When my grandparents found out I quit one of my internships within a week, they didn’t ask what happened. They just called me “cengeng” – a crybaby, someone who couldn’t tahan discomfort. To them, leaving meant weakness. To me, it meant something else.
My generation often faces scrutiny for switching jobs quickly, setting boundaries, or leaving when things don’t align. To older generations, it feels impulsive or entitled.
A CNA Money Mind survey found Singapore’s Gen Z workers have Asia’s shortest average tenure at 2.9 years. Thirty-seven percent aim to stay only one to two years, while just 14 percent would stay five years or more.
My grandparents often call Gen Z “strawberry,” delicate and easily bruised. Their “tahan everything” mindset came from necessity. Living through World War II and the early beginnings of Singapore forged an unshakeable belief in persevering through hardship no matter the cost.
So yes, for them it’s easy to label Gen Z’s decision to leave jobs as impulsive. But what if it reflects a shift in values? A shift in what tahan means in 2025?
Making Space for Clarity
“All I did was work and sleep on repeat,” said Elena (not her real name), 23, who left her customer service job after a year in September 2025.
Long shifts and inconsistent off days cut into her weekends. Overtime pay wasn’t enough to offset the toll on her health.
She quit despite the pay, citing burnout, lack of rest, and unhappiness.
“We value our happiness and mental well-being first,” Elena added.
Having quit, Elena is making space to enjoy life again and meet her basic needs first. Without rest, she explained, it’s hard to feel content or move forward.
She looks forward to family time, concerts, short trips with friends, and hobbies she once loved.
I consulted a career guidance coach, who said that the idea that only Gen Z quits early may be misplaced. The coach sees it as common among young adults exploring careers, not just Gen Zs.
Like many Gen Zs today, they’ve also tried out jobs in their 20s to find what felt meaningful.
“This trend [of Gen Z quitting early] is just a bigger reason for us to have a conversation. But when you’re on the ground speaking to young people, what’s missing is [typically] the sense of belonging. A good work environment where people don’t just preach about teamwork but embody it,” they said.
“We value our happiness and mental well-being first”
Amanda (not her real name), 23, left her marketing job to regulate her nervous system.
She was constantly on “high alert,” replying to client messages as late as 9pm and staying in work mode even at home.
“I was doing everything right on paper, but deep down, I still felt so miserable, and it felt like my body was in a fight-or-flight response.”
Before quitting, Amanda tried yoga and therapy, but still felt emotionally dysregulated.
But don’t misunderstand, quitting wasn’t easy. Amid endless unsolicited advice from others (though she admits she knows they came from a good place), she said it took courage to follow how she truly felt.
“Of course, some people may not have the same mindset as I. My parents said I should just ‘tahan’ because it was a decent job coming out fresh from university, and staying longer would be good for my resume.”
“But I quit because I no longer aligned with the values and wanted clarity on what I really wanted to do and what makes me happy, even if it means freelancing and working on short-term projects that weren’t as demanding,” she said.
The Quick Fix Trap and the Privilege Gap
Not all exits are made with long-term clarity.
The career coach noted some fall into a “quick fix” trap. They chase quick money through short gigs without long-term goals.
“They quit their full-time jobs, but they end up doing multiple part-time jobs, sacrificing sleep or school time, which might feel empowering at first, but often results in burnout or loss of direction,” he said.
Amanda echoed this, recalling how she quit a fashion startup internship within two months at 20 due to poor management.
In hindsight, she admitted leaving too soon cost her a valuable reference letter and real industry experience that could have helped her career. As the career coach added, many jump ship out of frustration without pausing to see the bigger picture – what they are running from, or toward.
While some regret leaving too quickly, others never had the luxury of considering it in the first place. Not everyone has the privilege to quit without a backup plan or financial support.
Hazim (not his real name), 23, felt this keenly. With both parents unemployed, he signed on with the Singapore Armed Forces after National Service.
“I had to sign on to survive,” he said.
The income supported his family and funded his university studies. For Hazim, quitting was never an option.
So maybe it’s time to flip the script. The real question isn’t whether Gen Z should quit or stay. The question is why so many jobs feel impossible to stay in, and what leaders can actually do to make people want to commit.
The Money Mind survey makes the picture clear. Gen Z in Singapore stays for work-life balance (65 percent) and flexibility (53 percent). They leave because of stress (48 percent) and toxic dynamics with bosses or colleagues (44 percent). These aren’t small preferences. They are structural issues that cut deep into how workplaces are designed.
So let’s talk about kindness at work, not as a fluffy add-on but as a baseline for productivity and loyalty. A gracious workplace creates fulfilled employees. Sometimes that starts small, with something as ordinary as greeting your co-worker with a smile.
This shift matters most for those who cannot tahan yet also cannot afford to quit. Improving the workplace isn’t just about making Gen Z happy. It is about making work worth staying in for everyone.
The career coach encourages young professionals to reflect before quitting: “List it all down and reflect before deciding.”
He suggested using a simple T-chart to weigh pros and cons. Putting feelings on paper turns them into something concrete, making decisions clearer and less emotional.
So yes, Gen Z quits early. But maybe endurance doesn’t always mean staying. Our grandparents’ tahan meant surviving everything. Ours might mean knowing what not to endure.
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