disappointment, the course was not a seminar at all!

I thought he would be doing lectures weekly, but instead, the five of us were required to present one piece of research every week. The presentation requirements look soft and simple enough, but to explain in your own words why a research question is interesting and what it contributes, you have to be deeply immersed in the literature.

Basically, I was being forced to play professor and teach a subject I knew almost nothing about.

At that point, I was ready to quit. I thought I was good enough to understand Prof Hwang’s lecture, but I definitely was far from good enough to teach! But how could I quit after taking so much trouble to register for it？

So I decided to take it, even if I might fail in the end.

And I did suffer for it. I remember going to bed at 3am before almost every class, which started at 9am, because I had to read so, so much in an unfamiliar field. Typing out the full formulas alone was a huge challenge, let alone telling a coherent story about the research.

But in the end, I did it.

And I got the highest mark.

I’m forever grateful for Prof Hwang for taking the risk of accepting me into the class. He gave me the chance to push myself to my utmost limits. More importantly, the experience made me internalise just how important research motivation is, and helped me develop a taste for identifying what makes a research question genuinely interesting.

Here is one of the first presentations I gave.

Thank God I showed up! Showing up is the beginning of all possibilities.

I wrote this story as I wanted to remember this episode of my life, to encourage myself to show up for things that might seem too big, too implausible.