On 17 February 2025, I submitted my final thesis.

I remember that day. The silent click of “Submit,” the feeling of relief mixed with the kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones. I had poured myself into this research, line by line, sleepless night by sleepless night. When my professor signed off and approved it on 24 February, it felt like the baton was passed. The next milestone was set: 27 March – Oral Viva.

As I marked the date on my calendar, it felt distant, yet ever-looming like a mountain on the horizon.

Then came 24 March.

An email landed in my inbox, a long, detailed critique from the external examiner, a professor from NUS. I froze. My heart raced as I read through the words. It felt like my entire thesis was being taken apart, examined under a microscope. I thought: This could be bad. What if I can’t defend this? What if I unravel during the oral defense?

But panic eventually gave way to action. I tweaked my slides, reshaped my talking points, and focused intently on addressing the feedback, plugging gaps, reframing arguments, strengthening my theoretical scaffolding. It was a race against time, but I didn’t want to show up unprepared.

And today, 27 March, the curtain lifted.

I delivered my oral presentation. I spoke with clarity, with calm, with something resembling quiet courage.

To my utter surprise, the external examiner, yes, the same professor who had sent that intense email, kept praising me. He said I had done a very good job. That I had addressed his concerns. That he understood my work.

Another professor gently noted: You actually have ideas, strong ones, it’s just that they’re all over the place. You need to weave them better, give them clearer shape. And my professor, with his authority, told me that I had passed with revisions and was given three months to tidy up, polish, and refine.

The entire presentation and Q&A wrapped up in just about an hour. And that was that.

But here’s the part I didn’t expect:

As I sat alone afterwards, processing the moment…
I didn’t feel proud.

No rush of joy, no celebratory tears.
No triumphant soundtrack playing in the background.

Just… stillness.

I wondered: Is something wrong with me?
Why is it that after such a huge milestone, a master’s thesis, a completed viva, I feel more numb than anything?

But maybe, just maybe, this is part of the journey too.
Maybe pride doesn’t always roar.
Maybe, sometimes, it whispers.

Maybe it lives in the quiet act of showing up after fear.
In rewriting slides at the eleventh hour.
In holding your ground during tough questions.
In receiving critique and turning it into growth.

This isn’t the end. It’s a turning point.

Three more months to refine.
Three more months to strengthen the spine of my thesis.
Three more months to allow this quiet, uncelebrated strength to evolve into something bolder.

So here I am.
Not proud in the way I expected.
But steady. Grateful. And still moving forward.

Yesterday, nestled in the quiet comfort of my bed, I found myself caught in a vulnerable moment. Tears streamed down my face as thoughts of my research project and my professor swirled in my mind. I’m in a phase where I feel utterly stuck, wrestling with doubts and uncertainties that seem to cling to me like shadows.

For weeks, I’ve been sending updates and data analysis reports to my professor, eagerly awaiting his feedback. Research, as I’ve come to understand, doesn’t offer the solace of straightforward answers or a one-size-fits-all approach, especially regarding the intricacies of regression analysis. This was my first attempt at navigating the complexities of formal writing in research without direct guidance, relying solely on the insights gleaned from credible sources. Yet, despite my efforts to reach out with my formal write-up on February 13th, the silence on his end is deafening. While I’m sympathetic to the demands of his schedule, I can’t help but feel abandoned in my academic journey.

This sense of isolation has only grown since an incident last June, when he offered me an interview for an administrative position within the school setting. Unfortunately, I didn’t secure the job, and since then, our relationship seems to have cooled, adding a layer of strain to our interactions.

It’s as if I’m adrift in the sea of my research work, with my professor too engulfed in his own responsibilities to notice my struggles. This has led me to procrastinate, caught in a limbo halfway through my graduation project, questioning my path. The disconnect between my postgraduate studies and my current job exacerbates this feeling of being lost, with no mentor to guide me or offer advice when the weight of research becomes too much to bear.

Yet, amidst this turmoil, I’ve begun to realize the importance of self-reliance and the value of perseverance. This journey, though fraught with challenges, is teaching me to navigate the complexities of academic life and to find strength within myself. As I continue to push forward, I hold onto the hope that this experience will shape me into a more resilient and independent scholar, ready to face the uncertainties of the academic world with a renewed sense of purpose.

Facing the Crossroads: Burnout, Loss of Motivation, or Research Lost?

At this juncture, I’m grappling with a profound sense of uncertainty. Am I experiencing burnout, or am I simply lost in the maze of research, losing motivation along the way? The distinction is crucial, yet elusive. Burnout suggests a depletion of energy, a weariness that comes from overextension while losing motivation could imply a disconnect from the passion that once fueled my academic pursuits. Being “research lost” points to a more specific kind of dilemma, an intellectual impasse where direction and clarity in research are missing. I hope that I can find a renewed purpose amid this turmoil and I know it is not a straightforward journey. It requires introspection and a willingness to embrace vulnerability

As I continue to push forward, I hope this postgraduate experience will shape me into a more resilient and independent scholar, ready to face the uncertainties of the academic world with a renewed sense of purpose. The path may not be clear, but each step taken to understand and overcome these challenges is a step toward regaining my footing in the academic journey.

In the silence of our studies, we find the loudest echoes of our future selves. Embrace the uncertainty, for it is the soil in which wisdom grows.

BY ARETE