By Teo Hui Sian (25S06C) and Keng Yi, Nicole (25S03S)
Featuring Mr Eldrick Cheong
Special thanks to Qiu Bixin (25A01A)
What would you imagine a modern-day Singaporean philosopher to look like? Perhaps just the word “philosophy” draws forth vivid images of a grizzled old man, graying with the weight of knowledge. Or perhaps a recluse buried in books who spends all their time pondering.
Our first impression of Mr Eldrick Cheong is that he looks, well, way too normal. His “chill guy” appearance subverts both the archetypes of the weathered old philosopher and the introverted art student.
In fact, at some parts of the interview, it’s easy to see him as a peer rather than a teacher, one that would fit right into our cohort.
But this appearance is deceptive. Mr Cheong is a new teacher at our school, who had previously taught GP and has now moved on to KI, and as we get to know him more, his deep devotion to philosophy is evident in everything he does.
Philosophy is not just a subject to Mr Cheong—it’s a lifestyle.
Assume nothing, question everything. (Hopefully) Learn something.
For one, Mr Cheong’s enthusiasm about the philosophy aspect of KI is undeniable. As he speaks of philosophy and the role it plays in his job today, passion bleeds unknowingly into his words—the love of a true philosopher speaking of their craft.
“It’s full-time philosophy, and every time I’m teaching I think: this is something I can do in the long-term.”
– Mr Cheong
Mr Cheong considers this as an example of his more laid-back life philosophy. He says that as long as he is able to teach something that he enjoys and has meaning for the students, he’d be content.
He walks the talk, too: his passion for philosophy shows in all aspects of his life, including teaching. Deviating from mindsets perhaps held more by other teachers, he frequently chooses his own reasoning and teaching philosophies, admitting to some “non-PC takes” that are almost shocking in their frankness from a student’s point of view.
“I don’t believe in grades,” he says. “Trust me when I say, at the end of the day, grades really don’t matter. No one’s gonna remember you by your grades or whatever.”
His embodiment of the KI spirit is obvious here—after all, the KI student is always encouraged to ask why, not to take anything at face value. Not being difficult, just being thoughtful.
He encourages his students to follow in his footsteps as well, questioning anything and everything. Mentioning a rule he decided to introduce where students would have to sit with a new deskmate for each lesson, aimed to promote more intermingling within the class, he expresses his desire for a counterargument in classic KI (and GP) teacher fashion.
“I was hoping that people would try to argue against the argument.
(Do you prefer it when your students argue with you?)
Not just my students, anyone.”
On a broader scale, he even philosophises on education as a whole, reflecting on the changing schooling landscape, especially in the humanities scene. “I think, honestly, a lot of things you can learn without going to an institution… in class, I’m just like a mediator. You don’t need to watch my lecture to learn about whatever you’re learning.”
It’s a surprising sentiment from a teacher, admitted with no hint of bitterness about the vulnerability of his role, instead focused entirely on his students. For Mr Cheong, teaching (and hence KI) comes first— hence his devotion to reasoning, to philosophy.
I was a JC student, therefore I suffered
It may come as a surprise that Mr Cheong was never an arts student in JC, having taken PCML (Literature) as his subject combination instead. Reflecting on his time in JC, he admitted “JC was the toughest time in [his] life” – a sentiment likely shared by most (if not all) JC students, past and present.
However, with the wisdom and lived experience that comes with a few more years of life, it seems memories of this universal hardship will eventually brighten. Mr Cheong, who remarks, “I’m not very old yet, but I have been through the uni system”, shares some of this wisdom with us:
“When everything has passed, it’s only the good memories you remember.”
– Mr Eldrick Cheong
We didn’t get too many details about Mr Cheong’s JC life, only that he was from Nanyang Junior College, was the President of Band, and dropped H2 Chemistry after a desperate plea from his chemistry teacher to “please downgrade”. In Mr Cheong’s own words, “those were good times that built me up.” (And we can only trust it’ll be the same for us.)
Mr Cheong made another significant discovery during his time in JC. With literature being the only humanities subject he took – and the one he enjoyed the most – he realised what he truly wished to pursue in the future, choosing to cast aside the sciences for pure arts.
And after a brief stint trying out “six, seven intro modules” at the NUS Faculty of Arts & Social Sciences, Mr Cheong eventually, and very fittingly, became a philosophy major.
However, playing the role of “practical” science students, we can’t help but ask him the insidious question on everyone’s minds when it comes to arts like philosophy: are they even really useful?
To this, he acknowledges the many humanities students facing doubts about the pragmatism of the route they are going down. Nevertheless, he points out the inherent value of taking the humanities.
Bringing up the example of artificial intelligence, he claims that humanities answer the questions that science cannot, and argues against the mindset that the arts have to be supplemented with more “useful subjects”. After all, when we have to decide how to utilise miracles of science, what else do we turn to but morality and philosophy?
“It goes beyond the domains of science; that’s where all the humanities come in.”
– Mr Eldrick Cheong
Minoring in Japanese Language Studies
Philosophy may take the centrestage when it comes to Mr Cheong’s interests, however, we can’t forget to mention that he also minored in Japanese Language Studies in university.
A fascination with Japanese literature and its tendency to lean towards darker themes was what first ignited Mr Cheong’s interest in the Japanese language and culture – which is often portrayed as incredibly courteous and traditional. Still, there’s a distinct philosophical angle with which he approaches the topic. As Mr Cheong puts it, “it’s a very stark contrast, how such a nation is able to produce such literary output.”
Eventually, Mr Cheong would spend 10 months in Japan on a language exchange programme, staying in the dormitory of a language school in the countryside of Mihara, Hiroshima.
For Mr Cheong who admittedly “was [initially] very afraid of conversing in Japanese”, it was certainly a trial by fire. Surrounded by classmates from Bangladesh, Pakistan, Vietnam and India – who mostly couldn’t speak English – and locals from the rural countryside, there were few available channels of communication other than Japanese.
Academically speaking, the experience did improve Mr Cheong’s Japanese fluency. Holistically speaking, however, learning to be in a completely unfamiliar environment was a test of resilience and adaptation – a type of growth far beyond academics.
Life then was strikingly independent, for one. “If I was sick, I’d settle that myself. I would do the laundry, cook and manage my finances myself, and all of that in a very foreign setting.” Life was also abundantly diverse, with classmates, even roommates, with vastly different routines, rituals and beliefs.
For us JC students, too young and too busy to undertake such lengthy adventures just yet, Mr Cheong’s reflections remind us of how small our academic lives really are. A classroom has just enough room for two years of textbook curriculum; our souls have room for much more. Sometimes, it may be worth throwing yourself into the unknown.
Now, back in Singapore, Mr Cheong has embarked on learning a new language – German. He gives us another “non-PC” take, proclaiming “I’m of the opinion that English is a lousy language, because there are many nuances in other languages that English sort of reduces.”
Well, this hobby isn’t actually inspired by a bold act of defiance against the English language (as fitting for a philosopher as that would be). Rather, it’s an effort to capture the work of Austrian philosopher Wittgenstein – renowned for his work in logic, the philosophy of mathematics, language and mind – in its original language. A true lover of philosophy indeed.
Unless you’re part of the 25-ish students who take KI every year, you may never be taught by Mr Cheong. However, perhaps there’s still something you can take away from his teaching and life philosophy.
Mr Cheong’s only message to all students is simple, and one he credits to one of his favourite artists, Tyler, the Creator –
“Whatever brings you that immense joy, do that, that’s your luxury…”
– Tyler, the Creator (from the song “Massa”)
– though, he did add one more clause of his own:
“… Of course, within ethical boundaries.”
Wishing Mr Cheong all the best in his teaching career (and German studies) ahead!
This article is originally featured in our Teachers’ Day 2024 Special Edition.