Redefining My Worth on Sabbatical
How often do you ask someone or have been asked, “What do you do?” upon meeting them for the first time? More importantly, when have we collectively as a society decided that our worth or identity is tied to our job?
Since I was a teenager, I have had odd jobs – from tutoring kids at a dyslexia learning centre to making bubble tea and shaved ice desserts, I did it all. I sought out internships to bolster my resume in the hopes that I would land a job in a digital media company or, even better, a fashion media company. If only 17-year-old me could see me at 27.
After graduating from fashion school with the degree of my dreams, the only jobs I could land were a part-time retail associate or an internship. Eventually, I landed a full-time role at an e-commerce company that helped electronic companies improve their Amazon product pages. It was far from what I was passionate about, but a job was a job. My paycheck allowed me to pay rent in Bushwick with 2 roommates, I had disposable income to shop and eat out as I pleased. However, that didn’t last very long.
Due to a miscommunication between HR and the company’s lawyer, I couldn’t get the visa I needed to stay in New York. With my life packed up in a few suitcases and non-essentials left on the streets of Bushwick, I made my way back home to Malaysia.
In hindsight, I’m grateful I was back in my home country during the life-altering pandemic that affected the entire world. I didn’t have to pay rent, I didn’t have to face racist attacks, and I had access to healthcare. Dinners were always ready by the time I logged off work. There was time and space to explore my hobbies and interests in ways that I couldn’t when I would endure mind-numbing, tear-jerking traffic from Mutiara Damansara to Subang Jaya every day. The pandemic allowed me to pivot my career into one I was passionate about at New Naratif, a platform that advocated and highlighted diverse Southeast Asian voices and issues. I met many intelligent, compassionate, and talented people throughout my tenure at New Naratif. The organisation had an excellent work culture where the team had access to therapy, 28 days of paid leave, and a 4-day work week. However, being in a non-profit came with many stressors, primarily securing funding, but that’s a post for another day.
After five years of being home in Malaysia, I married the love of my life and moved to the States with him.
It has been roughly 3 months since I’ve been here, although time moves differently when you’re adjusting to a new environment. As I await my spouse visa, I cannot work, which I have since dubbed this time my sabbatical. I’m not going to lie, it has been amazing not having to clock in or go to the office. I’m able to structure my day as I see fit or change my plans when the mood strikes. However, there is always a voice in the back of my head that tries to instill fear in me that I’m not doing enough. I call her Girlboss/Capitalist YP.
Girlboss/Capitalist YP rears her head when I’m hitting “next episode” on the latest season of Squid Game. She questions my decision to lie in bed on a Wednesday afternoon. I can see her disapproving glare when I opt to scroll on Reddit instead of reading a book. See, she has a specific idea of what productivity is. To her, productivity means learning something, engaging in a hobby meaningfully, cleaning the apartment, building skills to help boost my career, or creating something tangible. Don’t get me wrong, I agree with her, but where does productivity ever end? When can we exist and rest? That’s a line I haven’t been able to establish with her without a great deal of mental gymnastics.
With no job, I find myself feeling unworthy or guilty if I don’t contribute through domestic labour, such as cooking dinner, washing the dishes, cleaning the bathroom, etc.
Thankfully, I have a partner who encourages me to rest when I’m tired and understands when I’m not up to the task. I’m grateful that he doesn’t view domestic labour as a “woman’s role”. Instead, he understands that maintaining a household is both of our responsibilities. I know, it is the bare minimum, but with the rise of the manosphere, it has to be said.
I digress. Aside from having an indefinite sabbatical, I now have the opportunity to redefine myself beyond a job title.
I am no longer the Head of Communications at New Naratif; I am just Yi Peng on sabbatical.
When I involuntarily attended a networking event, the lady who handed out name tags asked which company I was with. Upon mentioning that I was unemployed, she visibly flinched but recovered smoothly with a “Maybe you can meet someone here that can offer you a job”. I had no interest in explaining my visa situation, so I nodded politely with a semi-enthusiastic “Yeah, maybe.”
In New York City, not having a job is akin to the scarlet letter. During street interviews, people tend to list off not one, not two, but three different roles they may have.
“I’m a DJ, art director, and model.”
“I’m a consultant, stylist, and real estate agent.”
As someone who used to dream of labour because it was instilled in me, I no longer want to subscribe to that notion. Who are we if we no longer have to work to earn a living?
That’s what I’m on a mission to find out.
