Like most Singaporeans, my parents had to work every Saturday morning, and these expectations extended to school as well.

Even at the age of nine, I vividly remember the bitterness of missing Saturday morning cartoons on TV because during my first year in primary school, my strict and hardworking Chinese language teacher decided that the entire class needed extra lessons.

In a sense, my life hasn't changed much to this day.

Although by the time my friends and I started working, society had transitioned to a five-day workweek, most of us typically work "unofficially" on weekends.

It's almost impossible to schedule a meeting with my best friend, who works in insurance, on weekend mornings because she always has appointments with clients during that time.

Teachers I know often spend their weekends planning lessons. And if you tally the hours, for desk-bound workers, weekends without work often mean working late into the evenings on weekdays.

So now, with discussions about a four-day workweek emerging, I'm skeptical about how it will work in Singapore.

In July 2021, the Minister of Manpower, Tan See Leng, opened the doors to a four-day workweek, stating that any employer wishing to implement it for their employees could do so as there were no legal obstacles.

In 2022, researchers in the UK launched a trial in which 61 organizations and around 2,900 workers voluntarily switched to a shorter workweek, and they found that most companies did not want to return to the five-day standard after the experiment ended.

Recently, I've seen job postings from some companies here in Singapore dangling such carrots in front of potential applicants, promising a better work-life balance with shorter working hours and flexible schedules.

Maybe I'm just not efficient, but can most of us really accomplish all our tasks in four days?

First of all, as a freelance writer, I already set my own hours and days of work. So, I sometimes work on weekends.

Don't get me wrong; the idea of a shorter workweek makes me happy. It's the same feeling people get when anticipating long weekends.

Here's a list of things I'd probably do with that extra free time:

Read more. Maybe I could start reading poetry; it's a nice way to spend a lazy weekday. Attend yoga classes at unusual times when the studio is nearly empty. Watch movies on a weekday afternoon. Tickets are much cheaper, and I like the quiet of nearly empty theaters. Learn how to make the perfect cup of coffee. Yes, I'm old enough to appreciate that, but I haven't quite figured it out yet. Relax. I've heard it's good for my health. And if the four-day workweek does become a reality, I hope my friends and family also adhere to the same schedule so we can meet up more often.

At this point, you might think my plans seem frivolous. I admit they don't seem like the most productive use of time.

I feel a bit awkward admitting that I don't currently plan to take a SkillsFuture course to enhance my qualifications, although I recognize that lifelong learning is indeed valuable for increasing employability.

If I spent fewer days in the office, would I use the free time for personal and career development? I'm not sure I would.

But I'm absolutely sure that, at least from a psychological perspective, I would feel more relaxed and content. After all, there are studies showing that people who are less stressed perform better at their jobs.

Furthermore, why does everything always have to boil down to productivity?

I can imagine concerns about a labor shortage and logistical nightmares with a four-day workweek. I can already hear warnings about costs being passed on to consumers.

I was horrified to read recently about the "996" work culture in Chinese tech companies, which entails working from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., six days a week.

Could the "lying flat" movement in China, described as people opting out of a culture of excessive work and consumption, be a response to this reality?

China is also grappling with youth unemployment. In June, the country's unemployment rate hit a record high of 21.3%, and in August, the country stopped publishing statistics.