JUNE 22 — Soon, fresh-faced students will fill the campus again, as another pre-university intake begins its journey.

Although starting slightly later than many other institutions this year, foundation students at Universiti Malaya will go through the same routine as their peers elsewhere: getting to know new friends, new lecturers, and unfamiliar surroundings. 

More importantly, many will arrive carrying a quiet sense of certainty about who they are becoming. The future doctor has enrolled in foundation science. The future lawyer is taking pre-law. The future engineer already has a picture in mind of where all this is heading. For many of these students, the next chapter of their lives feels as though it has finally begun.

Naturally, one of the first questions they ask each other is, "What are you studying?"

It is a reasonable question, to be honest. At seventeen or eighteen, the pre-university programme feels important. The course you choose appears to say something about who you are and, perhaps more importantly, who you will become. Future doctor. Future lawyer. Future engineer. Future accountant. At that age, it is easy to mistake a direction for an identity.

I have been thinking about this recently because of a former student of mine. Before entering university, she enrolled in a pre-law programme at UiTM. Like many students at that age, she had a fairly clear picture of where her future was heading. Law seemed the natural destination. The pathway appeared logical, and the identity that came with it seemed equally clear. 

Life, however, had other plans. When university applications were finalised, she was offered a place in the Bachelor of Media Studies programme at Universiti Malaya instead. Many students would have viewed that outcome as a diversion from their original path. To some, perhaps even a downgrade. But she chose to treat it as an opportunity.

Over the next few years, she immersed herself in university life. Academically, she excelled, appearing on the Dean's List multiple times before eventually graduating with First Class Honours. Outside the classroom, she became deeply involved in student activities at her residential college, taking on various responsibilities before eventually being elected president of the college. It is difficult to imagine any of those experiences appearing in the future she had originally envisioned for herself.

At the same time, she discovered interests that had little to do with the future she once imagined for herself. She became increasingly interested in digital media, public discourse, and political communication. Those interests eventually led her to professional experiences with organisations such as INVOKE and BFM.

What fascinates me about her story is not merely that she changed direction, but how much she changed in the process. The student who entered a pre-law programme was not the same person who graduated several years later. Her interests evolved. Her confidence grew. Her worldview expanded. New opportunities appeared because she became the kind of person who could recognise and embrace them.

Well, the pre-university programme mattered, of course. But the person she was becoming mattered even more. 

Looking back, I realise something similar happened to me. The eighteen-year-old version of myself was certain about many things. Certain about what success looked like. Certain about what kind of career would define me. Certain about which parts of my future were already settled.

What I lacked was not ambition. What I lacked was evidence. Like most eighteen-year-olds, I simply had not lived enough life yet. Perhaps that is the message I would most like new students to hear.

You see, there is nothing wrong with having aspirations. There is nothing wrong with imagining a future and working hard towards it. But be careful about becoming too certain about who you think you are.

At seventeen or eighteen, your understanding of yourself is based on a relatively small sample size. School, family, friends, and a handful of experiences have helped shape the first version of you. That version is real, but it is not complete. And university has a way of challenging those assumptions.

You may discover talents that never had the chance to emerge in school. You may encounter ideas that force you to rethink old beliefs. You may find yourself drawn towards opportunities that do not fit neatly into the identity you have created for yourself.

And that is perfectly normal; because drafts are meant to be revised. Some sections become stronger. Others disappear altogether. New chapters appear unexpectedly. Sometimes the final version retains only a few traces of the original outline. 

That is not a sign that the first version was wrong. It simply means there was more to discover. So as a new cohort of students begins this journey, I hope they carry their ambitions with them. But I also hope they leave some room for revision. Because the person walking onto campus today is not the final version.

You are still a draft.

* Nahrizul Adib Kadri is a professor of biomedical engineering at the Faculty of Engineering, the Director of UM Press, and the Principal of Tuanku Bahiyah Residential College, Universiti Malaya. He may be reached at nahrizuladib@um.edu.my 

** This is the personal opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of Malay Mail.