Unlikely journey towards the PhD
Twenty-five years ago, I started the most unlikely of journeys towards a PhD. My path was rather random and improbable: I was born on the streets of a third-world country to peasants; raised in poverty in Toronto; arrested twice and spent a brief time in prison as a teenager. Higher education was the last thing on my mind when I was expelled from high school. Nevertheless, I eventually managed to earn the highest academic degree — and under a Nobel laureate supervisor.
I am not supposed to be a holder of a doctorate. The PhD is, in many ways, a luxury for the well-off. The median time to acquire a PhD in economics at North American universities is about 5.5 years and with a 40 percent incompletion rate. (Median time from completion of bachelors to PhD is about 8 years, and median age at graduation is 31.) Years of forgone/reduced income and career progression is a steep price for a person trying to escape penury – especially if academia is not the goal. Moreover, insomuch as there is a thing as the opposite of a “tiger family”, that would be mine. We were part of the Cantonese immigrant underclass in Canada. My childhood was largely a life of deprivation and my youth spent working in services jobs. None of my family attended any of my graduations.
I completed high school at age 20, given a second chance by a kind vice-principal. I did well upon my return and was admitted to the University of Toronto in 1995.
As an undergraduate, I endured a spell of homelessness and juggled multiple part-time jobs. I also stuck out like a sore thumb with my ponytail and gritty demeanour at the well-heeled Trinity College, where residents don the academic gown on campus. But I still managed to shine in my studies. A Harvard-trained professor, who happened to have grown up in the same neighbourhood as me, took notice of my talent when I had excelled in his classes and encouraged me to pursue a doctorate.
When I applied to graduate school, I took a standardised exam for the first time in my life. I spent $10 on a used copy of a prep book one week before the test.
In April 1999, I accepted a scholarship to commence studies that autumn at Princeton in their economics PhD programme. However, in contrast to many of my future peers, my connection to and knowledge about academia was thin. For others, it was a long-time passion or following in the footsteps of family. (Two-thirds of economics PhDs come from families where parents hold graduate degrees, and children of economists are 37x as likely to be in the profession as compared with the general population.) I just saw a path out of poverty.
They say that the PhD is a lonely pursuit. More so for my situation: I was uprooted from my hardscrabble background but at the same time was not part of the Ivy League upper class. The contrast between my scrappy personal life and that of the privileged environment around me led to many challenges, which I mostly battled alone. In spite of my life resembling more like that of Will Hunting (the protagonist in the film “Good Will Hunting”), society largely treated me more like if I were Will Hung (of “American Idol” infamy).
I lost interest in academics, stumbled in life, and nearly dropped out. In retrospect, I likely suffered from PTSD and had other issues while at graduate school. Nevertheless, I persisted and by the start of my sixth year had just the defence of the dissertation (a rubber stamp) outstanding towards completing the PhD. So I left campus to start a job in consulting in Singapore while I began preparing the final cosmetic touches for the last hurdle. The plan was to return in six months for the defence. I rushed to start the job as I needed the money – my Canadian student loans had come due. (My grace period as a student automatically expired five years after first matriculating for the PhD.)
However, just before returning to defend, a tertiary member of my committee erected a roadblock. He wanted significant changes to the thesis, even as the other members of the committee (most notably my primary advisor) had already approved it. But working full time while living halfway across the globe was not conducive to revisiting the dissertation.
The PhD was so close, yet so far. I needed to return to North America if I wanted to close it out. That (among other reasons) compelled me to leave Singapore.
When I eventually relocated to New York City one-and-a-half years later, the dissenting professor had left Princeton. It was not a straightforward task finding a replacement. However, I eventually found a new member and he was satisfied with the dissertation as it was. I was then allowed to defend.
In June 2008, I went to Princeton during my lunch break – I was working in Manhattan at the time – to pick up my diploma at commencement. I went alone. There was no family, no fanfare. I did, however, snap a few photos when I saw classmates after the ceremony. They are the only souvenirs I have from any of my graduations.
Even though I eschewed academia after leaving Princeton (working instead in consulting, finance, and policy), its lure has tugged at me from time to time. In that vein, the PhD has allowed me to participate in conferences, confer lectures, and even hold academic/research fellowships. However, if I had known everything I know now about the PhD (and life), I am not sure if I would have undertaken it. The PhD is not highly remunerative. Nevertheless, the journey has made me richer in life, even if not in money.
I have recurring nightmares about not completing the PhD – sometimes they even wake me up from my sleep. Conversely, I pinch myself when I read in the news about my Princeton contemporaries who are now Nobel laureates, Fields Medallists, central bank governors, and the like.
I flew in from Saudi Arabia to attend my 25th-year reunions at both the University of Toronto and Princeton (matriculating year). It is never too late to celebrate.
