Musings & (Unsolicited) Advice from a Year Two Lawyer
The jungle hasn’t grown kinder – but (perhaps) I’ve grown tougher.
Prologue: A Commitment
After contributing my first Singapore Law Gazette article last year (titled: Musings & (Unsolicited) Advice from a Year‑1 Lawyer), I told myself I would try to keep writing yearly reflections for as long as I remain in the profession. I am hoping that will not end anytime soon. Each year seems to deserve its own chapter, and writing helps me make sense of the journey.
Year One was mainly about survival, learning to swim in waters deeper than expected. If I could summarise Year Two, it was about steering: choosing a direction and moving with intention. To borrow from The Lord of the Rings: if Year One was Frodo’s first steps out of the Shire, Year Two was the dawning realisation of how distant Mordor truly was.
A. Health
I want to be candid from the outset. Yes, I previously wrote about how “sustainability is key”, and to “prioritise the work accordingly, but always place your health at the top of the list” and “make time for yourself”. The truth, however, is that this is far easier said than done. I tried to put them into practice in my first year, but I learned quickly that I lacked consistency. There were still stretches when I neglected my health almost entirely – the long hours, skipped meals, and ironically, the stress-eating that came with it.
By the end of Year One, I had gained about Seven kg, a visible reminder that survival had come at a heavy cost. Around December last year, the toll of my habits became impossible to ignore. My energy had hit an all-time low, even after taking what I considered enough rest.
So, I made a pact with myself to stop treating health (both physical and mental) as an afterthought. I needed to build something more sustainable. The tennis rackets (a gift from my parents), the steady supply of homemade turmeric ginger shots (from my girlfriend) – not-so-subtle hints *coughs* – and, of course, encouragement, motivated me to start moving and eating healthily again.
More pertinently, I learned that health is also about recognising the seasons of litigation: some demand intensity, others allow for pause. I am still figuring it out. Some weeks I get it right, other weeks I do not. But the difference now is that I am paying attention. As such, Year Two became the turning point: I had to practise what I preached.
Small habits made a bigger difference than I expected: (a) allowing myself rest instead of pushing through one more late-night draft; (b) taking long walks that cleared my head far better than staring blankly at a screen; and (c) setting aside time for hobbies / learning new skills (tennis, in my case). Clarity, stamina, and judgment are built on well-being. A rested brain drafts more effectively and accurately than a frantic one.
B. Community
In Year One, every task felt new, every process unfamiliar, every expectation unspoken. But Year Two revealed something unexpected: I was no longer only seeking guidance – I realised that, with however much or little I knew, I could offer some of it as well.
Being able to offer some guidance to juniors (when approached) became a meaningful part of the year. Sharing how to structure draft submissions, research, or manage clients may seem routine, but for someone standing at the cusp of entering legal practice, such guidance can be reassuring. Having benefited from steady mentorship myself, I felt it was only right to pay it forward. Through this, I learned that mentorship is more about sincerity rather than seniority.
Outside the firm, the Young Lawyers Committee (“YLC”) (which I have had the privilege of serving since my first year) has likewise been a powerful source of inspiration. Earlier this year, I took part in the YLC-NYLPC (i.e., our Malaysian counterpart) Exchange 2025 in Kuala Lumpur. While we discussed various aspects of our laws (including civil procedure, family law, and the evolving landscape of legal technology), what stayed with me most was the camaraderie. Across borders and specialisations, young lawyers share similar hopes, pressures, and questions.
Equally significant is the solidarity of peers – those who walk alongside you in the trenches and understand the pressure without explanation. Through these interactions, I realised that community is what keeps us grounded when the work feels overwhelming, and what lifts us when we dare to dream bigger. If I may offer a slight modification to Oscar Wilde’s evergreen line: “[w]e are all in the gutter, [yet still] looking up at the stars.”
Serving the YLC also gave me a front‑row seat to the hopes and challenges our generation faces – from building sustainable careers to access to mentorship, from navigating AI in practice to mental health. It reminded me that the committee is not merely a networking platform; it is an engine for change. Whether it is organising dog-therapy (yes, for human lawyers), dialogues, exchanges, or simply creating spaces for young lawyers to be heard, these activities are where the profession’s future is quietly being built.
There is also something profoundly grounding about serving the legal community with and for our peers. It is about building a supportive home for those of us who have to live in it and those who will inherit it; strengthening foundations laid before us and creating structures that will outlast us.
Put simply, I can do no better than to quote John Donne: “[n]o man is an island, entire of itself”. In law, as in life, community is the architecture that keeps us connected, resilient, and moving forward together.
C. Giving Back
One of the most transformative aspects of my second year was reconnecting with the spirit of service. Through pro bono work and volunteering, I rediscovered the purpose that first drew me to reading law.
My first pro bono matter, taken during Year One, was daunting. Yet it inspired me to take on more cases. The weight of responsibility grew heavier with each new matter, but it taught me something enduring: junior lawyers can also make a real impact when given the opportunity. Volunteering at legal clinics and community events further reinforced this lesson. The law is a bridge to justice, one that means little if it reaches only the privileged. Woven through these experiences was one truth that stayed: do not give up on what is good simply because it is difficult.
The work that matters most is also never about personal gain. It lies in the change we can bring to society, however small, and the voice we lend to those who need it most. Service brings us back to the heart of why many of us entered this profession: to help, to advocate, to stand alongside those who otherwise would stand alone.
Conclusion: The Second Step
In Year One, the anchor, the fuel, and the compass kept me afloat. In Year Two, they became instruments to chart unmarked waters – the anchor was “community”, the fuel was “health”, and the compass was “giving back”.
Indeed, this profession rarely offers calm seas: the maps are incomplete, the currents unpredictable. The waves may never grow calmer, but you will grow stronger. Like Odysseus, you learn that the journey is not about waiting for safe harbours. You learn to trust the stars, even when they are hidden. The sea does not hand you maps. Instead, challenges you to draw your own as you go.
Legal practice will inevitably change you, wave by wave, tide by tide. With every setback, sacrifice, and triumph comes skill, knowledge, and experience. Yet through the winds of change, your spirit endures. Like my interpretation of the Ship of Theseus, even if every beam and spar is replaced and the ship completely reshaped, its unyielding essence remains. At your core, the hopeful part of you that first set sail in Year One, driven by purpose and the desire to help, still guides every step.
The quiet revelation is this: the voyage is never about where you sail. It is about what you leave behind in uncharted waters – the guidance, courage, and hope that light the way for those who follow. That, truly, is the real voyage.
