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On Jan 21, 2025, student feedback from my July 2024 graduating cohort arrived by email. 

I opened it routinely and scanned its contents with a perfunctory eye. Halfway down, one anonymous line stopped me:

"I have a request please. Do retain Mr Ben Chester. His dedication and effort are second to none, especially in his comments and the energy and time he spent for us to achieve our best." 

I read it twice more. 

A student had gone out of their way to appreciate me. Not because of prestigious journals and news outlets I'd been published in, or innovative research I'd done in my field. 

Instead, what counted most for them was the energy and time I spent. The comments I wrote on their work.

"Our best", they'd said. Not just "my best".

WHAT GETS COUNTED

In December 2018, I left full-time legal practice for full-time academia at Singapore University of Social Sciences' (SUSS) School of Law. 

Over the years, I have taught business and contract law to hundreds of adult learners – some fresh junior college and polytechnic grads, but largely working professionals, parents and career changers pursuing law as a second calling. 

Instead of drafting and reviewing various legal agreements for corporate and institutional clients, I now spent my days preparing lesson plans and marking bi-weekly assignments with detailed feedback to be returned to students within days.

In October 2024, I received the MOE-Start scholarship for doctoral studies, a welcome boost to the PhD I'm now pursuing in company law and sustainability. 

The past year has brought other milestones I've worked towards for years: papers accepted in prestigious Oxford and Cambridge journals, 500 Google Scholar citations, op-eds and contributions to major news outlets. I even broke 600 likes on a single LinkedIn post – certainly a first for me, as I’ve never been a significant figure on that or any other social networking platform. 

These are the achievements that go on a CV. The quantifiable markers of academic success. The metrics that institutions report and rankings systems count.

So why did a few simple lines from one student resonate with me so differently from all those accomplishments?

THE TREADMILL I DID NOT RECOGNISE

Seven years ago, I made the shift to academia because I wanted something different. 

Legal practice had started to feel like an endless chase for metrics. More client wins, more billable hours, more promotions – over and over and over, like being stuck on a treadmill with no way to stop or slow down.

I wanted to step away from that intensity and find a different rhythm. 

It took me nearly seven years in academia to realise that despite moving in search of a different path, I had never really left the treadmill. I had simply changed what I was measuring.

Publications instead of partnerships. Citations instead of clients. Recognition instead of revenue.

We live in a culture of measurement. Output equals worth; productivity equals purpose. So, I kept measuring. 

Another paper accepted. Another citation accumulated. That op-ed went viral. 

Each new metric of success was irrefutable proof that my career change had been worthwhile.

But now, I was learning something uncomfortable: Not everything that matters can be measured.

SINGAPORE'S UNMEASURED ADVANTAGE

Singapore's success has always been built on strategic investment in people. 

We track literacy rates, university rankings, graduate employment rates, productivity gains. These metrics have guided policymaking for decades and have demonstrated returns well worth the investment. 

But there is a risk in championing optimisation over everything else. If we focus purely on measurable outcomes, we may end up overlooking the intangible things that do just as much to create real transformation.

That's not to say the journal articles and op-eds don't matter. They advance knowledge and contribute to larger, important conversations. I am grateful for every opportunity to do that work.

But what that student recognised was something different. Something that never appears in annual reports or tenure applications.

Most of my students already have full lives. They show up to evening classes after full intense workdays, juggle assignments with family responsibilities, and push through difficult course material on top of their daily burdens.

The awareness of this is what pushes me to go just a little bit further in my teaching efforts.

The midnight rewrite of module materials. The comment in the margins that took 15 minutes to write. The extra pass-through lecture notes to make a difficult concept clearer. 

All this is painstaking, inefficient, human-intensive work – work that does not fit on a CV, and cannot be optimised or scaled. 

However, it's work that enables me to meet my learners where they are. It's a great investment of time and energy, one that may not appear in institutional metrics but that has the power and potential to change individual lives.

WHAT'S THE TRUE VALUE OF EDUCATION?

As Singapore navigates economic transformation and global uncertainty, conversations about education often fixate on outcomes, rankings and returns. 

These matter – they demonstrate accountability and guide resource allocation.

But that student's comment was a reminder that sometimes the most important work is the work almost nobody sees. 

Students who have grown out of adolescence can tell the difference between education as credential and education as capability-building.

They can tell when an educator is just going through the motions, and when someone genuinely cares about their success.

This shapes not just what students know, but who they become.

In September, Prime Minister Lawrence Wong spoke candidly about how education still feels like "an arms race" for many parents, despite reforms to reduce the emphasis on grades. 

He acknowledged that education reforms alone are not enough – workplaces must also shift away from narrow academic criteria.

But such a shift cannot be limited to employers, parents and learners. Educators, too, must be perceived differently. 

In October, the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development reported that Singapore's teachers work 47.3 hours per week – well above the global average of 41 hours. This reflects both the dedication of our educators and the high standards that have won Singapore's education system the respect of the international community.Ìý

However, much of this effort extends beyond what metrics can capture – which is precisely what makes it valuable.

In a society that measures everything, we need to remember that the most meaningful contributions often resist measurement.Ìý

The teacher who stays late to clarify a concept. The mentor who writes detailed feedback nobody else will read. The professional who chooses to invest in others’ success even when it does not advance their own.

Real value in education is not always in the achievements we can point to on a CV or certificate, but in the differences we make for people when nobody is counting.Ìý

We need to find a sustainable balance for both educators and learners that enables us to meet benchmarks required for learning and career progression, while protecting space for the teaching work that makes the most impact on students’ growth.Ìý

That is the work worth doing. Not because it can be measured, but precisely because it cannot be.Ìý

Ben Chester Cheong is a law lecturer and MOE-Start scholar at the Singapore University of Social Sciences. He is pursuing a PhD in company law and sustainability at the University of Cambridge in the UK. He is also affiliated with the University of Reading and the National University of Singapore, and is a lawyer at RHTLaw Asia.Ìý

If you have an experience to share or know someone who wishes to contribute to this series, write to voices [at] mediacorp.com.sg (voices[at]mediacorp[dot]com[dot]sg) with your full name, address and phone number.
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