Pimply Princess: work

Back to R.AGE rant

I am frustrated with myself. I know this fact before I've even consciously acknowledged it, because my face is covered in angry red welts – a sign of the compulsive picking that takes over whenever I get stressed.

You know that feeling when you know you can do more, but end up not. Not doing better, not living up to expectations, not performing, just not.

The worst thing is when I see it in Ian’s face, or hear it in Ian’s tone, and I know he doesn’t mean to make me feel like the biggest failure ever whenever I forget to email the contestants about something important, or when I end up drafting some really bad copy, but he does. And I do. Feel like the world’s biggest failure.

It was my second month at The Star when he passed me my first project: R.AGE Food Fight – the search for Malaysia’s next food celebrity. I don’t know why he passed the project to me – whether it was because I was new and had less on my plate than anyone else, or if it was because he honestly thought that I’d be up for the task – and maybe I’ll never know. But I know that I’m not.

I am, at best, a decent secretary, who occasionally forgets to do things like update our social media accounts, or keep everyone in the loop about a new update. So okay, I’m a shit secretary.

I am, I thought, an okay writer. All along I’d been hard pressed to live up to Ian’s standards, and all along I thought that I’d been doing okay. He tells me when I write up to par, and even when I impress him. Ever since I rejoined R.AGE, I haven’t heard a peep.

I feel like a girl who’s been told all her life that she’s pretty, so much that it becomes an addiction. My writing is my only source of validation; my only indicator of value. And just typing this down makes me feel sick. I always told myself that I’d never become that girl. But here we are: different shades, same color.

The project is drawing to a close, and to that I feel equal parts relieved and mortified. I tell myself that everything that’s been done has been done, and that all I can do is do my best not to make the same mistakes again.

Will I get the project next year when we go to ASEAN? Probably not. And it’s probably for the best. But for now I’m using this disappointment in myself as fuel for whatever I’m working on now. It’ll burn dirty, sure, but it’ll burn.

I’m not consciously trying to end this on a happy note here. It just happens to be one of those days where I’ve somehow found it in me to not collapse under the angst. I tell myself “I can do this” again and again, until I’ve done everything. And even then, everything’s not enough.

I’ve written down a list of the things that I should or shouldn’t do:

1. Don’t be complacent, Clarissa. That’s what got you to this slump remember? Complacency. Think you wrote a good story? Double check it. Get your friends to proofread it. I mean come on, it could be so much better, why are you getting lazy?

2. CC everyone. You learned this the hard way. I can’t believe no one taught you how to do that in high school.

3. Don’t blindly follow Ian’s suggestions just because you’ve put him on a pedestal and can’t get him down. That’s your problem. Always ask yourself if you can do better – do more. I mean seriously, do you want to end up rotting away your brain at 21?

4. Make your work your life. I know you thought you could excel without doing it, but some people can and some people can’t. You can’t. And anyway, is it really that torturous to write, come up with ideas, and interview people for a living? It isn’t. Stop playing video games all the time.

5. More like 4.1 but anyway, write even when it’s not for work. I shouldn’t have to tell you this. You’re better than that.

What it’s like working in Real Estate

In my last post, I mentioned leaving the bright and brilliant world of writing and journalism for the dark and dullness of property.

But then I deleted that paragraph to make my word count so do me a favour and completely strike that last sentence out. Let’s do this again.

Four months ago, I got a visit from my parents in KL whilst I was still stationed at The Star. This was a month before my term was supposed to end and a particularly momentous, uh… moment because

1. They stay like, 400 kilometres away, which is 300 kilometres too far and
2. If you knew my folks, you’d know that they don’t ever leave the comforts and quiet of SP for anything, unless it’s for

a) Their child, (a1) on fire.
b) Really, really good food. Like, insanely good. Like, HOLY SHIT I jizzed my pants seeing the Instagram good. And
c) Buddhism. Preferably camps, retreats, pilgrimages to India, etc.

So I knew something was up. The only question was what.

Turns out, nothing; they just wanted to see their daughter. Can’t a parent want to visit their child? We never hear from you anymore, Ah Chen. Also, we think it’s best if you came back to Penang.

Called it.

My father’s a negotiator himself, so the concept of coming back to work alongside him in Reapfield wasn’t completely repulsive. But I knew houses and land as much as a chicken rice seller knows the inner workings of a soft drink vending machine – Just because you occasionally come into contact with something and feel it’s effects now and again, it doesn’t mean it’s your job to understand the subtle mechanics of said thing.

So in a move that, I think, stunned everyone including myself, I packed my bags and hauled ass back to the tiny, sunny island of Penang (no complains there) and signed myself up as a real estate agent. The first thing I learned was

Not anyone can become an agent

Much like lawyers, you don’t just stroll into a firm and ask them to hire you. No matter how cool your ukulele and table-top rendition of Kantoi is (Answer: hella cool), that just don’t cut it for the big wigs upstairs. No. If you’ve got the credentials that I had, you start from the bottom. Most of the people you might know in real estate aren’t really agents but negotiators. We’re the foot soldiers.

Like freelance brokers but less illegal, real estate negotiators do most of the heavy lifting. We don’t have a professional license so we’ve got to rent the license from those who do, and join their firm after spending hundreds on training and course fees. If that sounds like a pretty raw deal, it gets better.

Depending on the firm, you start off with a 40-60% cut. That means for every 1000 ringgit you make, you get to keep 400 ringgit and the agency gets the other 600 ringgit. Then, as you continue to bring in more cash for the company, you slowly get bumped up to 50% , then 60%, then – Nope - That’s it. Also! Non-performing members (aka people who don’t manage to sell as much) get booted out in favour of newer, more lucrative young-uns.

The good news is, everything changes as soon as you do get your license. You get to either open up your own agency, or rent out your license to 30 negotiators for a fee and a cut of whatever they make. The catch? The passing rate is something along the lines of twenty percent.

Fuck Penang. No, really, just fuck it.

First things first: I love Penang. I really, really, really love this stupid island. It’s beautiful on normal days and breathtaking on good ones. But much like its politics, hawker food, and road etiquette, Penang just doesn’t roll like the rest of Malaysia.

The normal commission rate for real estate agents in Malaysia is 2-3%. That’s already an insanely low amount compared to other countries (Japan prices its agents' rates at 7%) but in Penang you’d be lucky to even get 1. Most of the time, Penang owners insist on a maximum of 1%. We call it 1 + 1 here because the seller pays up 1% and the buyer absorbs the other 1%.

This is mega illegal because according to the national board, you can’t have two principals at the same time. You’re either serving the interests of the buyer (To get as a low a price for value as possible) or the seller (to shave off as much as you can from the buyer), but not both. Then again, have you ever seen a Penangite willing to part with 10 ringgit when someone else is willing to take 9? Doh-no.

Penagites are clever and friendly and so f***ing kiam siak when it comes to money. I think it’s a city-island thing.

Everyone’s old enough to be my dad (or mum)

Most of those who enter real estate are in their late 30s to 40s.

These figures make sense because unlike me, those people didn’t have a father to pluck them out of their career and into the property market. I did. Most negotiators are either working mothers or fathers, disillusioned by their previous office job and eager to get away from the bureaucracy of it all.

Just to get an idea of how much older the people in my office are, here’s an example: last month we were talking about the youngest negotiator in Penang; he’s 24.

I turned 20 this June.

Writing this post is making me bummed out. I need a drink.

Authors note:

I got one.