The Shoulders I Stand On – A Thank You to My Mentors

Ethel Siow YY
Jul 1
8 min read

Updated: Oct 6

July 2025

Himeji Japan

The First Whistle – From the Sidelines to My Starting Line

I wasn’t born to love sports. In fact, I was quite the opposite.

In primary school, I was the kid who never stayed in a CCA for more than six months. I tried everything—netball, track, swimming, even hip-hop dance—but nothing clicked. I was awkward, shy, and honestly, a bit afraid of failure. I didn’t win medals, I didn’t make school teams, and I certainly wasn’t anyone’s first pick during PE. I wasn’t lazy—I just hadn’t found my place.

All that changed in Secondary One. It wasn’t love at first spike. Volleyball wasn’t glamorous, but it was my first choice. I was invited to the tryouts, and I thought, 'Why not?'

But something felt different this time. Maybe it was the rhythm of the ball. Maybe it was the way we shouted each other’s names during drills. Maybe, for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was running away—I felt like I was arriving.

Still, I was far from average. For someone who didn’t have any basic sports training, I was way behind in terms of stamina and coordination. My timing was off. I wasn’t fast or powerful. But I was showing up—and that became my edge.

Volleyball gave me a structure I never knew I needed. It gave me small wins. My first overhand serve. My first block. My first bruise—worn like a badge of honour. It gave me the feeling of belonging. And from that first whistle in secondary school, I started staying. I started improving. I started dreaming.

The Coaches Who Saw Beyond the Scoreboard

Once I decided to take volleyball seriously, I went all in.

At one point, I was training four times a week with Coach Jerry Teo, on top of two training sessions in school. My schedule was intense, but I didn’t complain—not because I enjoyed being tired all the time or missing out on weekends—but because I had something to prove to myself.

I wasn’t born into this. I didn’t start off polished or skilled. But like a raw diamond, I was slowly being cut into shape—through repetition, through sweat, through failure.

And behind that drive, there was raw power, fuelled by my father’s training. He wasn’t a volleyball coach, but he understood grit. He taught me how to push past my limits, how to wake up even when my body screamed to rest, how to do that one extra rep. That inner fire—that came from home.

When I first joined JRT Academy, I was surrounded by girls who were stronger, faster, sharper. I was behind. But my coaches didn’t dismiss me. They looked beyond the surface. They didn’t see a weak pass or a late block—they saw potential. And more importantly, they saw heart.

Coach Jerry and Coach Ryan coached me and my teammates hard. They corrected every misstep and drilled us until our legs gave way. But deep down, we all knew that it would take just a little more from each of us to make it to the national team. So we gave more. And when some of us made it into the national youth setup, they celebrated like it was their own win. That kind of coaching—you don’t forget.

Each coach along your journey leaves a mark. Each of mine did. Some pushed. Some protected. Some refined.

But together, they helped turn an awkward, unsure girl who couldn’t stay in one sport for more than six months… into a focused, resilient athlete who knows how to stand tall under pressure. I am still a work in progress. But thanks to them, I know how to keep shaping.

Hillgrove, Where I Grew Up; Where Character Was Coached

In school, the teachers played a different role. While JRT sharpened my technical skills, the soul nurturers in school shaped our mindset. They kept us grounded. They taught me to lead by example, to carry responsibility with grace, and to never forget the importance of humility in the face of progress. They reminded me that no matter how far I wanted to go, I had to bring others along too.

My best memories were forged in Hillgrove Secondary School. It wasn’t just where I studied—it was where I grew up. The courts weren’t perfect. The equipment wasn’t the newest. But what we lacked in resources, we made up for in heart. We ran, we trained, we fought for every point as if the whole school was watching—even when no one was.

It was there that I learned what it meant to be part of a team. To lose together. To win together. To get up and try again together.

Thank you, Ms Angeline Chan, my principal, and Ms Sin Wai Leng, my teacher, for being more than just educators. You didn’t just teach us from textbooks—you shaped us through your belief, your consistency, and the way you led by example. Ms Chan, thank you for always supporting the student-athletes in school, and for creating a space where sport and academics could grow together. Ms Sin, thank you for your quiet strength and patience—checking in on our progress, encouraging us through tough periods, and always reminding us to stay grounded. You saw potential in us long before we did, and your belief made a difference.

You both taught me that success is not just about talent or scores, but about showing up, doing the right thing, and lifting others as we rise. Those lessons followed me here.

At that time, most of us didn’t fully understand what they meant. But now, here in Japan, surrounded by a new language, new systems, new pressures—I do. Sometimes, courage is simply choosing to show up.

For the One Who Strengthened More Than Just My Body – Thank You, Coach Caroline

If there’s one person who’s seen me at my lowest—tired, sore, overwhelmed—it’s Coach Caroline Chok. She’s not just my personal trainer. She’s my mirror, my motivator, and sometimes, the voice that drowns out doubt when it gets too loud.

When I first came to her, I thought I just needed to be stronger and faster. And yes, she gave me that—through tough sessions, sore muscles, and relentless honesty. But more than that, she built up the parts of me no one else could see—my mind, my heart, my confidence.

She always knew when to push and when to pull me back. She didn’t just ask about my body—she asked how I was doing, really doing.

Through every setback, injury, or moment of self-doubt, she reminded me that growth takes time, pain doesn’t mean failure, and rest is part of the work.

She taught me how to train with purpose, recover with care, and stay disciplined when no one’s watching. And now, training here in Japan, I carry her lessons in every rep, every breath, every choice.

I hear her voice correcting my form. I feel her belief when I want to quit. She helped lay the foundation—not just for my body, but for my mindset as an athlete.

Thank you, Coach. For building me from the inside out. This journey is yours too.

The National Team – My Other Family

Training with the national team wasn’t just another step up—it was a whole new world.

The intensity, the expectations, the weight of the jersey... it all felt so much heavier. But in the middle of that pressure, I found something unexpected: family.

My teammates weren’t just players I trained with. They became sisters. We knew each other’s highs and lows. We watched each other grow, fall, get back up. We pushed each other harder, because we knew that every sprint, every serve, every mistake corrected wasn’t just about personal improvement—it was about lifting the team together.

The Trio - One forgot to sleep, One dressed for bed

There’s something unspoken in team training at that level. The way you look across the net and know that the person opposite you has the same goal. The same fire. The same sacrifice. And that pushes you. You don’t want to be the weak link. You want to rise with them, for them.

We trained through fatigue. We argued. We celebrated. We travelled. And in all those moments, bonds were formed—unbreakable ones.

I remember moments before matches when we would sit in the locker room—silent, eyes closed, each of us preparing in our own way. And then someone would say something silly, and suddenly we were laughing. That’s what teammates do. We carry the weight together, and we lighten it when we can.

Even now, training in Japan, I think of my national teammates often. When I’m struggling to keep up in drills or when I hit a new personal best, they cross my mind. I hear their cheers. I remember the times they lifted me when I had nothing left. It makes me feel less alone, knowing they’re cheering from afar. But the connection remains. We still message. We still encourage. And I know, when I return, we’ll pick up like no time has passed.

Being part of the national setup taught me more than skills. It taught me pride. It taught me responsibility. It reminded me that every time I step on court, I represent something bigger than myself.

**ASEAN School Games (ASG) - Indonesia July 2019**

And most of all, it taught me that greatness doesn’t grow in isolation. It grows in a team.

To My Japanese Club, Teammates, Staff, and Sponsor — Thank You for Welcoming Me

Coming to Japan was one of the boldest steps I’ve ever taken. A new country, a new culture, a new language — it was exciting, but also intimidating. But from the moment I arrived, you welcomed me not just as a player, but as part of your family.

To my teammates, thank you for showing me the ropes — on and off the court. Thank you for helping me adjust to the drills, the pace, the style of play, and for always having my back even when we didn’t share the same words. We compete fiercely, but off court, you’ve treated me with warmth and kindness I’ll never forget.

To the club coaches and staff, thank you for your patience, for guiding me with care, and for trusting me to grow in this environment. I know it takes effort to support a foreign athlete, and I’m grateful you saw more than my nationality — you saw my heart for the game.

To the club management, thank you for believing in me, and for giving me the opportunity to live out my dream in Japan. This isn’t just a contract to me. It’s a chapter that will shape who I become.

And to my sponsor company, thank you for standing behind my journey. Your support makes this path possible — from daily necessities to long-term dreams. I hope to represent your name with pride and integrity, both on and off the court.

There’s a saying: “When you are far from home, kindness feels louder.”

Every gesture, every smile, every word of encouragement — I carry it with me.

I hope to grow with this team, give my best, and one day, give back as much as I’ve received.

It Takes a Village to Raise an Athlete

As I stand here in Japan, far from home yet never truly alone, I’m reminded of how far I’ve come—and how many hands helped me get here.

From the courts of Hillgrove to the national team, from schoolteachers who believed in me to coaches who pushed me, from my family who stood quietly in the background to my current teammates and sponsors who now walk beside me—this journey has never been mine alone.

It’s built on belief, sacrifice, and countless moments of grace.

I still have so much to learn. I’m still growing, still finding my rhythm. The path ahead isn’t clear—and maybe it never will be. But I walk it with faith, and with deep gratitude for all the seen and unseen hands that continue to guide me.

But what I do know is this:

I don’t know what tomorrow holds. But I know who I walk with.

And that’s more than enough to keep going.

I owe my growth to mentors and teammates who push me daily, but also to the quiet reminders of wellness and care that keep me steady. Support from GPM has been part of that journey, teaching me that strength comes from both body and soul.

[GPM - www.gpm.co.jp/service/service03/]

Love

Ethel (UDA)