Exploring Learning

As the year draws to a close, I have found myself thinking a great deal about the work of change. Not the kind of change that comes quickly, loudly, or neatly, but the kind that takes time. The kind that requires patience, persistence, careful listening, and the willingness to keep returning to the purpose of the work, even when the pathway is complex. Over the last few weeks, I have been deeply moved by messages from parents, colleagues, and students. A parent who has seen several children move through Middle School over many years shared that the experience now feels noticeably different: clearer, more cohesive, more intentional. Another parent reflected that they had never felt as heard as they have this year and valued the openness to feedback, dialogue, and improvement. A colleague shared that the learning culture they see among students is not accidental but has been shaped across the school. A student wrote that school felt like a place where they were heard, known, and able to ...

Conversations about technology in schools often begin from a place of legitimate concern. Families and educators are right to ask questions about distraction, wellbeing, social media, sleep, attention, and the amount of time young people spend in front of screens. These concerns should not be dismissed. They matter because children’s digital lives are complex, and schools have a responsibility to think carefully about how technology shapes learning, relationships, identity, and wellbeing.  However, one distinction is often blurred: Unmanaged recreational screen use is not the same as intentionally designed digital learning. Passive scrolling is not the same as collaborative inquiry. Social media consumption is not the same as learners using digital tools to research, create, communicate, receive feedback, organise ideas, or participate in meaningful communities. When all screen-based experiences are treated as the same, schools risk making decisions based on anxiety rather than on ...

From Brain-Based Learning to Heutagogy: Designing Agency With Care How do we design learning that develops agency without assuming learners are already fully independent? In my research this week, I found myself returning to the same question: how do we design learning that supports agency without assuming that learners are already fully self-directed or self-determined? The readings move from brain-based learning, to the space between pedagogy and andragogy, to the history of andragogy, and finally to heutagogy. Taken together, they challenge the idea that teaching and learning models can be neatly organised by age or stage. Instead, I see that they suggest effective learning design depends on context, readiness, purpose, motivation, and the kind of support learners need to grow. Jang et al. (2022) provide a useful starting point, reminding me that learning design needs to be grounded in how learning actually occurs. Their review of brain-based learning research highlights the import...

Belonging is not granted after learners prove they can access the curriculum. Belonging is created through the way curriculum, instruction, assessment, relationships, and evidence-informed responses are designed. That idea has been sitting with me deeply. In schools, we often talk about belonging as something relational, cultural, or pastoral. Whilst it is, of course, all of those things, I also think belonging is a curriculum and learning design issue. Learners experience belonging, or exclusion, through the tasks they are given, the examples they see, the feedback they receive, the ways they are invited to participate, and the assumptions adults make about what they can do. Inclusion, then, cannot sit only in intervention structures or individual support plans. These matter, of course; some learners need targeted and specialist support, and schools need strong systems to provide it. But if inclusion begins only after a learner struggles, we have already accepted a design problem as a...

I have been thinking a great deal about the language we use to talk about assessment, and I have found myself returning to one distinction that once felt obvious to me. In the contexts in which I trained and have taught, 'marking' and 'grading' were not the same thing. Marking meant carefully reading student work to notice strengths, identify misconceptions, and offer next steps. It was part of the learning process. Grading was something different and done much less often: a professional judgement made after enough evidence had been gathered across time. More recently, I have noticed the word 'grading' is used for almost everything. A piece of work is submitted, and we talk about “grading” it. Feedback is added, and we still call it grading, often attaching a score at the same time. This continues despite longstanding evidence that grades can overpower feedback. Butler (1988) found that students who received comments alone showed greater gains than those given ...

The rhythm of this academic year in Singapore creates a natural interruption: two five-week stretches separated by the Lunar New Year. This is more than a calendar adjustment. It is a cultural and institutional reset. The celebration marks renewal, transition, and collective reflection. In schools, it offers something rare in the middle of a busy term: a legitimate, much-needed pause. In the intensity of day-to-day leadership, momentum can easily become synonymous with progress. Meetings continue. Deadlines advance. Decisions accumulate. The multiplicity of my role can blur into constant forward motion - yet this mid-term break interrupts that pattern. It has created space to step back from the operational noise and examine whether coherence is forming beneath the activity. The pause makes the pattern visible. The past five weeks have been expansive. I facilitated professional learning with departments, coordinated external consultants in English and Mathematics, co-led a Concept-Based...