🎯𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐘𝐞𝐭 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧?!🎯

Yes, Being Thankful was right there in our P5-6 Commonly Tested Topics Compilation Series, given 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 to our students.

Every year, we devote weeks to updating our resources so our students enter the PSLE battlefield confident. 💪🏻

Are we proud of spotting topics year after year?

🔎 The truth is spotting topics is just a 𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬.

🪄 The real magic is in our 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐭. 🪄

At WG, students do not 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒉𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒍𝒚 essays. Even if students do not remember the exact topic, they already carry the techniques and skills to tackle 𝑎𝑛𝑦 question. Our students spend weeks 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒄𝒔, passionately debating pitfalls of storylines and 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑾𝑮 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒏𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔 before finally writing in class, without models to copy. Every script is met with a 3-𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒅𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 report, poured over with a teacher’s devotion.

That is the spirit of artisans.

✨ That is Writers’ Guild. ✨

Here is our analysis of this year’s PSLE topic:

🪞"Being Thankful" is, in fact, an optical illusion. 🧐 It sounds simple but look closer! It is full of hidden traps! 🪤 What are the blades of strategy that can conquer this paper? 🗡️

💥𝐏𝐢𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐬💥

🪤 The topic of 'Being Thankful' requires the MC to be the beneficiary (direct or indirect) of a particular act and not just being the passive witness.

🪤 Placing too much emphasis on the action or gesture that touched the MC rather than the emotions and reactions that arose from it.

🪤 Not elaborating on the emotions and reactions of the MC when receiving the action or gesture, or when expressing thankfulness.

🪤 What exactly, as a writer, are we trying to say about being thankful? Failure to drive across the impact and significance of the action or gesture to the MC along with no clear message behind the significance of the story, the composition falls flat and is taken at a superficial level.

How can we sharpen the swords of knowledge to strike with precision in the examination hall?

🗡𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐞-𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬' 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡🗡

🏹A cliched story that has a purely superficial or monetary benefit may not have as much impact as a story that features an abstract benefit, such as the gift of friendship or life, which makes the story more memorable, meaningful and mature [Abstract vs. Literal]

🏹Being Thankful is a topic heavy with emotion. The act that made the MC feel thankful, how the MC responded and expressed their thankfulness are core aspects that must be addressed. This process must be described with techniques like [Show Not Tell], [WOWFATB emotive phrases] and dialogue to make that moment come alive

🏹It is imperative to show the impact and the significance of the act on the MC at that moment [Super Suspense]

🏹 A thankful moment becomes even more powerful when the person being thanked is painted vividly. In Teacher Nana’s Being Thankful, Lena is not just a kind classmate but a social butterfly whose lilting laughter 'lit up every room' and who bounded off 'like a fleeting comet'. Such [Colourful Characterisation] makes her intervention unforgettable and heightens the emotional weight of the MC’s gratitude.

Here is the bonus: Apart from the model essay that was featured in our exclusive Compilation Package, we have posted 𝟰 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗹 𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗮𝘆𝘀 on Being Thankful here based on pictures in the 2025 PSLE English Paper 1 Composition question paper.

Being Thankful by Teacher Nana

There was no use. Try as I might, the words would not come. I blinked profusely at the chicken rice stall vendor whose smile was swiftly drooping into an impatient frown as she waited for my order. As if learning to talk for the first time, I unhinged my jaw and reached deep into my diaphragm for a voice, any voice, to articulate myself. What came out instead was a humiliating croak, a pretense of human communication, "White chicken rice."

Lies! I wanted roasted chicken rice with a braised egg. I had rehearsed my order repeatedly under my breath while queuing but once again, my mouth had betrayed me and let loose the first thing that popped into my mind. Just then, the vendor snapped, "I can't hear you. Can you speak louder?"

In that moment, a hurricane of panic seemed to wreak havoc in my mind, scrambling every coherent thought inside. It felt as if there was a whirlpool crashing violently in my ears as my eyes flickered from the vendor to the snaking queue behind me. My breath caught in my throat as I took in the looks of annoyance on my schoolmates’ faces. No one was quite so vocal as to holler at me to hurry up, but I knew what they were thinking. It was what I would think if I were in their position, waiting for someone who could not even say a few simple words without fumbling. I could feel the panic consuming me, occupying my lungs and throat. My vision grew hazy as the stall vendor’s face looked increasingly distorted. There was nothing I wanted more than to escape the canteen at that moment. All of a sudden, a crisp voice cut through the haze effortlessly, “Auntie, she said she wanted white chicken rice.”

Lifting my head slowly, I caught sight of my saviour. It was my classmate, Lena. She was a social butterfly whose sole presence could command the attention of everyone. Her lilting laughter and natural humour lit up every room she was in. No one ever had a bad word to say about her as she put on no airs and treated everyone with sincerity. I was so stunned that I did not even remember that I had wanted roasted chicken rice with a braised egg. Making eye contact with me, Lena flashed a wide, reassuring grin and patted me on the shoulder. Before I could force myself to thank her, she waved eagerly at another schoolmate and bounded into the crowd like a fleeting comet disappearing into the night sky.

Over the next few days, the same thought recurred relentlessly in my mind. I regretted that I had not mustered the courage to say two simple words to Lena, who had come to my aid when everyone else was content to look on as I embarrassed myself. In theory, I should be able to catch her before class to thank her. In reality, however, the thought of approaching Lena simply to say two words was paralysing. What if I was wasting her time? What if she did not remember who I was? What if I looked presumptuous? After all, despite being the same age, our personalities were essentially night and day. I barely felt worthy of receiving her help or speaking to her. My irrational thoughts tangled with one another, turning into a convoluted tumbleweed of unfettered insecurity and anxiety. Finally, I landed on a solution that could let me get the best of both worlds.

If I could not speak like everyone else could, I could express my thankfulness in the written word.

Putting my plan into action, I woke earlier than usual the next day to catch the first bus of the day to school. With the early morning sky still dark, I could execute my plan with everyone else none the wiser. I slunk into my classroom and carefully uncapped the whiteboard marker before neatly scribbling “Thank you, Lena” at the corner. Once I was satisfied with my handwriting, I headed to my table to nap before my classmates started streaming in.

Before I knew it, I was woken by the rowdy chattering of my classmates. Rubbing my itching eyes, I snapped my head back and forth in search of Lena. I perked up at the sight of her revising her notes at her usual seat. However, when I glanced at the whiteboard, I realised my words of appreciation had disappeared! Who could have erased them? Did Lena even see them? My heart was hammering in my chest and I could feel my anxiety sneaking up on me once again. What I had thought to be a foolproof plan had fallen apart so easily. The feeling of water rushing through my ears had returned with a vengeance as my mind blurred like a malfunctioning television. All around me, I could hear students engaging in conversation, with words flowing unobstructed from their mouths like spring water.

Why was I agonising over something that came so easily for others? I had grappled with social anxiety for as long as I could remember. Though I had managed to become more comfortable with social interactions over time, the feeling of paralysis still managed to dominate me. This time, however, there was something more compelling that made me want to win against my anxiety for once. I wanted to show Lena my appreciation. I wanted to say “thank you” without feeling as if those were words reserved only for the worthy. I wanted Lena to know the words of gratitude were coming from me, not someone else.

Just two words. Surely I could do it without choking.

Despite the reluctance that weighed down my body, I forced myself to stand up and headed towards Lena. I could not help the trembling that was growing in intensity and would betray my anxiety at any moment. After what felt like forever, I finally dragged my feet to Lena’s table. Everything in my body that was used to shrivelling up in fright was screaming at me to abandon my mission. Yet, I was adamant that Lena knew how thankful I was that she had chosen to help me in my most humiliating moment.

Sensing my presence, Lena put down her pen and turned to face me. A look of recognition lit up her face as she grinned brightly at me, filling me with a comforting warmth. Clearing my throat that felt like sandpaper, I finally articulated the words that had occupied a large part of my mind for the past few days, “Lena, I just wanted to thank you for helping me in the canteen before.”

Not just two words. I had done it without choking, stuttering or freezing.

Lena’s eyes glittered as she beamed at me, “No problem! I’m sure you would have come to my aid if I needed it too.”

Tears pricked at my eyes as I fully comprehended what she meant. In spite of the vast differences between us, she did not see me as lesser at all. I was someone who could be as valuable as anyone else. Just as I was about to return to my seat, Lena whispered, “By the way, were you the one who wrote that message on the whiteboard?” Freezing in my spot, I nodded hesitantly. Realisation dawned on me. Lena had seen my message after all! I should have been embarrassed that I made the effort to thank Lena in person when she had already read my message. Yet, I could only feel liberated and even a small twinge of gratitude for the opportunity to overcome my anxiety. When it comes to being thankful, it did not matter who I was or what weaknesses I had. It only mattered that I showed my gratitude to those who deserve it. The words that I initially could not bring myself to say now came to me like second nature.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. Perhaps it really could be that simple after all.

Being Thankful by Teacher Deanna

“Who wants to help blow the balloons while I write the ‘Thank You’ message on the whiteboard?” Immediately, a sea of hands shot up eagerly. It was the end of a school day and the classroom was buzzing with pent-up energy. The instant our form teacher had walked out of the door, I requested everyone to stay back so we could carry out the surprise party for Mrs Lee, our form teacher. One of us would soon zoom off to fetch her, where she would later return to a decorated classroom. I was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that everyone agreed with the plan, especially since most of us had voted yes in our class group chat the day before. After all, Mrs Lee had been our form teacher since we were in Primary 5 and worked tirelessly for us, staying back after classes to answer questions and buying snacks every other week to keep our morale high. Naturally, I was caught by surprise when a single voice rose above the raucous chatter.

“I don’t think we should have a party for Mrs Lee. Don’t we thank her enough?” Aiden, the class troublemaker, uttered with his eyebrows furrowed, as if the idea was preposterous. Aiden was the kind of student everyone noticed, whether they wanted to or not. With his untucked shirt, lopsided grin and a knack for saying exactly what others were too afraid to, he thrived on pushing boundaries. Some might have called him disruptive, others might have called him bold. Whatever it was, those few words were enough to grab the full attention of the class. Time seemed to have stilled in that moment as everyone in the classroom quieted down. Staring in stunned silence, my eyebrows rose in shock at his opposition.

However, before I could say anything, my best friend, Abby, broke the silence, calling him an attention-seeker and warning that he would be excluded from the party if he insisted. Her words seemed to snap the class out of their stupor, as others rallied behind her, jeering at Aiden. The classroom erupted into chaos as voices merged into a cacophony of noise. I snapped my head left and right, urging everyone to calm down, but feeling powerless and overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events.

My mind instantly went into overdrive, locked in a ruthless duel. Should I let the class have their way with Aiden, or should I step in to defend him? If I let them confront him, the chaos may spiral out of control. However, if I step in, I may appear weak, or worse, as if I were taking Aiden’s side. Caught between the two, I had to choose the lesser of two evils. While the tug of war in my head continued its merciless duel, my mind drifted to my mother and her words echoed in my head. "People often put on a bold front, but inside, they may be struggling to be understood." I then took a resolute breath, finally deciding to step in, mentally preparing myself for the backlash from my classmates.

Though it took me some effort, I yelled out for everyone to cease their arguments. As the noise died down, I encouraged Aiden to explain why he felt the way he did. Sensing the intensity in my voice, he hesitated for a second before croaking out, “I’m the only one she makes stay after school for extra practice almost every day! Do you know how much work I have to do, not to mention the homework from tuition classes that I have to finish? It’s unfair!” Hearing his explanation gave me a sudden flash of clarity and I could finally see the frustration behind his defiance. I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around Aiden, enveloping him in a warm embrace. He seemed to have sorely needed it as he immediately hugged me back. Without having to say anything, our other classmates joined in and it soon evolved into a huge group hug. In that instant, the stress and anxiety of examination preparations melted away, replaced by a lingering, bittersweet feeling that this might be one of the final moments we would share together as a class.

Amidst the hugs, our classmates acknowledged that although Mrs Lee was strict, her intentions were always good. Many of them chimed in to let Aiden know that he was not the only one who had to do more work in the lead-up to our examinations, as Mrs Lee had privately given all of us extra practice papers to do, in hopes that we would all pass our examinations with flying colours. I even mentioned how Mrs Lee had stayed back past her working hours yesterday just to answer my questions. “Everything she’s done has been for our sake, bothersome as it may seem. We only have to work hard for a little longer! I say she deserves our thanks, as all teachers do.” I encouraged him with a wide grin plastered on my face. Though I did not quite get a smile in response, Aiden’s initial scrunched up face of anger, softened into quiet understanding.

He glanced over at all of us, thanking us for the words of encouragement and for hearing him out as he had been feeling the pressure of the upcoming examinations. He now realised that Mrs Lee’s efforts were not meant to punish him, but to help him succeed. Then, he looked over at me and asked if he could help write the message on the whiteboard for her. My heart was filled with contentment at having resolved the tension in the class. I gleefully handed him a marker and watched him scribble the words, “Thank you for being the best teacher, Mrs Lee! We will miss you!” As soon as the final balloon was taped up, I signalled to a classmate to fetch our beloved form teacher. Heart pounding with anticipation, Aiden and I shared a brief, knowing smile just as Mrs Lee finally walked into a storm of thunderous cheers.

That joyous day remains a memory etched in my mind. I will never forget how proud I felt when Mrs Lee’s eyes lit up with shock and happiness upon seeing the surprise party. With tears in her eyes, she admitted that no one had ever thrown her a surprise party before. She promised she would carry the memory of our class with her forever. A teacher affects eternity. They can never tell where their influence stops. The day I finally got to show my appreciation to Mrs Lee taught me a valuable lesson that it is always a good idea to show your thankfulness rather than assume others already know you appreciate them.

 Being Thankful by Teacher Irah

Ding dong! The chime announcing the train’s arrival rang out across the platform. Instantly, the restless crowd surged forward. I shuffled along with them. My feet ached as I tried to keep my balance amidst the bumping elbows and hurried footsteps. The air was filled with raucous chattering and the impatient shuffle of commuters eager to squeeze themselves inside the train car. Pressed from all sides, I drew in a steadying breath with one hand instinctively resting on my stomach. Out of the blue, I felt someone give me a hard shove on the back.

“Hurry up, Auntie!” a deep gravelly voice snapped from behind me. My body stiffened as I shrank into myself. I was too afraid to turn around and see who had barked the words. I navigated carefully into the packed train car. With that crowd, I would be thankful for even a little bit of breathing room. My fingers curled tightly around the nearest grab pole and only then did I notice what lay directly before me. It was a reserved seat.

Occupying it was a young man dressed in a sharp, tailored suit that screamed of designer labels. His hair was sculpted high with gel, glossy and immovable like a swirl of ice cream perched on his head. His polished shoes jutted forward. Their pointed tips angled toward my rounded belly as if mocking my discomfort. With his AirPods plugged in and eyes shut, he lounged against the seat as though the world simply did not exist.

I heaved a small sigh and glanced up at the glowing train map overhead. Nine more stops until I could finally get off. Standing a while would not be an issue or so I tried to convince myself. I glanced down at my protruding belly with a soft smile grazing my lips. My thoughts drifted back to the events from earlier that day. It had been a long and arduous day for me as I was returning home from a pre-natal check up. It had been non-stop ​​shuffling from one waiting room to another as I endured poking needles, cold ultrasound gel and stern instructions from the doctor about my blood sugar level.

Typically, my husband would accompany me to the check-ups. However, this time work called him away and left me to face the needles all alone. As timid as I was, I gathered all my courage and went anyway so that for once, I would not be relying on someone else. When my husband hears of my feat today, he will definitely be proud of me! I thought to myself. I was sure that my baby would feel that way too.

Just as I caught myself grinning like a Cheshire cat, I felt a sudden stab of pain twisting through my lower back. It was sharp enough to steal the breath from my lungs. My fingers instinctively clutched at the grab pole as the train rattled forward. Suddenly, the fluorescent lights glared too brightly above me while the air grew thick and stifling.

Terror-struck, a bead of sweat slid down my temple. My heart began pounding like a symphony of a thousand drums. The clamminess of my palms made it hard for me to keep my grip steady. My knees buckled at the intense pain in my back. Was my body betraying me, right here in a sea of strangers?

I looked up and at that moment, locked eyes with the stranger in the luxuriously tailored suit. Instantly, a tug of war ensued in my mind. Should I muster the courage to ask him for the seat or force myself to wait to get off at the next stop? However, the ache in my legs and the sharp throb in my lower stomach told me I may not make it that far. My heart pounded wildly in my chest as I weighed my options. Those seconds felt like a punishment of an eternity.

While my mind wrestled with indecision, a sharp and insistent kick from my belly reminded me who I was really standing up for. Swallowing a shaky breath, I lifted a trembling hand toward the man to get his attention, “H-Hello, sir… I’m in quite a bit of pain right now. Would you… could you please let me have a seat?”

The man lazily plucked an AirPod from his ear and gave me a slow, quizzical look, “Huh? Did you say something?”

He was acting as though he could not see my beach ball of a belly staring at him right at his eye-level.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Hunching forward against the sharp ache in my belly, I repeated myself as clearly as I could. He let out a dismissive sigh before replying, “Why are you making a scene? Everyone’s tired. Pregnancy isn’t an excuse to demand things!”

I could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on us as faint whispers rippled through the crowd. Humiliation surged through me, swallowing me whole. I felt my face burn as bright as a fresh tomato. My lower lip began quivering and a burning sensation welled up in my nose. It was a clear sign that tears were coming. Why was I so stupid? I should have just kept my mouth shut and endured the pain. I wanted to dig a hole and disappear right there and then.

“Hey! She’s pregnant. You need to give her your seat!”

An unfamiliar yet clear and unwavering voice piped up from behind me. It cut through the air like a knife through butter.

I swivelled my head and saw a small boy in a primary school uniform standing alone. A beat-up copy of “A Diary of a Wimpy Kid” hung half-open in his hands as he glared disapprovingly at the man. Despite his small frame, there was a fierce determination in the way he stood firm. At that moment, everyone’s gazes seemed to fall away, as though they were all ashamed that a little boy had been the sole voice of reason instead of them.

The man blinked, clearly caught off guard. His smirk faltered as the boy’s words rang through the train car. “Um… Okay, fine,” the man muttered reluctantly, shoving his phone into his pocket as he got up and slid away. Without wasting another second, the boy squeezed his way over to me and urged me to sit down where the man had left.

With a mixture of relief and disbelief, I carefully lowered myself into the seat. The sharp ache in my legs softened slightly and I finally allowed myself to breathe a small, grateful breath. “What’s your name?” I asked gently, looking at my little saviour.

“It’s Xavier,” he replied politely. His intimidating aura earlier was replaced by a shy, endearing charm.

“Xavier…” I repeated softly, placing a hand on my belly. “I’m so thankful for your help, Xavier.”

He beamed a cheesy smile and nodded. For the rest of the ride, a nice and easy conversation flowed between us. Many things happened that day but most importantly that if a little kid could speak up, I should also not be ashamed or afraid to stand up for myself. I was thankful to Xavier for teaching me such an important life lesson.

Months later, when I held my own child in my arms for the first time, I found myself whispering the name, “Xavier.” I told him the story of the brave, kind boy who had taught me so much about courage and compassion. “Your life isn’t measured by what you have but by what you do for others,” I would say, hoping that one day someone would be as thankful towards him as I had been for the boy on that crowded train.

 Being Thankful by Teacher Ain

“I can’t believe they’d let an autistic girl be part of this performance. Look at her, she’s distracting everyone and ruining it!”

Hearing those vicious words hurled from an audience member behind me drained all the blood from my face. My fragile hopes for that precious day were instantly flattened by a crushing wave of disappointment. Next to my mortified parents, I sank into my seat as I gazed forlornly at my sister who was on stage. It was Kayla’s very first school performance and I knew firsthand the blood, sweat and tears that she had put into it. For the last two months, every minute of every day was spent repeating lines and practising stage directions. What made things worse was that Kayla was completely oblivious to the fact that she stood out from her classmates. Illuminated brightly by the stage lights, she was grinning like a Cheshire cat as she rocked back and forth on her heels, waiting for her next cue to act.

Kayla was like a ray of perpetual sunshine. Nothing ever brought her down and every day was a beautiful gift to her. Her eyes glittered with curiosity and a soft smile always tugged at the dimple in her right cheek. Despite this, it was true that Kayla was different. My parents had explained to me that Kayla had autism and that was the reason for her unique behaviours. She fidgeted as a method to soothe herself and she found it difficult to maintain eye-contact, often looking down while she spoke. Loud noises and big crowds easily overwhelmed her and when she was younger, she would often experience a meltdown when it got too much for her to bear. Seeing her so composed and professional on stage today was a testament to her immense dedication and growth. “You have no idea how much effort she’s put into this,” I thought to myself, tightening my grip on my skirt till my knuckles turned white. “Why can’t you just let her be?”

“Oh great, now she’s stammering! Can’t they replace her with someone normal?” the heckler piped up once again, this time louder than before. “She’s so terrible, she’s turning this into a comedy!” The heckler began giggling loud enough to draw the attention of the performers. A few of the actors swivelled around to peer into the audience, looking bewildered. My jaw dropped at the utter audacity. How could anyone be so callous, so outrageous? As if my body was acting on its own, my feet pushed against the ground as I began to stand up to confront the bully.

“Hannah, stop,” my mother whispered next to me, wrapping her fingers around my arm and stopping me dead in my tracks. “Your sister hasn’t noticed anything yet. If you cause a scene, it would ruin this day for Kayla,” she pleaded, her eyes gazing into mine imploringly. A vicious tug of war was threatening to split my heart asunder. My urge to fight the heckler and defend my sister warred with my duty to preserve my sister’s happiness.

Clenching my jaw tight, my chest rose and fell with barely suppressed rage. I proceeded to swivel around at the offending heckler and stare daggers at her. If looks could kill, I would have surely struck the woman dead.

Just then, a soft voice caught my attention. “Can you remove that person please? She’s bullying the actors and distracting us all,” a young girl around Kayla’s age instructed an usher. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her hair was tied in a ponytail. She was donning Kayla’s school uniform. The girl stretched a pointed finger toward the offending heckler as she spoke. Instantly, the usher nodded and rushed to escort the heckler out despite her protests.

Instantly, a tsunami of relief washed over the audience as the troublemaker was removed. I relaxed my body, losing its stiff posture. Heaving a huge sigh of relief, I broke out into a soft smile. I witnessed the same catharsis sweep over the young girl as she sat back in her seat and she resumed watching the play. As I followed suit, a question played in the back of my mind.

How can I thank her?

After the play had ended, my parents and I waited patiently next to the stage for the actors to be released. An enormous bouquet of vivid, golden-yellow flowers rested in my arms, a congratulatory gift from me and my parents, for Kayla. I was shifting my feet as I waited for Kayla to emerge from the curtains when all of a sudden, a familiar ponytail crossed my line of sight.

“Excuse me!” I blurted, stepping toward her. Her eyes widened as she halted her step. “I saw what you did just now and I want to thank you for standing up for my sister. This day means a lot to her and my family. Your actions today protected her from getting hurt. Thank you so much,” I spoke earnestly. As understanding dawned over her, she broke out into a radiant smile and her cheeks flushed pink.

“Here, please take this as a token of my thanks,” I enthused. I reached out to extract a sunflower from the bouquet and handed it to her. “It’s Kayla’s favourite flower. I’m sure she’d like you to have it, if she knew what you did for us today. The actors weren’t the only stars of today. One was hiding in the audience too,” I quipped. The girl laughed delightedly as she accepted it, clutching it to her chest as her eyes sparkled.

“Hannah! Mummy! Daddy! Did you see me just now? I was so good!” Kayla’s voice sprang out of nowhere as she bounded towards us, her effervescent personality instantly lighting up the room. My parents embraced her as I bid Kayla’s classmate goodbye. As the light of her small act lingered in the air, I felt a warmth settle into my chest, as if the world made just a little more sense.

Perhaps it is true that we do not meet people by accident. They are meant to cross our path for a reason. Though cruel people exist, it will never cease to astound me that kindness exists too. I was thankful not only for the act of kindness she demonstrated, but for assuring me that Kayla would never have to fight by herself in a sea of strangers, for there would be others watching and caring for her too. Thank you, I whispered as I watched her ponytail swish away. Thank you.

✨𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄-𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰𝐬 𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐣𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬✨

“I have been going to Writers’ Guild for a few years now and I find it very meaningful. Especially with my PSLE coming up this year, the content that they cover is beyond what we cover in school and is really helpful if your child is not an advanced writer and needs help. The classes at Writers’ Guild blends learning with fun, really piques my interest, allowing me to learn in a supportive environment.” - Laurentina Tang, 2025 P6 Prelim Paper 1 48/50

“I enjoyed Teacher Taheerah’s lessons very much, because she always makes the lessons interactive and engaging. She actively involves us in discussions and constantly encouraging us to express our ideas. Besides, her lessons are always lively and interesting. I love her positive vibes, because that makes her an encouraging and supportive teacher. I think something that has enhanced my learning is the effectiveness of her lesson slides. I am thankful to Teacher Taheerah because every time when we get our compositions back, she would review the final product with us. By pointing out our strengths and shortcomings, and how’d we would be able to close the gap and improve. Thank you Writers’ Guild, thank you Teacher Taheerah for this wonderful journey.” - Jane Ling, 2025 P6 Prelim Paper 1 50/50

Our 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬' 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝:

🎈𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐝𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞: At Writers’ Guild, learning isn't just effective, it is exhilarating! Every lesson is a gamified adventure, brimming with 𝗹𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗲𝗿𝘀. We transform traditional lessons into exciting quests, ensuring students are entertained while they learn.

🤝𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭: Our unique group point system fosters a positive, competitive spirit. As students see their peers excel, they are 𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱 to contribute, learning phrases and concepts to support their team. This collaborative environment, enhanced by rewards like specific positive affirmations and small end-of-class gifts, proves more impactful than traditional 1-on-1 tutoring.

🎯𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐐𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞: We prioritise deep understanding and lasting retention over mere completion of tasks. Our approach ensures each student grasps the core concepts, enabling them to apply their knowledge confidently. In addition, our teachers do 𝗡𝗢𝗧 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝗱𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 class time so students can focus on learning new writing techniques in a truly engaging and supportive environment.

💡𝐈𝐧-𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡, 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤: Our cornerstone, 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 , is a comprehensive 𝟯-𝗽𝗮𝗴𝗲 feedback report that goes beyond typical marking. It takes an average of 𝟭 𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘁𝗼 𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝟭 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. In fact, each WG teacher dedicates 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠. This commitment reflects in the quality of our feedback, tailored to each student's needs and progress.

🔍𝐕𝐚𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐱𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐢𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬: With our 𝗚𝘂𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗰𝗿𝗮𝗳𝘁 𝗘𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹𝘀™ writing programme, students gain access to a 𝘃𝗮𝘂𝗹𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝘅𝗰𝗹𝘂𝘀𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗻𝗶𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀 that can be easily applied to enhance the quality of their writing. We believe that vocabulary should never be learnt in isolation, which is why we 𝘁𝗶𝗲 𝘃𝗼𝗰𝗮𝗯𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗹𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗼 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰 𝘁𝗲𝗰𝗵𝗻𝗶𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀 such as our proprietary method 𝗪𝗢𝗪𝗙𝗔𝗧𝗕™, so that students can easily remember and apply new words in context.

𝑾𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒃𝒆 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝕗𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕚𝕕𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒘𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈? 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒖𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅 𝒆𝒙𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒐𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒂𝒓 𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔! 𝑳𝒊𝒎𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒗𝒂𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒆𝒔!

𝐶𝑎𝑙𝑙/𝑡𝑒𝑥𝑡 𝑢𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤:

Writers' Guild Ang Mo Kio Hub: 81274047

Writers’ Guild Northpoint City: 90883136

Writers’ Guild Punggol Cove: 96254833

Writers’ Guild One Punggol: 91707323

Writers' Guild Tampines: 91546084

Writers’ Guild Online: 96254833

ℎ𝑡𝑡𝑝𝑠://𝑤𝑤𝑤.𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑔𝑢𝑖𝑙𝑑𝑠𝑔.𝑐𝑜𝑚/𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑐𝑡