What Advice Do I Really Have for the Younger Generation?
Janpha Thadphoothon
Giving advice has always been an easy topic to teach in the English classroom. Grammatically, it is straightforward: a subject followed by a modal auxiliary like should—for instance, You should sharpen your digital skills, You should stick to your guns, or You should learn about AI.
The language structure is simple enough. Yet a question recently posed to me by a Pakistani PhD candidate in China gave me pause and made me think much deeper.
Our encounter began as casual conversation. I never even caught his name, but I learned he was in China on a doctoral scholarship. As we talked, we began comparing notes on the trials of postgraduate life—his current journey, and mine years ago as a doctoral student in Australia. He mentioned he was in electrical engineering and only twenty-seven years old. When I shared my own age, noting how much closer I am to retirement, we laughed and traded stories about the ups and downs of academic research.
He was a sturdy young man with bright, shining eyes full of ambition and hope. I could readily sense his hunger to make his mark as a scholar. Gradually, our waiting-room chat at the immigration office turned toward artificial intelligence and its broader societal ripples. We both agreed that AI is reshaping our world at an unprecedented pace, particularly the landscape of future careers.
He voiced an honest, pressing anxiety: where does this leave him once his degree is done? I told him that, broadly speaking, doctoral graduates have historically faced two primary paths: entering academia as a lecturer or stepping into industry. In the past, completing an advanced degree in engineering made that future almost a sure bet. Today, however, the landscape of scholarship, industry demands, and human labor has shifted under our feet.
Then he looked at me directly. Speaking with genuine reverence, he asked what counsel I had for him—as someone who had walked ahead of him on the path of academia and the intellectual life. What words of wisdom could I offer to help guide him through the uncertain terrain ahead?
Standing there in the bureaucratic quiet of the immigration hall, I found it remarkably difficult to answer. It is one thing to demonstrate textbook modals to undergraduates; it is quite another to distill a lifetime of learning into counsel that genuinely matters to a brilliant young mind starting out.
In the end, I offered no grand career strategies, algorithmic forecasts, or tactical milestones.
"Use your gifts to do good for those who suffer," I told him. "Keep an open mind, and work for international cooperation, empathy, and friendship across borders. There are countless people in this world seeking help, dignity, and support. Don't let your vision narrow down only to money."
That was all I had to offer.
As an educator nearing the close of a long career, I realized that true mentorship in an age of technological upheaval isn't about outsmarting the next wave of change. It is about reminding the next generation of why scholarship exists in the first place: not merely to build tools or accumulate wealth, but to alleviate suffering, foster understanding, and build a more humane world.
