TRUDGING through a mountain of rubbish with scavenging Filipino children in Cebu on a steamy afternoon two years ago, banker Tan Poh Suan found herself overwhelmed, but not by the stench.

Ms Tan, 39, who was then the vice-president of strategy change management and financial control at financier Credit Suisse First Boston here and earning more than $10,000 a month, recalls: 'I felt a strong sense of helplessness knowing that they could not see the world beyond their rubbish dump.

'Having been so blessed in life, I felt I had to make a difference to lives like theirs.'

That thought - and her work in grooming regional women leaders via The Girls' Brigade - moved her to set up Villageworks, which markets bags and jewellery handmade by women in Cambodia, Laos, Thailand and Indonesia to richer countries, so that these women have money to educate their children and secure their future.

Today, she works irregular hours seven days a week and earns 15 per cent of what she drew as a banker. But she avers: 'I've absolutely no regrets. It's about teaching the people I groom to groom their generations to come.'

Call them what you will - Generation Why, Maslow's Children, Corporate Escapees, Truth Seekers or Opt-Outers - people like Ms Tan do not faze Mr Thomas A. Stewart.

The editor of the Harvard Business Review (HBR) and a member of the board of editors of Fortune magazine tells The Straits Times: 'We're looking at something that's not self-absorption. For every person who buys a Porsche or a jetski, two or three move onto a second career in the not-for-profit sector or some other socially worthwhile endeavour.'

He points out that as the generation today can expect to live at least a decade longer than their grandparents, it stands to reason that a career might then have a 'second flowering'.

Those who choose to opt out of the rat race are typically in their 30s to mid-40s, well-educated, highly intelligent and highly driven people who, at the peak of their careers, begin to question whether making money and enjoying its attendant perks is the be-all and end-all of existence.

And slowly but surely, their numbers are growing steadily here.

In a survey of values and aspirations which polled 1,500 Singaporeans here, National University of Singapore business dons Kau Ah Keng, Jung Kwon, Thambyah Siok Kuan and Tan Soo Jiuan found that most of them embodied what they call 'aspirers', those who are well-educated and not willing to be bound by family or social mores.

They have since published their findings in a book titled Understanding Singaporeans: Values, Lifestyles, Aspirations And Consumption Behaviours, now on sale at bookstores at $36.75 a copy.

Tellingly, their study found materialism on the decline among Singaporeans, who personally value warm relationships, self-respect and self-fulfilment much more than money.

Prof Thambyah says: 'We didn't have enough space in the book to reflect this, but most young Singaporeans we spoke to were trying to break out of the mould that their parents and the school system had put them in.'

While there is at present no published survey of this trend of veering off the beaten track, a rough gauge may be found in the attrition rate of at least one profession - law.

In a 2002 survey of 624 lawyers who left practice between 1999 and 2002, the Law Ministry Department of Statistics found that most of them had fewer than seven years in practice.

Then, this year, only 3,198 lawyers were in practice compared to 3,522 last year, thus continuing the six-year shrink in the pool of lawyers here. There was also a 33 per cent decline in the number of fresh graduates called to the Bar, from 223 to 149 this year.

Anecdotally, a growing proportion of young, work-weary Singaporean lawyers here have opted for a 'second flowering', launching colourful acting, music, writing and dance careers. Others have opened bakeries and eateries and at least one is a horse trainer overseas.

This trend towards preferring passion over money also mirrors the findings of the World Values Survey, which is the brainchild of American political scientist Ronald Inglehart. In the past 20 years, he has polled people in 65 countries - not including Singapore - to document shifts in values and attitudes.

In that period, Dr Inglehart found a worldwide shift from what he called 'survival' - or economic growth - to 'self-expression', or lifestyle values.

Small wonder that today's self-help bestsellers that are flying off the shelves are tomes like The Purpose-Driven Life by Rick Warren, The Power Of Purpose by Richard Leider and What Should I Do With My Life? by Po Bronson.

Running parallel to this quest for meaning in life is the trend of young working adults feeling burnt out very early in their careers in the speed-silly vortex that is the 21st century.

In a February HBR article, Harvard Business School professors Laura Nash and Howard Stevenson noted that, in the past decade, traditional career paths - of doctor, lawyer, engineer, accountant and so on - have become pointless because professionals find themselves 'overworked and undersatisfied in the boom and competitively vulnerable in the bust'.

Opting out to change gear is also about revising career choices that were made earlier, younger, poorer and not entirely for the right reasons.

New York lawyer-turned-best-selling-author Alexandra Robbins, 30, has written two books on this phenomenon, The Quarterlife Crisis (2001) and Conquering Your Quarterlife Crisis. She tells The Straits Times: 'It's not only because they are frustrated by the monotony of the rat race, but also because they leapt into a job they shouldn't have taken in the first place.'

She then cautions: 'The people who place a matrix of age-related deadlines over their lives - like 'I must be married by 28, promoted by 29 and pregnant by 30' - are the very types who are less likely to achieve their goals because their ideas of success are too contingent on other people's cooperation.'

Cambridge University alumnus and chartered accountant Khoo Peng Ean, 34, knows this only too well.

She recalls: 'I was totally career-driven and didn't want babies until I had achieved all that I wanted at work. Some people never find their soulmate. I'd married mine but never saw him because I was working 24/7.'

Ms Khoo was a highly rated chartered accountant at the Boston office of accounting giant PricewaterhouseCoopers.

But at 1am one night, she found herself driving down a highway near Boston and thinking: 'This is miserable. I don't want this life.'

Days later, she was hospitalised from extreme burn-out after pulling six months of 100-hour work weeks.

She quit her job soon after, and picked up art and poetry to make sense of life again.

Today, she has just published her first book of poetry and paintings, titled A Penguin Pillowcase: Contemporary Ink Poetry. She and her husband, an associate professor at the Nanyang Technological University, also have a 20-month-old daughter, Beth.

She says: 'I've learnt to sit down and not be a superhero. I'm now in a better place and find myself naturally wanting to give back to society through my art and poetry.'

Her experience is hardly peculiar.

Ultimately, in a multi-tasking, multi-choice and global world, one goal - success - is not enough to satisfy Man's now very complex needs and desires.

Behavioural scientist Joshua Klayman of the University of Chicago notes: 'People need both, and are often willing to sacrifice high pay and high status to be creative and do what they feel is valuable.'

And if you think of those who walk the path less travelled as laggards, pipe dreamers, wastrels or, worse, thieves for having robbed others of places in medical, law and engineering schools, think again.

Prof Klayman says: 'People who find their work intrinsically motivating tend to spend more effort being creative at what they do, taking more initiative and sticking with it in times of difficulty. These qualities are becoming more and more critical to business success.'

The more serious concern, say young professionals who feel stifled rather than stimulated by their day jobs, is whether veering off the beaten track would be worth their while, as well as socially responsible.

Profs Nash and Stevenson think they have the answer to how young professionals with a yen for doing their own thing could have the best of both - or all - worlds.

Picture a person as a stove with four pots on its burners. Each pot contains the stews Happiness, Achievement, Significance and Legacy in it, with each stew satisfying different needs in different ways.

Staying the course is a matter of keeping an eye on all four pots to see that all simmer away nicely, and none over-boil or burn out.

Their solution is: Tend one pot at a time, across the seasons of life. Don't try to do too much all at once.

'Just enough' is the antidote to society's addiction to the infinite 'more',' says Prof Nash.

Otherwise, people will experience what he calls 'the wince factor' - that is, 'you know you're doing what is right, but it still feels like a loss'.

But for those who are sure it is not a loss to pursue their calling and are willing to pay the price to pursue it, the six people in these following pages aver that no price is too high to have meaning, joy and peace in one's life.

As Prof Klayman puts it: 'Would parents really rather have their child be a miserable engineer or a happy poet?'

That is a question many Singaporean parents will soon have to grapple with.

E-mail: suk@...

MATT KAN, 34
The Healer

Meet six young people who said 'No, thank you' to the Singapore Dream, their comfort zone and everything else they have been conditioned to want, to do their own thing. Cheong Suk-Wai gets to the bottom of why they did it.

He steps off corporate ladder at top consulting firm to become a chiropractor

It's in the bones: Passion comes first for Dr Kan, who chose a rewarding career healing people over a lucrative career crunching numbers as a consultant. -- TAN SUAN ANN

WAS: A biomedical engineer with first-class honours from Australia's University of New South Wales, and then a financial and IT consultant with management consultancy Andersen Consulting, now known as Accenture.

IS: A chiropractor with a summa cum laude degree from America's Palmer College of Chiropractic in Iowa, where he emerged class valedictorian. He owns and runs three clinics - at Forum Mall, Raffles Place and another in Kuala Lumpur - under the Chiropractic First umbrella, and will open his fourth at United Square next month.

HIS TIP: 'If you live your passion with integrity, doing the right and best thing for others, people will see your value and be willing to pay for it. But passion, not money, must always be your driving force.'

HAVING been a star jock, top scorer and the life of any party in his schooldays, most would think chiropractor Matt Kan has led a charmed life.

But the second son in a step-family spent almost all his childhood wiping tables and selling snacks at the canteen of Bukit Bintang Boys' School in Petaling Jaya, Selangor, which his dad, mum and stepmum - his father married twice - ran for over 20 years.

'I could have as much junk food as I wanted anytime and I lost my appetite for it early,' he recalls, chortling.

The rambunctious boy was always in the best class, where 80 per cent of his classmates came from well-educated, English-speaking families. 'Me, I learnt how to speak English properly from TV shows like Combat! and Run Joe Run,' he adds.

By the time he sat for the Malaysian equivalent of O levels, he was convinced that a solid education was his only ticket out of gnawing poverty.

As he puts it: 'All I knew was that I had to find a way to get out of the burning door, never mind if I was dressed well or even had clothes on after that. I just focused on getting my butt into university and then getting it out of there.'

He hit the books, scored 11 As, clinched the Asean pre-university scholarship in 1988 and was posted by Singapore's Public Service Commission to Hwa Chong Junior College. They housed him with a few other scholars in a dilapidated HDB flat along Ho Ching Road for $90 a year.

But it felt like a godsend because his parents could not stump out any money for further education. To make ends meet, he tutored fellow A-level students here after school.

But he adjusted badly to the 'overloaded pressure cooker' education system here, which felt like 'a roller coaster from which I could not jump off'. He ended up scoring preliminary results of Cs and Ds, which shot to pieces his varsity scholarship chances, even though his eventual A-level grades - 3As and 1B, with A1s in General Paper and Malay - were much better.

Luckily, he had managed to squirrel away $20,000 from tutoring to see himself through his first year at the National University of Singapore, where he picked electrical engineering because physics was his strongest subject.

Even then, he already had doubts about his choice of vocation. As he puts it: 'If you made me a rubbish collector, I'd be the best and richest rubbish collector you know. So I knew I could thrive as an engineer, but there was no super oomph or fireworks to it.'

His best friend from secondary school, Mr Thomas Ong, had made a more appealing suggestion: that he join him to train as a chiropractor in the United States. But back then, he had no money to entertain such thoughts.

The only sports shoes he owned was a pair of New Balance discarded by a hostel mate. He had to tutor A-level students, photocopy notes and design T-shirts and mugs for his classmates to pay his tuition and hostel fees.

He recalls: 'I'd run dry in certain months and tell myself: 'Oh, I have to stop school already'.'

But somehow, money would come in at the last minute and he stayed on - and fell in love with a Singaporean hostel mate who migrated to Australia shortly after.

With marriage in mind, he dropped out of NUS in his fourth year and secured a scholarship to Australia's University of New South Wales in Sydney to do biomedical engineering.

In 1993, he arrived in Australia with US$2,000 (S$3,300) in his pocket - from his dad's sale of the family car - and a scholarship for his tuition fees. Six months later, he broke up with his girlfriend, whose mother 'hated' him.

But he thrived in school, and was soon studying cerebral palsy patients at Sydney's Prince Henry Hospital to help design machines that would improve their motor skills.

In the evenings, he delivered ice to pubs at King's Cross and tutored students. But what he earned was not enough to pay for an air ticket back to Kuala Lumpur to see his father, who was dying of stomach cancer in 1994.

He ended up borrowing the money from the university's student office. He chose a flight that was $100 cheaper but was half a day later. Alas, his father died just before his plane landed in KL.

Turning sombre, he says: 'The next few months were a nightmare of regrets like 'Why did I snap at him?' and 'Why didn't I spend more time talking to him?'

'I resolved then to find a career in healing people.'

He pulled himself together in time to graduate with first-class honours in biomedical engineering in 1995. But afterwards, he felt completely lost.

'I'd achieved the goal I'd set out to achieve, which was get in and out of university. Now that I had no goal, my mind went totally blank.

'I was passionless and emotionless and so prayed that God would give me new light,' adds the Christian.

In search of direction, he took the first job offer that came along - as a financial and IT consultant at Andersen Consulting in Kuala Lumpur. But the consultant's lifestyle did not suit him, as it was 'always about numbers, not people'.

It was on a work trip to the US that he visited Mr Ong, who took him to Palmer College of Chiropractic in Davenport, Iowa. What he saw there was not quite fireworks, as he recalls it, but 'a light bulb went off in my head'.

Quoting Hippocrates, the father of medicine, Dr Kan says: 'Look to the spine for the source of disease.

'That's what chiropractors do, set bone joints for clients from all walks of life so that the body can heal itself, instead of prescribing pills that only cure the symptoms, not the disease.'

So he applied for and secured a full scholarship to Palmer and, after four years, once again graduated top of his class.

In 2000, he set up his first clinic in Bandar Utama, an upmarket suburb in Kuala Lumpur, and soon found Cabinet ministers and top Malaysian actress Tiara Jacquelina among his regulars.

Last year, he set up his first clinic here, Raffles Chiropractic - which he has since renamed Chiropractic First - at Forum Mall, and another at OUB Centre in Raffles Place. He expects to open his third clinic at United Square next month.

In the course of his work, the Singapore permanent resident met and married a Singaporean, 31, who used to be an administrator at the Singapore Medical Association. They have a four-year-old son and a two-year-old daughter.

If he had stayed on at Andersen - now Accenture - he would likely be making more than $1 million a year as a partner today. But he now makes $15,000 a month, not including company profits, and is one contented man.

'I was lost, but now I'm found,' he says.

WEE HONG LING, 36
The Mould breaker

Father's death led to soul searching by geographer who is now making art her life

WAS: A geographer and research fellow of the United States National Aeronautics and Space Administration (Nasa), specialising in satellite imaging and geographic information systems. She became the first Singaporean to study at the International Space University in Stockholm, Sweden.

IS: A self-taught ceramic artist whose works have been exhibited at the nationwide US sculpture show titled Strictly Functional in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, as well as the Singapore Permanent Mission to the United Nations. This month, she has a show at Rebus Works in North Carolina in the US.

HER TIP: 'Ask yourself what is the last thing you want to do before you go to bed and the first thing you want to do when you wake up, and recall the last time you did something which made the hours just pass by.'

A RECOVERING over-achiever is what geographer-turned-ceramic artist Wee Hong Ling calls herself these days.

Pride of place: Ceramic artist Wee Hong Ling with her artworks showcased at the Singapore Permanent Mission to the United Nations in New York City.

On the phone with The Straits Times from her walk-up apartment in New York's Chinatown, she recalls: 'I was totally spoiling the market. If others did five things to get an A, I'd do 20 to top them.'

The geography graduate from the National University of Singapore got hooked on analysing satellite imagery in her honours year in 1991, and her professors suggested she study the subject further in the United States.

Ms Wee's then-boyfriend, a Singaporean, was reading for his PhD at Cornell University and she flew there to join him because 'we wanted to be together'.

Everything clicked into place - or so it seemed. She enrolled in Rutgers University, and began specialising in remote sensing and geographic information systems. She was awarded a three-year grant as a research fellow for Nasa. In the summer of 1995, she studied at Sweden's International Space University for 10 weeks, where she mingled with 125 other bright sparks.

After that 'most amazing experience' of her life, she secured her Masters in geography the following year in 1996. Still unsure about what to do with her life, she took 'the path of least resistance' and embarked on a geography doctorate at Rutgers - and, true to form, aimed to finish it in four years, half the time it would take others.

By then, she and her Singaporean boyfriend had parted ways. Her current boyfriend is an American teacher.

Then, in 1997, her world changed when her father died of liver cancer.

'It was the pivotal point in my life. It made me question the things I was madly pursuing. How important is a PhD degree? How important is making $100,000 a year after you've lost one of the most important people in your life?

'I started asking myself questions like, 'Are these things really important to me because they're important to me? Or are they important because everyone else around me says so?' she remembers.

Amid the soul searching, life had to go on, so she hit the books and pushed herself so hard that a concerned friend introduced her to a beginner's pottery class to help her chill out. She fell in love immediately with clay.

'My parents were so clean and meticulous, you could eat off the floor in our house. So it was very liberating to be splashing clay and water all over the place. It felt like something I was not supposed to do,' she says, laughing.

The over-achiever in her was so bent on mastering the basics that she persuaded the teacher to give her the key to the studio. There, she spent four hours or more a day sweeping, loading and unloading the studio kiln and learning the essence of the craft.

To date, she has clinched six scholarships - worth about US$2,500 ($4,100) each - to do two-week pottery courses in various art colleges around the US, including the Haystack Mountain School in Maine.

In February 2001, she also studied under the famous American potter Jack Troy, who is a professor at Juniata College in Pennsylvania. At the end of the course, she told him: 'This is something I definitely want to do with my life, but I promise to finish my PhD first.'

She says Mr Troy heaved a huge sigh and told her: 'You don't know how relieved I am that you've said that. No one wants to be the person responsible for your quitting just because you've found a different passion.'

In 1999, she took - and passed - her PhD qualifying examinations, and is on course to complete her dissertation next March. But ultimately, she plans to walk the potter's path. Today, she spends about 60 hours a week on pottery and about 30 hours on her dissertation.

Sleek but whimsical: A polar bear with her two cubs standing around an ice-hole in a piece of ceramic art by Ms Wee. The work is named Learning The Ropes.

Her sleek, sensuous yet whimsical style is her way of depicting what is most amusing in life to her - in clay. In her well-loved Polar Bear series, there is a 10cm-high sculpture of five polar bears arguing over a tiny fish. The title? Board Room Meeting.

To date, she has fashioned 1,000 pieces and sold about 100 at about US$400 each. She has also happily given away many because 'I keep them only long enough to learn from them'.

In April this year, her work was chosen out of 1,500 entries to be displayed at America's nationwide Strictly Functional ceramic art show. Walking into the exhibition hall, the first piece she saw was a huge vase by Mr Troy.

'Me, being exhibited next to Jack Troy? I could have died and gone to heaven,' she recalls.

She muses: 'If you asked me 12 1/2 years ago how I'd see myself in 2004, I would never have said 'as an artist' because it's so great a departure.

'Very often, my friends ask me, 'With all that education, why are you choosing to be an artist?' My question to them then is: 'Do you expect artists to be uneducated?'

Still, she stresses that she is only able to do what she does because her two older brothers - a human resources manager and the owner of a pest control company respectively - are taking care of her mother and egg her on all the way to 'do what I love'.

She stresses: 'I don't want to give people the idea that they should live freely and do whatever they want. Whatever you decide on, please be responsible to yourself, your family and your community and don't do anything which is harmful to others.'

JASMIN SAMAT SIMON, LATE 40s
The Pied Piper

Actor gives Jakarta's street children a fighting chance against poverty

WAS: A theatre and television actor with a degree in drama from Trinity College, the University of London. He helped found the homegrown theatre troupe Act 3.

IS: A father figure to Jakarta's street children, giving them food, shelter and life skills - all at his own expense. He holds down a day job as the head of development and production services at production house FremantleMedia in Jakarta.

HIS TIP: 'Once you are no longer hungry and know you're capable in your job, you should look for other things to do that are not for your career or just filling your stomach.'

THE Indonesian children whom actor Jasmin Samat Simon plays father to are often grubby, shoeless and are chased out of malls and even mosques - in case they steal the footwear of worshippers.

To help them gain entry, he has stared down many a security guard and confused even more by ticking them off in English.

Over breakfast at the Regent Hotel here on a recent trip back home, he said: 'They may be Jakarta's street children but I don't see them as other people's children. They're human beings, and most of them just need a bath, a scrub and a comb to sparkle.'

He has been helping them do just that by paying out of his own pocket for their food and shelter. He has become a social worker cum talent agent, who trains them in social and performance skills so they can act in TV serials and commercials and earn money for a better future.

Three years ago, he even got 10 Jakarta street children to form a band, complete with ukulele, bongo drums and saxophones. During his trip back here to buy an amplifier and a few other musical instruments for them, local music store Swee Lee gave him a discount after finding out what they would be used for.

Most of his social work revolves around Rumah Singgah Anak Tersayang (The Halfway House for Beloved Children), which was built by Indonesian couple Pak Hamim and Ibu Delmanita in Kwitang, an enclave in the suburb of Senin, one of the roughest parts of Jakarta.

At any one time, 25 children call it home, with another 50 or so drifting in and out. There is always a meal, bed and religious studies for them there.

'These kids are tough - yell at them and you won't see them again,' he says.

For skilful street teenagers, he arranges work with anthropologist and potter Pak Tohar, who owns his own kiln, Studio Tana, on a sprawling resort-like estate in Bintaro, South Jakarta.

'I call it my job placement firm, providing them with food and shelter out of my own pocket, by paying the lease on a house for them, which is about the size of a Regent hotel room,' he estimates.

Of Jakarta's 12 million denizens, two million are street kids. Some of them have become prostitutes and pickpockets, having lost their parents or been chased out of their huts by their parents, who needed the space for themselves and their younger children.

On weekends, Mr Simon pays them 10,000 rupiah ($2) each just so they will attend his lessons on life skills instead of roaming the streets shining shoes, stealing or prostituting themselves for food.

He maintains: 'I'm not giving them handouts, just alternatives to living.'

In 2000, he quit the Singaporean arts scene and moved to Indonesia in search of a cause because he felt 'it was time that I extended my arm and helped the less fortunate'. He found it in helping Jakarta's growing legions of street children.

He lets on: 'At 11, I knew I wanted to do three things before I died. First, I wanted to be someone whom the man in the street would know. Second, I wanted to leave a legacy. And third, I wanted a mission without being a missionary, that is, going directly to a community with no intent other than to help them.'

He now lives in a modest guesthouse in Cipete, South Jakarta, and holds down a day job with FremantleMedia production house just so that he can maintain his work permit, which allows him to stay on in Jakarta for his cause.

Also, the old boy of Raffles Institution (RI) adds: 'I've never forgotten what my old RI friend Charles Lee told me recently, which is: 'You've got to keep your network of contacts going, it's the only way to help these children.'

So he continues rubbing shoulders with celebrities like Indonesian actress and Unicef ambassador Christine Hakim and jazz harpist Maya Hassan, while keeping an eye on opportunities for his street children.

In May this year, his good work caught the eye of the Singapore International Foundation, which lauded him with its Individual Award for making Singapore proud overseas.

But he brushes it aside: 'I'm just making available opportunities for people to contribute to the less fortunate. If you just give them money, you won't know what life is really like for them. You have to smell them after they've been out on the streets all day - they smell like the sun.'

These days, he spends some 60 hours a week on social work. That includes helping Ibu Roestein, wife of an Indonesian general, rescue the poor living at the edge of an ever-growing rubbish dump in the Ciputat suburb of South Jakarta.

Among other things, he has helped her set up a community hall for them to learn trade skills such as sewing.

To help equip the place, he taught rich Indonesian tai-tais conversational English twice a week earlier this year, on the condition that they pay him in sewing machines.

He is also an artist who barters his oil paintings for new musical instruments for his street children's band.

But he shrugs aside his sacrifices and says: 'You know, I'm not doing anything more than what anyone else is already doing out there. I'm just glad to be on the way to fulfilling the three things I said I wanted to do before I die.'

You can contact Mr Jasmin Samat Simon at jasmin_s_simon@...

NAVARANI NAVARATNASINGAM, 33
The Jazz Singer

She didn't sing for seven years to practise law, but has returned to her true passion

WAS: A deputy public prosecutor (1994-1996), a state counsel (1996-2000) and a senior assistant registrar and head of compliance at the then-Registry of Companies and Businesses (2000-2001).

LUSH VOICE: Former lawyer Rani Singam wanted to make singing her life, but she heeded her parents' call to get a good education and a good job first. -- LIM WUI LIANG

IS: A jazz singer cum entrepreneur, whose debut album, With A Song In My Heart, was released here this week. It was co-produced by 2002 Cultural Medallion winner Jeremy Monteiro, who also accompanied her in her first concert at the Esplanade Concert Hall last Christmas, which brought down the house.

HER TIP: 'Plan your exit from the rat race like how you would plan a wedding or any other important decision in life. Then act on it. Don't keep burning yourself at both ends for a price that's way too high to pay.'

JAMMING with the late Elvis Presley's piano player Ron Feuer was what lawyer Navarani Navaratnasingam found herself doing at Big City Recordings music studio in Los Angeles over two days in June.

Ms Navaratnasingam, or Rani Singam for short, was there to record 10 jazz standards for her debut CD album with Mr Feuer and jazz maestro Jeremy Monteiro.

She recalls in a lush, velvety timbre reminiscent of jazz legend Nancy Wilson: 'The experience came closest to watching my son take his first steps at 11 months.' She is married to a 35-year-old operations director and they have a 3 1/2-year-old son, Logan.

What a world away this all seems from her black-and-white days in the legal service where, in the course of seven years, she prosecuted criminals, advised the Government on civil matters and was head of compliance at the former Registry of Companies and Businesses.

But then, her friends and family - and a growing pool of fans - will tell you she was born to sing.

Knowing that perhaps, her parents had sent her for Indian classical singing lessons when she was seven.

Before long, she was crooning at family weddings, school talent-times and the then Radio Television Singapore children's choir.

In secondary school, she also sussed out the African-American rhythm via the albums of Billie Holliday, Ella Fitzgerald and Sarah Vaughn.

Chuckling, she recalls: 'I wanted to be a singer from Day One, but my parents said I had to get a good education and good job first.'

She saw their point. Among other things, she was former head girl of Raffles Girls' Primary School and deputy head girl of Raffles Girls' Secondary School, where pop star Kit Chan was her junior by a year.

'Let's face it, life in Singapore is not easy, especially if you're only going to be average,' she muses.

So, in 1990, still unsure of what she wanted to do with her life, she studied law at the National University of Singapore, where she continued thrilling her campus mates in concerts.

In 1992, she won the NUS Battle Of The Bands for her hostel, Eusoff Hall. That same year, she and her law classmate Leonard Ng, 34, also won the Love Duets segment of the TV talent quest, Rolling Good Times, by crooning the Julio Iglesias-Diana Ross hit, All Of You.

Still, she heeded the advice of her parents, both retired civil servants, and joined the legal service upon graduating with a second upper law honours degree.

In her 'lawyer mode', she was 'very practical and in a comfort zone' and hardly sang for seven whole years.

She admits: 'I didn't want to be a singer enough then.'

'What a waste lah, you,' Mr Ng, now a high-flying lawyer in London who produces albums of his own songs on the side, chided her then. But after giving birth to Logan in 2001, she grew restless - but not for the law.

She says: 'Law was food for my brain but music was food for my soul and two things struck me after marriage.

'First, I can be a wife and mum, but I should also do something entirely for myself every week to feed my soul because, if I am always out of breath, how can I possibly give oxygen to my loved ones when they need it?

'I've never wanted to be a full-time mum because I believe women have to do something for their own identity, and not be known just as someone's wife or someone's mother, especially if you've worked before.'

A fan of Oprah Winfrey's syndicated TV talk show, she says Winfrey's positive platitudes finally inspired her to take a 'leap of faith' and try singing full-time.

That was how she and her 'very supportive' husband ended up at the Boat Quay jazz bar, Jazz@Southbridge, every second Sunday.

There, she jammed with bands and cut a demo tape 'in case opportunity came along'.

It did. Her demo tape was played to Singapore's foremost jazzman Jeremy Monteiro, who thought he was listening to a young Billie Holliday or Sarah Vaughn - except that the recording wasn't scratchy enough.

He has since produced and played on her debut album, With A Song In My Heart. It was released at Jazz@Southbridge on Monday and the 60 copies on sale there then sold out within three hours.

Besides singing, she also runs her own lifestyle business on the side, training people in social skills and grooming and selling elegant fashion jewellery.

She exults: 'I'm the happiest I've ever been. I didn't think it would happen this way.

'I'm not a fatalist, but I thought I'd just start off in law and be a lawyer forever, or start off as a singer and be a singer all my life. But life has surprised me joyfully.'

RAVI RAI, 41
The Better Man

He has spent $300,000 on his cause, but is grateful for the chance to make a difference

WAS: A civil engineer with contractor Koon Construction, helming such projects as the building of Admiralty MRT and the Kranji sewage treatment plant.

A FATHER OF 60: Mr Ravi now has 60 destitute children under his wing in Come's house in Barhalgenj. He won the Singapore International Foundation individal award in 2002. -- WONG KWAI CHIW

IS: A social worker and founder-director of India-based non-governmental group Children of Mother Earth, which he set up in Barhalgenj in Uttar Pradesh, India, in 1998. It now has chapters here and in Thailand and he plans to expand it to Nepal and Cambodia next year.

HIS TIP: 'You must sort out all issues that are troubling you or liabilities to your family before you make the switch, otherwise these may bother you. Also, try to balance your heart with your mind - but don't worry, I always fail to do so myself.'

WALKING long distances is the last thing Mr Ravi Rai should be doing since he broke his hip in a 1996 road accident involving his motorcycle and a car.

But walking hither and thither over hill and dale is precisely what Mr Rai has been doing day and night for the past six years, as he visits India's remote towns and villages to preach the importance of education and safe sex.

Pushing himself thus means he may need another painful round of hip replacement surgery, but he says: 'What to do? These good people need my help.'

His calling to help others grew from trips with his parents to India as a child, where many of his playmates were blind and their parents shivered in torn singlets in 3 deg C winters.

So when he inherited 2ha of ancestral farm land in the village of Barhalgenj in the province of Uttar Pradesh in the 1990s, he promptly set up the India-based non-governmental organisation Children of Mother Earth (Come).

On it, he built a big house to shelter 40 children of prostitutes, Aids victims and other destitute, and recruits volunteers to teach them how to read, write and sew clothes.

The soft-spoken man also gives talks, installs water pumps and gives away scholarships of 200 rupees (S$7.80) a month to needy children. 'My mission is to train locals in poor countries by teaching them, so that they can tackle relevant problems wherever they live,' he says.

Since 2002, he has used up all the $300,000 he saved from his 11-year career as a civil engineer on his cause.

Undaunted, he says: 'I don't need anything for myself. I have grain to eat from my ancestral land, interest from my $35,000 deposit and a few hundred dollars' rent from my three-room flat in Clementi each month.'

Thankfully, awareness of and donations to his good work in India have snowballed in the last couple years.

In April last year, he tearfully opened an eye bank in Gorakhpur, Uttar Pradesh, which he describes as 'my dream come true'. India has three million blind people who need cornea transplants, among which 1.8 million are children.

He recalls: 'I cried a lot on the day when a three-year-old girl got her cornea transplant. It was tears of joy for a helpless soul because she got a new life after the transplant.'

Next month, he will be given two awards for his service to India - the Hind Ratan and the Bharat Gaurav Samman accolades. Past recipients include the late Mother Teresa, India's former vice-president B.D. Jatti and Bollywood actor Dev Anand.

In Singapore, his brother Shashi sees to it that blue-collar workers from all walks of life here get Aids awareness kits and classes once every two months at the open space next to Sim Lim Square.

If all goes well, Come's 20 or so volunteers in Singapore will get a licence to march from Orchard Road to Sim Lim Square in the name of Aids awareness on Dec 18.

It is a symbolic gesture because the bleeding - but ever practical - heart says the biggest strides are achieved with small steps.

'Do not believe in big dreams. Dream honestly of what you are capable of doing and start with small work so that, gradually, you will be able to do big things.

'Helping the needy in a Third World country is not the only way to serve humanity. I think Thomas Edison served humanity in a big way by inventing electricity,' he adds.

For those who feel frustrated after not seeing results from their efforts, he stresses: 'What matters is not the magnitude of your work, but the feeling you get when you serve others. The value of donating $1 happily is more than that of donating $1 million grudgingly.'

He adds: 'Each of us is different and enjoys doing different things. But one thing common and instinctive in all of us is that we feel good when we help others. So why not allow yourself to feel the magic of helping others?'

But he has paid a personal price for such magic.

When he won the Singapore International Foundation award in May 2002 for making the nation proud with his good work, he was single but had 20 destitute children under his wing in Barhalgenj.

Now, he says cheekily: 'Things have changed since we last met. But hold on! I am still not married. I just have 60 children today.'

Chuckling, he adds: 'When I was a civil engineer, I was considered a hot cake in the marriage stakes, but not after I became a social worker.

'But I don't see the people I am helping as a burden. I used to be a hot-tempered and impatient fellow, so I am grateful that they are giving me the chance to help them - and help me become a better man.'

Click on www.helplife.org or call 9101-6707 to find out more about Children of Mother Earth.

KENNY TOH, 34
The Life Guzzler

Family comes first for a man who no longer fears he will die with dreams unfulfilled

WAS: A manager at management consultancy Accenture here for seven years (1995-2002), where he worked on bank mergers between OCBC and OUB as well as between Keppel and Tat Lee. When he quit the rat race in 2002, he was earning more than $150,000 a year.

OASIS FOR WORLD-WEARY: It may be a modest set-up, but Mr Kenny Toh's two-year-old Gone Fishing cafe is a place where world weary folks can drop in for good jazz, cheap food and a listening ear. -- SEAN TAN

IS: He owns and runs neighbourhood cafe Gone Fishing in Chu Lin Road, where he allows budding artistes, musicians and stand-up comedians to perform for free. He earns about $3,000 a month now and, since October last year, has been training managers to be more effective as a life coach.

HIS TIP: 'If you have the ability to make yourself a competent and credible doctor, lawyer, engineer or, in my case, management consultant, surely you have the ability to enhance your self-worth and build a better life for you and your loved ones.'

FATHERHOOD changed Mr Kenny Toh so much, he decided to choose the path less travelled.

After the birth of his eldest son, Sean, in 1998, the father of two began asking himself: 'What have I learnt about life that I could pass on to him?

'Many parents live their unlived dreams through their children. I'd rather live as I should rather than tell my children how they should live.'

He was 'very happy' at work then because he got along well with his bosses, colleagues and clients. But, observing the lives of Accenture's senior managers, he had a glimpse of what his future would look like.

'As I grew more senior, the nature of my work would become one of helping companies look and be good. But I realised that I'd rather help people, not companies, grow,' he says.

Despite bright prospects for partnership at work, he felt he wasn't growing at all. 'Only the amount of responsibilities was growing, as my first, and then second, son arrived,' he recounts.

While these thoughts were swirling, he flipped open The Straits Times one morning in 2002 to an obituary of one of his junior college mates.

'I was shocked that he had died so young and, as it happened, I boarded the MRT a few minutes later and bumped into another JC mate I'd not seen for a long time and we talked about our friend's death.

'It then hit me hard that life is really short, so why was I not living as meaningfully as I should? I took the obituary and the chance meeting as signs I should move on,' he recalls.

Emboldened, he quit his job a few days afterwards and, for two weeks, lounged around in his Bukit Batok Housing Board flat and in coffee joints along Orchard Road, 'reading all the books I had no time for previously'.

The Monash Unversity accounting and computing graduate, who was born in Johor, studied here on an Asean pre-university scholarship and is now a Singapore permanent resident, recalls: 'My wife, Mei Chin, was the best. She took our sons to her hometown in Perlis, Malaysia, for two weeks so I could have complete quiet at home to reflect on what I wanted to do next.'

In that time, he settled on two plans: Write a book he could leave to his sons and open a neighbourhood cafe where world-weary folks could drop in for good jazz, good and cheap eats and a listening ear and shoulder to cry on, if need be.

After combing the classifieds, he sunk $60,000 of savings into a shoplot in Chu Lin Road, off Jalan Remaja, in the Hillview area.

He named his cafe Gone Fishing, after a Chris Rea song, and opened its doors in October 2002. Two years on, its regulars are a quirky mix of bankers, bohemians, lawyers and the odd mountain climber or two.

Although Gone Fishing broke even from day one, his goldsmith father and housewife mother were 'baffled' by his audacity in leaving a secure $12,500-a-month job to open a neighbourhood joint whose location still has most taxi drivers scratching their heads.

But as he puts it: 'What do I want so much money for? Big cars to show off and boost my self-esteem?'

What about his sons' futures, then? Doesn't he want to give them the best education money can buy?

He says, a tad defensively: 'I'm done with the mentality of saving slowly. What happens if your income stops? If you lose your job?

'The point, surely, is to find a way to make money to get whatever it is you need or want, not play the stock market or watch your money grow ever so slowly in a fixed deposit.'

He says living fully is all about 'giving up the right to be right all the time or looking to things or other people for happiness'.

And his new mission in life, he adds, is to help others live as meaningfully and joyfully.

So, he hosts performances and exhibitions by budding stand-up comedians, musicians and artists here at no charge, and philosophy discussion sessions every third Wednesday of the month.

Not that he is without regrets.

For one thing, he says his relationship with his good-natured and supportive wife is now 'rojak' (Malay for 'mixed-up') because so much time is sucked up by his cafe that they have lost the couple time they both cherish.

He quips: 'I can no longer leave problems at work and come home for comfort.'

But as a dad, opting out has been 'a great decision' as he gets to teach and play with his sons in between brewing espressos and blending Oreo shakes.

Four-year-old Dylan is already reading books meant for children twice his age.

Speaking of which, Mr Toh has also completed the first draft of his book and hopes to get it published in the near future.

Grinning wryly, he says: 'Many people who look at what I do say I'm courageous to leave a sure thing and comfortable income behind. But to me, it's never been a question of courage because I don't see it as something risky. I just had to get off the train and do something about what I am.

'I no longer live in fear that I will die not doing what I've always wanted to do.'

In good company

SOME famous opt-outers in history who followed their hearts and not their heads:

ROWAN 'MR BEAN' ATKINSON: Electrical engineer turned actor

JEFF BEZOS: Electrical engineer turned online retail king of Amazon.com

TOM CLANCY: Insurance broker turned writer

MICK JAGGER: London School of Economics business graduate turned rock legend

W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM: Doctor turned writer

PETER ILLYICH TCHAIKOVSKY: Lawyer turned composer

VERA WANG: Art historian turned fashion designer