Working For Experience - A Reflection
Introduction
By now most people know the phrase “working for experience,” which gently means “could you help me with this project for free? you will not be paid in cash but you will earn valuable skills.” Because I am naturally generous it became almost impossible to refuse such requests and I soon earned a reputation as a yes man. At first it felt wonderful when clients admired my talents in photography, videography and editing, web development and robotics. Occasionally I did receive a small token of appreciation such as money or a meal, but more often my efforts were met with a polite thank you or recorded as VIA hours, which I understand since student led organizations often operate on tight budgets.
I do not intend to criticize anyone I have worked with and their individual actions alone does not represent the organisation as a whole. Many were supportive leaders who cared deeply about the cause they are working for, and I was honored to be able to play a part in this. Others, however, underestimated the effort required and assumed that friendship alone justified unpaid labor. I will not recount every project I took on for experience but I will describe the pivotal moments that transformed how I value my work and that will influence how I approach future opportunities. Although this may read like an open rant, I hope my reflections provide useful lessons from my journey.
Photography
Taking photos is my stress relief and my way of showing her my world-what I see and experience so we can share those moments together. Photography drags me outside, pushes me to explore my surroundings from fresh angles, and turns the ordinary into something unforgettable. Every click is a gift of joy I can share with the people I care about.
I gained a reputation as the “wildcard” photographer, the one sprinting through rainstorms for a dramatic shot, dodging stray footballs on the pitch, or climbing onto benches at odd angles. I wasn’t part of Studio Ardent, the official photography CCA, but somehow my Instagram feed @satori.arw became known among my peers. There’s a thrill in capturing a moment in time that will never return, and seeing the smiles my pictures bring makes it all worth it.
But it isn’t all sunshine. Chasing the perfect frame often meant missing out on the very moments I was supposed to be part of. I’m truly sorry to friends I left waiting, swapping laughter and conversation for a viewfinder. Class outings felt empty sometimes, because I wasn’t in the picture; I was busy framing everyone else’s memories. And in those solitary moments behind the lens, I’d wonder: who’s there to capture me? Who’ll help me immortalize my own milestones? That ache to be seen in my own story is every photographer’s greatest fear.
Then comes the grind of editing and file delivery. Turning around polished photos by midnight became routine. While Studio Ardent members logged VIA hours, my reward was usually a quick “thanks” and a vague promise of “I’ll call you again.” It stung to pour my energy into something that felt so undervalued.
Scrolling through social media only made it worse. I’d compare my wild chase of rainstorms and slow-shutter shots to casual snapshots by classmates that somehow racked up hundreds of likes. It felt unfair and hollow. But I learned slowly that likes don’t measure the heart you pour into your work.
“Comparison is the thief of joy” ~ Theodore Roosevelt
What matters is how a photograph feels to me and to everyone who sees it. A photograph is not just an Instagram like; it is a fragment of time and space preserved in our vast universe. Now, when I lift my camera, I remind myself to embrace the imperfect moment, to savor the laughter I share, and to never lose sight of the people I treasure most because a photograph can wait but those connections cannot. Learning to turn down a job offer in order to get a good night’s sleep or to really hang out with friends is more valuable than building any photography reputation. Live in the moment.
Interact Club Of Sembawang
The Interact Club of Sembawang (ICS) is the local chapter of Rotary International’s youth service organization. It brings together secondary and junior college students to plan and execute community-service projects, develop leadership skills, and forge international friendships. Through fundraisers, awareness campaigns, and hands‑on volunteering, ICS aims to make a positive impact on Singapore and beyond.
I joined ICS for her, hoping to spend more time together and understand why her schedule was always so hectic. Officially, I was in the IT department and my job was to build a full website to showcase our projects that ultimately raise our profile and include a content-management system for ease of use. Tackling a site that had to be fast, responsive, and user-friendly felt like climbing Everest due to my lack of experience then.
But the technical hurdles were only the start. Scope creep hit immediately as new requests rolled in that weren’t in the original argeement, and without a formal contract I was left thinking, “WTF, man, am I not already doing enough?” I spent 48 hours perfecting fonts and color palettes, only to have a mid‑term leadership change wipe out all my work. I was back to square one, racing against time for their deadline that they deemed achievable.
On top of that, I became the de facto trainer for new members who had zero web experience. They drifted in and out of the project, so I spent countless evenings rebuilding tutorials and attending endless meetings to train each newcomer in the midst of A-Level season. In total, I logged around 150 hours officially and at least another 100 hours off the clock. As I poured my energy into coding and teaching, I could not help but notice that some members of the executive committee, despite holding leadership roles, rarely followed through. Their promises to help me get the website finished never matched their actions, and it felt deeply unfair that I was left carrying the entire load alone.
I am not saying that the whole organisation is a terrible organsiaiton, infact they have helped many communites and minority groups. From this experience I learned that it’s vital to define the project scope as clearly as possible before writing a single line of code. Knowing exactly what’s includedand what isn’t gives everyone a shared understanding from day one. Equally important is getting even informal agreements in writing. A word document can save hours of confusion and frustration down the road.
I also discovered the necessity of setting firm boundaries. When requests start to outpace what you originally signed up for, it’s okay and often essential to say no. That same principle applies to training new team members: onboarding takes real time and energy, and it shouldn’t all fall on one person. Finally, I learned to protect my own priorities. During A-Level season I nearly burned out juggling site fixes, coaching and endless meetings. Now I know that academic commitments must come first, and I’m no longer afraid to turn down extra work that would jeopardize my goals.
Granted, I was still building my skills and used this as a massive learning opportunity—and I’m grateful for that. But I also discovered that even a volunteer “website maker” deserves respect and recognition for the value they bring.
Young Asians Summit
One word to describe my experience with the Young Asians Summit was unforgettable even if not always for the reasons I’d hoped.
I wasn’t their first choice as web developer. Their original coder bowed out at the last minute, and I was pulled in because I was a friend and “this is a good experience”. What started as a straightforward one day build—a simple site to connect youths with mentors quickly became far more demanding.
From day one, back to back meetings dragged on for weeks over issues that could have been settled in thirty minutes. A large part of the budget went toward “efficiency” upgrades for the admin team—training sessions and workflow tools that never actually sped anything up. Meanwhile, the data I needed to populate the site was always “coming soon,” leaving me constantly chasing content and reminding everyone of agreed deadlines, which was utterly exhausting.
Midway through planning, the higher ups decided to backtrack on key elements after school invitations had already gone out. They gave us the choice to carry on or quit. Since it was the first time that anyone there was plannng that event of that scale, I expected some shifts, but having to overhaul our entire approach felt unprofessional and disorganized.
There was one team member I worried about most—she threw herself into other people’s tasks and overworked herself trying to keep the project alive. Even after I stepped away, I found myself checking in on her, concerned that her dedication was taking a toll.
Despite everyone’s best intentions, the summit’s planning felt confusing and opaque. Requests shifted without warning and priorities flipped overnight, leaving me to wonder if we’d ever launch on schedule after so many revisions and restarts. It was clear that the ambitious vision driving the event hadn’t translated into practical execution. Even the publicity fell flat—countless work sessions produced nothing that truly reflected the original concept or captured the excitement we set out to share.
Ultimately, I made a difficult choice. After talking it over with my parents and close friends, I stepped away—putting my well-being and academic goals first when the project had become more burden than blessing. It was disappointing not to see the summit through, but in stepping back I discovered what matters most.
I learned that every successful project starts with a clear, realistic goal and that no amount of enthusiasm can replace focused planning. Efficient communication keeps us on track—short meetings with defined agendas are far more productive than endless discussions that circle back on themselves. Timely collaboration is equally essential: agreeing upfront on when data, assets, and approvals will be handed off prevents last‑minute scrambles and wasted effort. And above all, I discovered the importance of self‑care. Even the most exciting ventures aren’t worth sacrificing your health, your studies, or your peace of mind—learning to say no when demands exceed your capacity protects the boundaries that let you do your best work.
Finally, true teamwork means looking out for one another. Checking in on colleagues, sharing responsibilities fairly, and recognizing everyone’s contributions not only lifts morale but also ensures the project—and the people behind it—can thrive. My journey with the Young Asians Summit may have ended sooner than planned, but it taught me to balance ambition with boundaries—and that sometimes the bravest move is to say, “I need to look out for myself first.”
Moving Forward
Even though these lessons were painful but they were also valuable. I learned that I must prioritize my own mental health and professional value before trying to meet deadlines for people who expect me to bail them out with my skills. It is important to say no when the terms are unreasonable no matter how appealing the opportunity may be. In a world full of possibilities there will always be projects that align with your goals and offer fair compensation. You are not indebted if you decline and you should not let persuasion techniques of any kind sway you into agreeing.
Maintaining professionalism means setting clear expectations from the outset, communicating boundaries respectfully, and delivering on agreed‑upon terms which I hope that the people I worked for undestand the importance of this concept. A simple written agreement is more reliable than a verbal promise, so whenever you take on a new opportunity ask for a concise contract that both parties sign to ensure clarity and mutual accountability.
Since then I have launched my own robotics tutoring business and now enjoy the freedom to choose projects that respect my time, expertise, and professional standards. I wish you all the best in your future endeavors and hope you can learn from my mistakes.