SINGAPORE: How will you spend your retirement?

Practical Singaporeans that we are, we have long debated the dollars and cents of retirement. How to fund it. How to monetise our HDB flats. How to maximise our CPF savings.

We are well-versed in the costs of retirement. But do we talk enough about its opportunities? How, for instance, will we use the gift of our golden years?

The humourist Will Rogers once said that half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save. We ought to have deeper conversations about retirement because it will bestow us precisely with an abundance of time – more than we know what to do with.

Singaporeans have the distinction for being one of the world’s longest living people. Our average life expectancy has soared in a generation – from 59.4 in 1957, to 80.6 in 2016 for men, and from 63.2 to 85.1 for women, according to Singapore’s National Statistical Office. A Singapore child born today may celebrate birthdays well into 2100 and live the “ordinary” hundred-year life.

Today’s older adults are also in better health, with 40 per cent of 62-year-olds free of chronic health issues, according to the SMU Centre for Research on the Economics of Ageing.

Longer lives mean longer retirements. These extra years, coupled with better health and wealth, give us greater choice in how we spend our time – a privilege our grandparents never had.

There is much excitement these days over the concept of a universal basic income. The big idea is that a guaranteed income would mitigate the loss of jobs to machines, and free us to focus on creative and meaningful work.

But a basic income is likely to be some years away for Singapore. In contrast, the effects of our longevity have already hit us. Why not take advantage of what’s already here?

While longevity may not sound as sexy as artificial intelligence or machine learning, it is equally disruptive. Our long lives will force us to be more purposeful about how we spend our days and unleash our potential for making a life and not just a living.

The need to feel relevant and leave behind a legacy are intrinsic human desires. Yet how often have we spoken about wanting to make a difference, but never having the time because we were busy working or raising kids?

Our silver years can be that moment to realise our dreams – of helping others or pivoting to a more meaningful career. Free from the strictures of work and child-rearing, we have a golden opportunity to realise our life’s purpose.

So, how will you spend your time?

RETIRING STEREOTYPES ABOUT GIVING

To craft a purposeful second act in life, we first have to abandon some stereotypes about retirement.

The classic view is that retirement is a perpetual holiday after a lifetime of work. That is outdated. The reality is that one can also wake up today as a working adult, stay in our pyjamas and watch TV all day.

Our retirement years will be longer, making a lifetime of idle leisure untenable – and frankly, boring. As the poet Richard Armour once said: “Retired is being twice tired … first tired of working, then tired of not.” The honeymoon will fade leaving us hollow and unfulfilled. 

Social norms around ageing have also changed. Today’s seniors are better educated, wealthier and more aspirational. With so much time and talent to give, not all of us will want to sit in a rocking chair.

In her 2016 book Encore Adulthood, American sociologist Phyllis Moen writes about the emergence of a completely new life stage – the “encore years”, a time sandwiched between conventional working life and old age.

Contrary to stereotypes of passive elderhood, Moen argues that encore adults – Baby Boomers in their 50s to 70s – are in an exciting, highly experimental stage of life.  

These young seniors are in a sweet spot: Done with career- and family-building but still healthy, they are well placed to reinvent themselves to enjoy a “second run” of adulthood. This can mean experimenting with a bridge career, increasing their civic engagement or becoming a full-time caregiver.

Moen even likens encore adulthood to being in one’s 20s or early 30s today (a period she calls “emerging adulthood”) – an exploratory phase where one is seeking new opportunities and crafting an identity.

Put simply, growing old is not a slow march toward obscurity. It is a chance to take stock and reboot your life. 

THE NEW RETIREMENT: MORE PATHWAYS, MORE CHOICES

At the National Volunteer and Philanthropy Centre (NVPC), we see a good share of encore adults looking to reinvent themselves through volunteerism.

The number of seniors who volunteer has more than doubled between 2008 (13 per cent) to 2016 (29 per cent), according to our Individual Giving Surveys. 

We have met mid-lifers who seek to give back via BoardMatch, a programme run by NVPC which matches senior executives to serve on non-profits boards.

One such person is 54-year-old Vaidy Swamy who recently left a successful career in the fast moving consumer goods industry to fashion a “second act”. Besides executive coaching, one of his passions, he serves on the board of two non-profit organisations using his extensive corporate experience to advise on strategy and marketing. He also runs a ground-up initiative that builds schools across Asia. 

Last month, I also met a couple, a retired partner of a law firm and her husband, a recently retired executive. They had enrolled at the Distinguished Careers Institute at Stanford – a programme that selects fellows and retools these high achieving professionals for more meaningful social impact. They are now seeking to apply their considerable skills, experience and networks to tackling youth unemployment and recidivism back home.

Other retirees choose a range of activities to give back to. Mr Morni Sulaiman, a 73-year-old volunteers at the non-profit RSVP Singapore, an organisation for senior volunteers.

A former educator and banking professional, he now mentors at-risk children, volunteers at the Malay Heritage Centre, and is a senior ambassador for the Health Promotion Board and Pioneer Generation Office. His life is filled with activity and friendships forged through volunteerism.

Has he retired? I would argue that he rewired.

Their stories suggest what retirement could look like in our lifetimes. Instead of a rigid path of total work followed by total leisure, we can chart a new journey on our terms. 

We will demand choices, including customised retirements that include time for ourselves, for some work (like Mr Vaidy’s coaching), and purposeful activities that give our days meaning.

Instead of one road in retirement, there will be multiple paths.

This can lead to more balanced lives. We have long talked about work-life balance. Might we now see the rise of a work-life, live-and-give balance?

LONGEVITY IN SEVERAL ACTS

It is common to feel “time-starved”, unable to do all that we want to do.

But the beauty of our longevity is that we may not need to do everything at the same time. They can be spaced out over several acts in our life. We may focus more aggressively on work, lean in to our families and volunteer commitments in the next life stage, before exploring a second-act career after.

As a society, we must be vigilant and ensure such choices are not only available to a wealthy elite. This means having enough social safety nets to ensure the low income do not struggle to finance a longer life, or that healthcare costs do not spiral out of reach. 

This also means stamping out ageist views that prescribe narrow options for seniors. For instance, the misconception that they cannot work as well as younger workers. Or that they are fragile and need babying.

These mindsets limit the choices seniors have to make the best of their lives. Ultimately, successful ageing will not be about living to see the next day. It will be about choosing to make each day count.

If you’re looking for ways to be a contribution, NVPC can help. If you’re looking for ways to help others be a contribution, we want to work with you to make these possibilities a reality.

So what type of retirement will you choose?

Melissa Kwee is chief executive officer of the National Volunteer and Philanthropy Centre.

SINGAPORE: A total of 32 people were arrested in a recent five-day operation targeting vice activities, police said on Saturday (Dec 23).

Authorities said in a news release that the operation was conducted by the Central Police Division along Jalan Besar Road, Rangoon Road, Sing Joo Walk, Race Course Lane, Beach Road, Stamford Road, Cross Street and Kampong Bahru Road between Dec 18 and Dec 22. 

Those arrested included 23 women and nine men, who were taken in for offences under the Women’s Charter, Employment of Foreign Workers Act, Common Gaming House Act and Remote Gambling Act. 

Of the women, 18 were suspected of providing sexual services in private apartments and hotels. 

Police said unlicensed brothel operators may be fined up to S$10,000 and/or jailed a maximum of five years. Anyone who knowingly lives wholly or in part on the earnings of someone else’s prostitution may also be fined up to S$10,000 as well as jailed for five years. 

SINGAPORE: Memories of his childhood are fuzzy now, but one still stands out. Lin Fo Xin, 21, recalls a time when he was five, living in Fu’an China “in a big house with eight storeys”. Often left alone and neglected, he was once shut up in a room when it started to rain, and water spilled in through a hole in the roof.

It seemed like hours, and the room had begun to flood, before someone finally remembered him and came to carry him out. “I was drenched,” he recollected softly, head bowed with the weight of the memory.

Being forgotten and unwanted was a leitmotif in his life for a long time. 

As an infant, he was abandoned by his birth parents in a plastic bag, so he believes. They left him on a street in Fu’an, China. 

When he was a toddler, he was adopted by a Singaporean woman. Even then, he lived for several years in two orphanages and a foster home in China, before he was finally brought over to Singapore at age six. 

That was just the start of another tumultuous chapter.

“I didn’t go to school for one year,” recalled Mr Lin, who was named Fo Xin – meaning Buddha’s heart – by his adoptive mum. He was kept at home all day and not allowed out, “probably because she didn’t want something bad to happen to me,” he shrugged. 

But home was no refuge either.

‘WHY ME?’

A single woman, Mr Lin’s adoptive mother beat him regularly when she thought he was misbehaving. Sometimes she would use broomsticks or umbrellas, he said. 

The slightest misdemeanor would trigger beatings. Once, she bit him on his buttock just for dragging his chair when he got up from the dining table. Hurting and upset, he asked himself: “Why is my life like this? Why me?” 

In Primary 1, he struggled with English. Up until that point, he had only ever spoken Mandarin. “I didn’t understand what the teachers were saying.” And so, instead of paying attention, he would draw on the pages of his textbooks.

Those early sketches of Pokemons not only helped to while the time away; he also sold them to his classmates for 50 cents to a dollar each. This extra cash came in handy on days when his adoptive mother didn’t give him any lunch money. 

One day, he turned up in school with open wounds on his arms. His teachers raised the alarm and that very day, Child Protective Service officers came to take him away. 

He landed up in the Singapore Children’s Society Sunbeam Place. At 10, he was once again parent-less. “I still remember I was crying when I got there,” he said.

He lived there for almost two years before being transferred to his first foster home, where he lasted for just a year before being packed off to a second foster home, and finally ended up at The Salvation Army Haven Children’s Home. 

By the age of 14, Mr Lin had lived in eight different homes, and felt at home in none of them.

ANGRY AND VIOLENT

Full of distrust and rebellion, the teenager walled himself off from the world. He spent long hours in the solitude of his room with his PlayStation and sketching. In the company of others, he’d lash out. He recalled:

Something would trigger me, and the anger would come out. I hit things. I hit the other children.

One year, the home’s children were preparing for their annual Thanksgiving concern, and to his dismay and resentment, he was asked to perform. “I was so shocked. Like, I need to go on stage?”

In a tantrum, he broke a door and worse, threatened to hit a staff member.

Deemed as out of control, the teenager found himself on the verge of being sent to the Boy’s Home. But the Haven’s manager decided to give him another chance – and it was then that he came to the attention of a woman who would change his life.

When Edna Leong, a residential care associate with Haven Children’s Home, first met Mr Lin for a long chat, she saw an angry and hurting 16-year-old who hated the world and hated people.

“He flipped tables, he flipped chairs, he punched the doors. How many doors? I don’t know how many he’s punched already… We would keep away our forks, because we were so worried he would use them,” Mdm Leong, now 51, recalled.

“I did ask him once, ‘why were you like that last time in Haven? So violent, scaring everybody, like you can kill people’.

‘I pretend only’, he’d said, ‘because I don’t want to be bullied again. I’ve been moving from place to place, and I built this image like, ‘you cannot touch me, man’. 

To Mdm Leong, Mr Lin was the worst-off case she’d seen – most of the other children at the home had parents, or at least some family in Singapore. This boy, an orphan, was completely alone. 

“in my heart I knew that this boy was crying for help,” she said.

A SLOW BLOSSOMING

Determined to gain his trust and help him however she could, Mdm Leong noticed for instance how appalling his vocabulary was. He would get the words ‘to’, ‘two’ and ‘too’ mixed up, she said.

And so, she coached him in English every day after school, and offered constant push and encouragement. “Aunty always believes in you, that you can do better. I believe that you will change,” she’d tell him.

Or, she’d say: “If you’re number 3, aim for number 2. If you’re number 2, aim for number 1.”

Her words and the sincerity of her concern had their effect. Slowly, the solitary teenager opened up and began confiding in her about his problems.

WATCH: An orphan’s journey (5:55)

Life was opening up in another way for him, too. Art was his outlet, the best way he knew to express everything bottled up inside. As he worked to hone his skills – by watching video tutorials online, for instance – he drew the attention of Kelvin Lee, then a relief teacher at Clementi Woods Secondary.

“I noticed Fo Xin drawing in class and I gave him advice,” Mr Lee recalled. “He’s an intelligent guy, and I could see he had a passion for art.” He would give the boy tips on techniques like cross hatching, and how to attach cotton wool to the back of a pencil as a blending tool when sketching.

“For his age, he could sketch very well. And more important than skill is passion,” said Mr Lee, who now owns a tattoo studio.

At 15, the budding young artist took part in a mooncake festival art competition and won first prize. It was a confidence boost for the reticent and soft-spoken youth, who even now rarely meets one’s eyes when he speaks.

With both Mdm Leong and art giving him a sense of purpose, Mr Lin buckled down and focused in school.

He did well for his N levels, scoring 7 points. He went on to the Institute of Technical Education (ITE), where he studied product design and graduated among the top 5 per cent of his cohort in 2016. 

These days, he’s studying Experience and Product Design at Singapore Polytechnic – to improve his theoretical understanding of design, he says. His dream is to become a full-time artist.

For now, he works at the The Salvation Army’s Praisehaven Retreat Centre as a receptionist, showing guests around the rooms and helping to turn down beds. He makes S$1,300 a month on a six-day week, and gets to live in one of the rooms for $$100 a month in rent. 

Finances have become less of a burden since he applied to the Income OrangeAid Future Development Programme. It helps to defray most of his school fees – meaning that he can set aside more of his wages for savings and art supplies. “He has a little extra now to pursue his love for painting and drawing,” said Shannen Fong, NTUC Income’s head of strategic communications.

THE MEANING OF FAMILY, THEN AND NOW

But more than a good education and a job, Mr Lin seems, along the line, to have also acquired himself a family.

Every Mother’s Day, he celebrates with Mdm Leong, who is “Aunt Edna” to him and yet, also, the mum he never truly had. (She nags at him to behave, and he called her for approval before spending on a new iPhone X.)

Christmas Eve is doubly significant because it is also her birthday, to be celebrated with those considered her family – which includes a few former children’s home residents like Tan Jun Hao, who calls Mr Lin “brother”.

“The first time I met him, he gave me a black eye,” Mr Tan said of their meeting 10 years ago. Laughing, Mr Lin explained: “He was very big sized, and I didn’t really like that, so I hit him!” 

It was Mr Tan who, like a protective brother, egged him on to speak to CNA Insider. “He is so shy, I want him to open up and I thought doing this interview would help him gain confidence.”

At least once a week, the boys and Mdm Leong try to meet up for a meal or a movie. Aunty Edna always falls asleep, claims Ebenezer Lim jokingly – “she has only stayed awake for Ah Boys To Men”. 

​​​​​​​

Mdm Leong’s husband is “Uncle Eddie” to all. Mr Lin recalls being driven around by him when he needed help to transport things; in turn, he helps the 72-year-old around the house.

“Uncle Eddie, he’s quite old already, it’s a bit hard for him to climb up and clean the aircon. So I’ll go down to help. And if anything needs to be fixed, I’ll fix for him,” said Mr Lin who has the keys and free access to their flat.

Mr Lin used to think “home” was a family with father, mother and siblings – something he could long for but never have. Now, he has learnt otherwise.  

Family is like, you get to know each other… any problems, I will help you out.

LETTING GO OF THE PAST, AND FACING THE FUTURE

Still, surely some part of him must be that little orphan boy still thinking about the parents who let him down, and asking, “why me”?

Mr Lin tells the story of how his adoptive mother used to make him kneel on washboards in front of a statue of Buddha until his knees were raw. One particular session lasted a few hours, but as he stared at the Buddha, “I felt a connection,” he said, and suddenly he didn’t feel the pain in his knees any more.

It’s why the Buddha’s image features prominently in many of his art pieces today – a reminder to himself that while life is filled with troubles, he must try to forgive. 

What others did to me, I can let go quite fast… I forgive my adoptive mum. At least she brought me to Singapore, that’s one good thing. 

Asked if he’d like to find his birth parents, he said no. “Because I’m so scared. It might change what is now.”

Indeed, it’s not the ghosts of the past but the promise of the future that beckons him.

“When I was younger, I did wonder what I was going to do in the future,” he said. Now he knows. “I want to live in the mountains and teach kids to draw. I want them to see the value of art, how it changed my life.”

In the more immediate term, he is aiming to take part in the upcoming UOB Painting Of The Year competition. He’d first entered in 2015 but “I didn’t win”, Mr Lin laughed sheepishly. “I needed more time.” 

This time, he will be doing a sketch of Mdm Leong’s eyes. The reason? He feels that she has literally watched over him all these years, and he wants to pay tribute to that.

As the woman who is his surrogate mother will tell you: “Family is not just about the same blood, same surname or even staying in the same house.

“An outsider can be family, if there is sincere love there, and respect and care.”

SINGAPORE: It’s Christmas – and at Woodlands Street 13, Santa Claus and his sleigh are parked at the entrance of the car park next to Block 179.

But the real Santa is Mr Tan Koon Tat, the man who has brought festive cheer to the neighbourhood year after year – rain or shine, Christmas, Chinese New Year, Hari Raya or Deepavali, for at least a decade. 

Mr Tan’s generosity is well-known among his neighbours. Even those who do not know him well would pop by come Christmas-time to see if his trademark decorations are up. 

This year however, Mr Tan has decided to take it one step further. 

“You can’t have Santa Claus without presents!” he said, beaming. “The sack (on the sleigh) is empty – but I’ll be giving out presents to all children under the age of 12 every night.” 

The 57-year-old has prepared about 150 presents in anticipation of the children who will come to his neighbourhood to meet Santa. And he will give them out each night in the run-up to Christmas, until he runs out.

Coincidentally, his gift to the neighbourhood this festive season was completed on Friday (Dec 22) – which is his birthday.

The main attraction of this year’s display – other than Santa himself – is a snow machine, which was a new addition to Mr Tan’s display last year. Not entirely satisfied with last year’s snow however, he bought a new machine this year. 

In addition, he has built a special cupboard for both the machine and a fan, to help spread the “snow” to a wider area. His new snow machine can also run for about half an hour at a time – about twice as long as last year’s – and he hopes it will bring joy to even more children. 

ALL HE WANTS FOR CHRISTMAS IS TO SPREAD JOY

And Mr Tan definitely had kids in mind when he put together his display. This year’s sleigh, which the carpenter made himself, was specially designed to accommodate more than just Santa Claus himself – there’s room for at least one more adult and a few children, just so they can climb in it and enjoy themselves, he said. 

And while All I Want For Christmas Is You played in the background, Mr Tan’s neighbours gathered to watch Marsiling snow for the first time this year. 

His neighbour Peggy Chee, 75, could barely contain her excitement. Her eyes lit up as the snow machine whirred to life. With a bashful smile on her face, she told Channel NewsAsia that she felt like a child again.

“There’s no other place like this. I’m really happy when I see this each year,” she said. “And he pays for all of this himself. He is such an optimistic, generous man.” 

Mrs Chee also excitedly pointed out her favourite part of this year’s masterpiece – rainbow lights that twinkle every couple of seconds. 

“His decorations are always beautiful, but this year is very special because of these lights,” she said. “And you know, we don’t have to go anywhere else to see the snow – we don’t even have to take a plane!” 

When asked how much this year’s decorations cost, Mr Tan kept mum. Instead he coyly said: “I think you can guess just by looking around.” 

He did however reveal that Mrs Chee’s favourite lights cost about S$100 apiece, and he used at least four sets of them this year. 

More than a photo opportunity, Mr Tan’s decorations have become a rallying point for the community, which comes together each time the decorations are complete. 

“It’s very rare that he unites the neighbourhood with such a display,” said a Woodlands resident who only wanted to be identified as Ms Ng. “It’s great especially for the kids – they don’t have to travel a long way just to see snow.” 

Another Woodlands resident, Mr Sherman Ang, said Mr Tan has been doing this for so long, he has “lost track” of the exact number of years. 

“I have friends from all over (Singapore) asking: ‘What’s your estate doing this year?’ They come see it, or if not I just take a picture and send it to them,” he said. “It gathers the community – everyone comes down to have fun, especially the kids.” 

OH DEER: THE REINDEER THAT NEVER ARRIVED

Similar to last year, this display took about a week to put together. Almost everything is made from scratch, and even Santa himself is hand-stuffed with sponge. 

But it almost did not come to life, after an order for five lifelike reindeer – which cost about S$1,000 apiece – failed to arrive. 

“The reindeer I had in mind for this display are taller than these ones,” Mr Tan said, taking out a photo of the reindeer figurines he ordered. “I actually placed the order in September this year, but as Christmas approached, they just never came.” 

While he was disappointed that his ideal reindeer did not make it in time for Christmas this year, he decided to use the ones from last year’s display instead. If the new reindeer ever arrive, Mr Tan said he intends to incorporate them in next year’s display. 

This year’s decorations will be up till Jan 1. The next big festival will be Chinese New Year, but Mr Tan said he may take a break then as his estate is undergoing upgrading, and he does not want his decorations to get in the way.

“Not nice, lah,” he said. 

With each year’s decorations becoming more elaborate than the previous, does Mr Tan feel any pressure to up his game? He seemed almost puzzled at the question and shrugged it off.

“The better I manage to make it, the happier I am. When I see that the kids are happy, I am happy too. I just want to make others happy.” 

Fitting words for a celebration that originates with a carpenter who, too, sought to bless others whenever he could. 

SINGAPORE: I don’t know which was worse: The smell or the creepy crawlies. The stench of rotting food was like vomit mixed with dank, dirty laundry. I struggled not to retch. Then there were the bugs which scuttled everywhere as I bent down to pick up the trash.

Such working conditions are the norm for Zuwel, a Bangladeshi worker who clears trash from 29 blocks in Bukit Panjang every day.

I stepped into his shoes for a couple of days last month, labouring in the sweltering heat and dashing from one rubbish chute to another in an electric cart to empty the bins.

According to a 2012 World Bank report, each person in Singapore generates 1.49kg of municipal waste every day. This figure – on par with Malaysia, but higher than Indonesia, the Philippines and South Korea – is expected to grow to 1.8kg by 2025.

Zuwel’s job is to help keep the constant, relentless flow of waste under control. The work day begins at seven in the morning for the 27-year-old. He breaks for lunch at noon, finishes up the remaining blocks by seven in the evening, and heads home for dinner, which is usually chicken curry bought from a nearby coffee shop.

THE MEN BEHIND THE JOB

I walked into the Holland-Bukit Panjang Town Council office at Bangkit Road on my first morning on the job, where Tay Chin Chye, RS Waste Management’s contractor boss, was waiting.

Ah Chye is a short, snappy man. He is often on the phone. When he is not, he is cussing in Hokkien or barking instructions to his subordinates.

Until slightly more than a year ago, trash collection in Bukit Panjang was a two-man job, Ah Chye said. Two workers would place six empty bins on an electric cart before driving to each refuse chute, manually swapping them for the full ones.

This was a heavy task, literally. When full, a 250-litre trash bin can weigh around 50kg. Hauling it onto the raised platform of the cart required some physical effort.

Now with the help of technology, it requires just one worker and an electric cart that goes by the name of OMO – or one-man operator, to give the vehicle its full name. The cart has a series of levers that operate a mechanical arm which lifts a bin to tip out its contents. 

The contractor rents five of these carts from a waste management company at S$1,200 a month each.

“We designed this to cater to Singaporeans,” RS Waste’s general manager Loo Teck Lim told me. It made the job less back-breaking but Singaporeans still shunned the job, complaining about the stench, he said.

As a result, the waste management industry has to rely on foreign workers to keep Singapore clean.

To put that into context, last year only around 20,000 Singaporean citizens and permanent residents, or less than one per cent of Singapore’s employed residents, worked in industries classified as “others”, according to the Department of Statistics.

This category includes agriculture, fishing, quarrying, utilities, and sewage and waste management.

The Ministry of Manpower does not break down data according to industry or nationality when it comes to the foreign workforce. As of June this year, there were about 436,000 semi-skilled foreign workers in Singapore, excluding those working in construction and as foreign domestic workers. Some of them are on the front line of dealing with Singapore’s waste.

Ah Chye said his waste collectors are all from Bangladesh. I’ll be a Singaporean pioneer, I thought to myself.

We walked across Bangkit Road to Block 252, where I was greeted by supervisor Ronny, sporting a Bluetooth headset and a town council polo tee.

The portly Bangladeshi has been a supervisor for two years and directs his workers in fluent Bengali. But he spoke to me in perfect Singlish, complete with the accent and the lahs.

Ronny handed me a plastic bag. In it was a blue and orange uniform, work gloves, masks and a yellow hard hat.

“Why the need for a helmet?” I asked. 

Glass bottles and other hard objects might come flying down the chute when workers are cleaning it, Ronny said. 

“So it’s good if people tie up their trash properly?” I asked, half-thinking of the advice my mum always gives me. Ronny shot me an incredulous look. “Where got people think of that? They just throw.”

LEVERS, ROACHES AND THE STENCH

I put on the uniform and equipment in the bin centre. That is where all trash collected goes to before it is picked up by public waste collectors. The centre was cavernous but spartan. There was an old black sofa, a couple of toilets and a room for my belongings. Cockroach wings were scattered across the floor. When fresh trash is brought in, the place stinks.

Despite the smell, Zuwel did not put on a mask. I followed suit, trying to overcome my disgust. He was armed with impossibly simple tools: A broom, a shovel and a small dustpan made out of a plastic cup attached to a wooden pole.

Zuwel skilfully manoeuvred the cart through void deck pillars and shelter stands to get to the refuse chutes. From afar, a toddler saw us and waddled quickly into his mother’s arms.

As I opened my very first refuse chute, three cockroaches scurried out. The stench assaulted my nostrils. Thick, green grime coated the floor.

I dragged the bin out and stuck my hand in the chute to sweep out trash which landed on the floor. The bin had cracked through wear and tear. Filth oozed out from the cracks. Zuwel used the shovel to scrape grime off the floor. I rinsed it clean using water from the cart.

He looked on as I did things too slowly, moving gingerly with a grimace etched across my face. Zuwel had many blocks to cover and had little time to indulge my reluctance to get stuck in.

Fortunately, I did not have to manually lift the heavy bin to empty it into the cart. I pushed some levers on the cart and with the hissing of hydraulics, the mechanical arm unfolds, lifts the bin and tips it over.

The trash hit the cart with crashes and bangs. Some missed the target and I got foul liquid splashed on me.

I lowered the bin and swept the floor. The waiting mynahs watched on in disappointment. But when another family of roaches darted out, they swooped in, cawing in delight.

At another refuse chute, a few bags of trash crashed on the floor with a loud thud, just after I pulled the bin out. Zuwel pulled me aside and waited a minute to make sure no more trash was making its way down the chute.

Few residents secured their trash in plastic bags. So, I was privy to the discarded items, which included leftover rice, empty containers, used sanitary pads, handbags, a Smurf figurine, and an old birthday photo. Centipedes and millipedes, their gazillion legs in full glory, wriggled among the waste.

THE SPIRALLING TRASH PROBLEM

The rubbish is cleared daily, yet the bins are almost always filled to the brim.

In 2016, Singapore generated 7.81 million tonnes of waste – enough to fill 3,000 Olympic-sized swimming pools. This figure is a 140,000-tonne increase from 2015, and hovers close to the record 7.85 million tonnes thrown out in 2013.

Plastics (762,700 tonnes) and food (679,900 tonnes) made up the largest chunks of the three million tonnes of waste that is disposed, and most of this goes to the incinerators.

According to the Ministry of the Environment and Water Resources, 200,000 tonnes of solid waste and incineration ash are sent to the Semakau landfill each year. At this rate, the landfill is expected to run out of space by 2035.

While the National Environment Agency (NEA) said the rise in generated waste is “in tandem with Singapore’s economic growth and increase in population”, the Government is trying hard to turn the country into a zero-waste nation.

One way is encouraging recycling through dual chutes for refuse and recyclables, with the target for Singapore’s household recycling rate set at 30 per cent by 2030. However, the rate has remained stagnant at around 20 per cent for the past few years.

“From surveys, apart from citing lack of time and not knowing what and how to recycle, many residents said that they would recycle if it is convenient to do so,” NEA said.

There are some improvements, though. The household recycling rate increased from 19 per cent in 2015 to 21 per cent in 2016. This is due to a two per cent drop in domestic waste generated and an eight per cent increase in domestic waste recycled, NEA said.

“Zero-waste nation is a big word,” interim director of the Residues and Resource Reclamation Centre Grzegorz Lisak told me, pointing to Singaporeans’ desire for high quality and fresh products.

Waste reducing attitudes should be instilled from a young age, he added. This should come in kindergartens and primary schools, and through the use of social media. A pay-as-you-throw scheme and vending machines that “buy” recyclables would help too.

And to achieve recycling targets, NEA said, it is crucial to involve the industrial and commercial sector. This involves getting large hotels and shopping malls to report waste data and waste reduction plans, and recognising companies that made “notable efforts and achievements in reducing packaging waste”.

“Step by step, we are moving in this direction,” Dr Lisak said. “With the implementation of circular economy and national policy, Singapore will be a smart nation that efficiently and effectively controls its waste.”

One smart technology is the pneumatic waste conveyance system, which transports rubbish from a refuse chamber to a centralised bin through underground pipes using air. This cuts manpower needs and minimises odour and pests.

The Housing and Development Board (HDB) piloted the system in Yuhua, with more than 100 condominiums – like Palette at Pasir Ris and Sky Habitat at Bishan – following suit.

HDB will also install the system in upcoming estates like Tampines North and Bidadari, and existing ones like Teck Ghee and Ang Mo Kio, where 40 blocks – comprising 5,800 households – will be retrofitted.

More recently, NEA announced on Dec 11 plans for the cleaning and waste management industry to use technology to ease manpower shortage. Under a new skills framework, workers can also undergo training for these higher-skilled jobs.

The technology includes autonomous vehicles that clean the streets, robots that scrub floors and sensors that tell if a rubbish bin is full. NEA hopes the automation will benefit 30,000 workers by 2025.

ZUWEL AND FAREWELL

But back in Bukit Panjang, Zuwel and I still had to use our hands.

We repeated the routine on the second day. After each block – which usually has six chutes – was cleared, we unloaded our cargo into a compacter in the bin centre.

The compacter was a monster with a mouth that opens and closes, gobbling up trash with an automated lifter and compressing it for the garbage truck that pulls by every morning.

And it was during these back-and-forth trips to the bin centre that I got to know my mentor better.

Zuwel spoke softly in halting English. Before coming here, he told me, he worked in construction in Brunei. So he knows a bit of Malay as well.

Which is better, Brunei or Singapore? They’re the same, he replied, because the Brunei ringgit and Singapore dollar are equal. That’s when I understood his priorities.

Zuwel told me he got married barely half a year ago. The wedding was in Bangladesh, in his hometown of Tangail. He earns S$700 a month, he said. It’s too expensive to get married here. Not everyone is able to get a decent-paying, comfortable job, but it is an honest living.

By the third block, I was exhausted from the bending over, the heavy pulling and the smells. I was also struck by the monotony.

Zuwel had no such complaints. He let cockroaches run up his shoes. He used his hands to gather the trash when it could not fit into the dust pan. He laughed and took over when I hesitated to pull out a bin.

I tried my hand at driving the cart. It wasn’t easy. The steering was stiff and the pedals  were sensitive.

More than halfway through our shift, the skies grew dark. “If it rains, it’s a problem,” Zuwel told me. Thankfully, it only drizzled. I could only imagine what he goes through when it pours – being battered by the rain while picking up soggy trash.

I had experienced enough by lunchtime. I found the work tiring, repetitive and revolting. At the same time, I felt a deep sense of gratitude for men like Zuwel. It is easy to forget about these near-invisible workers who do what many Singaporeans shun.

Back at the bin centre, I laid my equipment on the sofa, washed my smelly, sweaty hands and tried to hug Zuwel. He didn’t reciprocate, so I backed off.

“Boss, I go eat first,” he said.