Re: The Gig Economy Celebrates Working Yourself to Death

That article from the New Yorker might have been the most convoluted article that I have read in a long while. If this is how Jia Tolentino wanted to portray the Gig Economy, then the way her article came across would really get the point across. In Tagalog slang, it’s what you may call “sabog” article.

In case you have not realized yet, I am a freelance writer. There may be times when I am “sabog” myself. But then again I make it a point to catch some sleep to avoid writing any article whatsoever while half-asleep. Because I just compromised my craft’s artistry. I consider myself lucky not (yet) pressured with all the stress that comes with wracking my brains out for the sake of spitting a minimum of 500 words per article from my fingertips. Then, after getting some sleep, I look at my draft again and check for any typos.

Ms. Tolentino, you just wrote a clickbait article. Albeit pissed, I understand. But you should at least come up with some argument about how the gig economy is indeed making people work to death. Then again, you mentioned Little Miss Lyft’s hardworking mom as an example.

I first heard (or watched) about that poor woman on YouTube. Everyone admires the pregnant driver for still taking some passengers even if she’s already on the verge of labor. Not clear if the amniotic fluid splashed under the wheel. But some loose change is not worth the risk of losing your baby simply because Lyft still keeps sending driving gigs along your way. That’s when the “working yourself to death” kicks in.

Before this article becomes about her, it then becomes an issue if some folks accepting gigs still have enough time to rest. I am aware of some newbies in the freelancing space that took months to finally get that “full-time home-based gig”. (I remember one of them - particularly one of them - keeps peppering me with questions about Upwork and anything about freelancing before checking out Google. That alone gives me an idea that if she can’t even do basic research alone, she’ll never be successful in her freelancing endeavor.)

It is hard to get a “full-time gig”. Personally I don’t always call it a gig since I still view it as a job - a series of tasks that I do complimentary to my passion in writing and helpful to the client’s need for website content. But the fact that some freelancers forget what freelancing is all about makes them susceptible to the trap of “working yourself to death”.

Because why will it even be called freelancing if you are not free as far as your schedule goes? Several employees take on the gig economy for the freedom it gives them. Their own terms. Their own schedule. Their own income without some middleman to deduct whatever from it. Then I end up reading about examples used by Ms. Tolentino to hardsell the concept stated in the clickbait title.

Maybe if she focused on the not-so-subtle references made at how some freelancers at their earliest stage are practically overworked and underpaid like in that notorious Fiverr poster, she could have gotten a better argument to use to sustain the idea mentioned in the title. Because not everyone taking in the gigs from Fiverr are sleepless caffeine junkies. (And most of the jobs I got are not from Fiverr.)

I hate to say that her article got the point across a lot more effectively because she herself is sleep-deprived like the model used for the “In Doers We Trust” campaign. I just can’t be harsh on her as I’ve had worse articles in the past. Main difference is that I never deprive myself of sleep. And it’s not about vanity. I need my sanity. Sleep is one way for me to recharge my brain.

Madama Butterfly 1985, Great Performances

Watching Madama Butterfly every time I feel down and out is occasionally therapeutic for me. Despite the story being a story of “isang paasa at isang tanga” (a man making people wait and an idiot duped into waiting), I occasionally watch unsubbed versions for the sake of the music. And for occasionally watching the facial expressions of the people in the performance if it matched the scene.

The 1989 version I found on YouTube was a telecast from Lyric Opera Chicago. Despite the slow pacing of the opera (as followed in most productions anyway), the build-up towards the climactic end was worth it and sustained by the music. All that is left for the cast is to sing it right, hoping there would be less screeches along the way. (Not that I am a good singer myself but I need not mention versions where either the tenor or the soprano ended up screeching their lines.)

For those who are unfamiliar with Giacomo Puccini’s Madama Butterfly, the first 30 minutes might give you a little idea about the story yet to unfold before your eyes. There was the Consul General Sharpless horrified at the thought of the American navy lieutenant Pinkerton marrying a 15-year-old geisha he bought for only 100 Japanese yen. And there was the bride, Cio-Cio San, so enamored with the idea of marrying an American soldier thinking that he really loved her.

It’s like a mail-order bride thing. But at least the marriage was done in Japan. Since the wedding was done in secular rites, religion has nothing to do with it. It was enough to anger Cio-Cio San’s monk uncle apart from marrying a white guy. Japanese society is often viewed as homogeneous a.k.a. not much interracial marrying going on. So Pinkerton being white added insult to injury. The bride’s own relatives didn’t believe the marriage would last as well. But … oh well. Youthful idiocy mistaken as idealism.

The spinning stage helped in identifying what part are we in the scene from the time Cio-Cio San and her entourage prepared for the wedding to the uncle’s dramatic entrance to how the entire Shinto clan has disowned her by addressing her in her English geisha name, Butterfly.

Little did the poor geisha know how exposed is she now to the wiles and charms of Pinkerton. Her maid-in-waiting, Suzuki, saw through the bull crap that Pinkerton that he was. But instead of listening, Cio-Cio San even threatened the poor maid with death because she won’t shut up. Since she refused to shut up, Cio-Cio San just made her say that Pinkerton will return. It was painful for Suzuki. So painful that she ended up crying out of frustration with her lady’s behavior. (Pinkerton hasn’t returned 2 years after the wedding. Hasn’t Butterfly gotten the hint yet?)

Apparently, Cio-Cio San is really, really bad at hints. And she’s not good at reacting at the not-so-subtle clues either. Threatening Suzuki with death was slightly understandable as the latter was practically the Madam’s slave. But threatening the Consul General Sharpless out of the forsaken house where Pinkerton left her? She trusted Pinkerton so much that anyone who dared tell her the truth is at risk of facing her wrath.

Cio-Cio San had the opportunity at a better life. A serial divorcee for a monarch has gotten rid of his wives just to marry her, someone who - by mail-order bride standards - is “second-hand”. Had she thought of the desolate state that her home had gotten, she might have married the guy just for the money. But all that is left making her function is her pride at being an American’s wife - a marriage that may have been a sham.

I think I may have given you enough hints at how this will end. I will not go into specifics anymore at how. Because sometimes, the best lessons in love are learned when losses are shown unfolding right before your eyes.

This version reminded me of the performances where it’s more about the vocal beauty and less about the visuals. Not that the visuals should be neglected in an opera production. But I do understand how some fans have bewailed the stage productions made extravagant for the sake of making up for lost singing talent that even some lead performers have. The performers have channeled themselves into their roles best are the ones that portrayed Pinkerton and the title character, Madama Butterfly, in the 1989 version. Highly recommended for everyone to view over and over again.