My name is Phoebe, and I’m a first-year medical student at the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland (RCSI). I grew up in Sabah, watching my parents treat patients in a humble clinic where medicine was more an act of service than a profession. From conducting rural health screenings to navigating Dublin winters far from home, my journey has been a quiet accumulation of small, defining moments. I’m here today not because the path was clear, but because I chose not to stop walking.

Becoming My Own Academic Benchmark

In lower secondary school, no one, not even myself, believed I’d one day pursue medicine. I still remember the day I brought home my Form 4 results. My parents didn’t say a word; they just looked at me. Their silence was louder than any scolding. But maybe that silence was exactly what I needed. Because that was the moment I decided I wanted more, not to impress anyone else, but to prove to myself that I was capable. 

I stopped measuring myself against the “smart kids” and started competing with the version of me from yesterday. I poured myself into my books with a kind of quiet obsession. And when the SPM results came out, 9As (7A+2A) stared back at me. For the first time, I wasn’t just someone’s mentee; I was someone I could finally be proud of.

Medicine Found Me, Not the Other Way Around

Both of my parents are in the medical field, so hospitals and clinics were part of my childhood landscape. But it wasn’t their titles that inspired me; it was how they carried themselves. I remember one evening, well past closing time at our clinic in Sabah, my father noticed a family waiting outside. Instead of turning them away, he walked over and examined their daughter right there in the car. He didn’t charge any consultation fee, not because they asked, but because he cared. It wasn’t about the clock or the cost. It was about doing what was right. That moment embedded itself in me. It taught me that medicine, at its core, is service: quiet, unglamorous, human.

Later, during my foundation year at RUMC (RCSI & UCD Malaysia Campus), I found myself drawn to every outreach opportunity available. We travelled to rural Perak to conduct health screenings, hosted awareness campaigns in shopping malls, and taught children the basics of nutrition. Each initiative reminded me that medicine isn’t just about textbooks or stethoscopes. It’s about showing up with empathy, with purpose, with presence.

Getting the BCNS Scholarship: A 100-Word Leap of Faith

Biasiswa Cemerlang Negeri Sabah (BCNS) is the reason I’m here today. Each year, 40 students are awarded this scholarship, but only 10 of those spots are offered to non-Bumiputera applicants. I was fortunate enough to be selected under the Bumiputera category. BCNS isn’t widely known. It’s one of those rare, quiet opportunities that often go unnoticed. Unlike many other scholarships, it gives you the freedom to pursue your passion, even in demanding fields like medicine, without being boxed in.

There was no lengthy application process or panel interview — just a single task: write a 100-word essay explaining why you deserve the scholarship. My answer was clear and honest: I want to return and serve the people of Sabah. That one sentence carried the weight of everything I believed in.

Adaptation in Ireland: Between Sunshine and Shadows

The adjustment wasn’t just cultural; it was deeply emotional. I never thought I’d miss the sun so much. In winter, daylight slips away quickly. Some days, it felt like I was living in permanent dusk. That darkness crept into my mood, making it hard to stay motivated or even hopeful.

Still, I held on. I found comfort in the little things. Learning to cook proper Malaysian food (yes, I made rendang from scratch!), staying connected with friends, and falling asleep each night with the same pillow my grandma sewed for me when I was five. It still sits on my bed. No matter how grey the skies get, that pillow reminds me where I come from and why I keep going. And when the occasional stranger threw a side comment meant to sting, I learned not to let it settle. There’s more light in kindness and resilience.

The Courage to Raise My Hand

In Malaysian classrooms, I was always quiet. I thought speaking up meant risking judgment. I equated silence with safety and questions with risk. But here at RCSI, the culture is different. You're expected to ask questions, give opinions, and debate ideas. At first, I was terrified. But over time, I started raising my hand and realised that being wrong doesn’t make you less smart. It just means you are learning out loud.

Medical school isn’t easy. Six lectures a day, relentless anatomy labs, and that constant, quiet pressure of never feeling fully caught up. But even when I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, or behind on revision, I still feel anchored. Now, I’m not just learning medicine, I’m becoming the kind of doctor I once looked up to.

Words of Advice: From One Dreamer to Another

If you’re reading this and you’re the student who’s struggling in science, who feels like no one believes in you, I was that student. I failed, I cried, I doubted. But I didn’t give up. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to be persistent.

And if you’re from Sabah or any other underrepresented place, there are scholarships out there. BCNS. BKNS (Biasiswa Kerajaan Negeri Sabah). Others too. Don’t wait for someone to tell you. Go look for them. Ask. Apply. You never know what might change your life.

I used to think I didn’t deserve to dream big. But here I am, in Dublin, a Kadazan girl wearing her identity like armour, studying to one day return and serve her community. I carry my roots with me. And now I know: I am not beneath anyone. I’m not anyone’s slave, and they’re not my master. I am allowed to shine. And so are you.