Some notes from 3 years outside regular employment

Some reflections on my 3-year stint outside regular employment, since I'm starting a real job on Monday...

Freeganism is surprisingly complex

When I first started "not working" I was really interested in freeganism. I was inspired by people like Daniel Tay (food rescuer) and Colin Lau (dumpster diver) to try dropping out of the mainstream economy and living on the money-free (or money-lite) fringe instead. 

I thought it was going to be an easy life. There's so much free stuff; all I have to do is show up and grab it, right? Wrong! The freeconomy turned out to be surprisingly sophisticated. To start with, there are power structures (typically in the hands of resource-organisers) and along with that, politics. I did not like the vibe of some of the groups I joined; some group-hopping might be needed until you find a good fit. 

Then there's the work. It's both vigorously manual (Singapore generates industrial amounts of waste) and highly social. Basically, you have to be a team player because it's a gift economy. For it to work you will have to be plugged into the ecosystem. You have to give and receive continuously. Essentially it's delayed barter trade. If you can grasp its logic, you can get unbelievably well-fed. Otherwise, be prepared to eat nothing but overripe mangoes.

I found it difficult to connect freeganism with the rest of my life, too. I was already entrenched in relationships and it was hard to bridge the divide. My partner was game enough to help with collecting surplus groceries, but he drew the line at peeling rotten leaves from cabbages. It was harder to integrate  the freegan lifestyle with family and friends. I tried bringing rescued food to bars and restaurants; it was weird.

The physical cost of casual labour

Next I tried different forms of casual "unskilled" labour: delivery, retail, and assorted one-off gigs. My capitalism-trained brain found things a lot simpler here. Work - get money - spend money - easy! The consumer is once again front and centre. I thought, if all these Grab riders and Cisco uncles can live on this sort of work, why can't I?

Doing this kind of work makes you question a lot of things. I thought I was moderately interesting and accomplished; in this world, however, my CV means absolutely nothing. Time is the commodity you sell here. It's valued at $10 to $15 an hour. The less money you need, the less you need to work - I think that's the best thing about this sort of work.

But this kind of work has a physical cost. Your body becomes your curriculum vitae. The wrist injury is from shelving books, the inflamed hip from walking down 200 flights of stairs distributing flyers, the gouged-out elbow from a Deliveroo accident. 

An embarrassing amount of brainspace is devoted to patching up physical erosion. You get shoe recommendations from other plantar fasciitis sufferers who stand for 8 hours straight (Skechers). You strategise the most satiating lunch possible (Tori-Q). You pray for a positive ART result so you can get 7 days' rest without paying for the doctor, which costs 3 hours' wages (no medical benefits for part-timers).

And its mental/emotional cost...

After working in casual labour for a while you start measuring things in terms of your hourly wage, so for example a meal can be "0.5 hour", a doctor's visit "3 hours". You stop thinking of yourself as a complete package with a certain market value (as you did in formal employment). Instead you are now the seller of a bunch of little time-slices. 

Can you imagine how that does not predispose you to transitioning outside of casual work? There's a NUS research paper on in-work poverty where a Grab driver talked about how an extended job interview gave him the jitters: "Actually, at the back of my mind, I was just, like, I want to go back to earn money for the day. I came here for interview at 10am; you give me a test until 12 plus. Tonight instead of working until eight, I have to work until 10 already. ... Wah, that day count as zero income, leh. I think, wah, zero income."

It's particularly bad with platform work because you can sell your time anytime. In that case, any kind of non-work activity now has a cost to it. You develop an anxious relationship with life-giving activities (cooking a meal, reading, cuddling) because it stands in the way of you making more money.

Worst of all, platform logic is inherently individualistic and competitive. Any illusions of surface camaraderie is shattered once you go to the rider Telegram chat, where there is naked antagonism against housewives, students, part-timers and foreign riders. And you curse F&B workers, pedestrians, condo security, road users etc. when they obstruct you from finishing the job and getting paid. I don't like feeling like a gamecock all the time.

Financial assistance can be humiliating

One time I woke up with my lungs burning and decided to break my usual rule of self-medicating. While making payment at the polyclinic, I selected "apply for financial aid" just to see what it was like. 

I knew I had to show my bank account statement, CPF statement, payslips, and Grab statements, but they didn't tell me I'd also need to show all of my spouse's data too! Then I was asked for a letter to certify that I am no longer employed in my previous job and that I have no other jobs (?). The requests were made in a completely haphazard manner and I had to keep texting Jon throughout the session for screenshots.

The "counsellor" grilled me about my job and finances, asking why neither of us has proper jobs, how long we've been job-hunting, and whether we have very "high standards" for a job. The worst part was when she went through my bank account transaction history and demanded explanations for incoming PayNow transaction, credit card payments, and bank transfers. 

After calculating my income, she commented "$600 a month is really very little", and asked if I'm "sure" my spouse doesn't have a full-time job. At this point I was starting to cry. Wanting some clarity as to where the questions were going, I asked what the qualification criteria are. She declined to answer. We sat in silence as she typed unknown stuff into her computer.

I was just about to say "never mind" and leave, when she suddenly said "OK, I'll waive your fees for 3 months. But actually this scheme is for people who really need the help. Try to get a job ASAP." Hm... I just hope she only gave me a hard time because she smelled a welfare queen.

Social inclusion costs (some) money

I was frugal for the first 2 years of my experiment, because I was so focused on trying to get by on as little as possible. I didn't let myself take part in the small consumerism-based rituals that define social life in Singapore, like going out with retail co-workers for Boost or bubble tea, or meeting up at cafes with crappy $7 drinks. These are the building blocks of social integration, at least for a pretty huge segment of under-40 "normies", relatively inelastic whether you earn $1K or $7K a month. 

I viewed them as frivolous and stupid, of course. But once I allowed myself a free pass to spend on any sub-$10 beverage I felt a certain change in me. I am now a legitimate part of society; I can exist! Starbucks staff serve me drinks! I don't have to do weird things like refill my water bottle in the toilet!

The freegans I once idolised prove that it's possible to live a rich social life without money... but I am simply not far enough from the mainstream society for that. I learnt that I actually like feeling like a normal person. One who wears pretty clothes (not third-hand rags from the bin), enjoys a pint every so often (not calculate it against an hourly wage), travels every now and then (instead of dismissing as bourgeois shit) and is willing to pay for healthcare (not think of it as unnecessary expense).

Once I allowed myself to spend on these things I felt like a person again, like I had the right to exist. I think the minimum standard of living should allow for these frivolities.