昨夜星辰
近半数新加坡人感叹，永远无法实现财务自由_我的网站
一 | 44%新加坡受访民众表示，终其一生，永远无法实现财务自由。
二 |
At 29, Shi belongs to a new generation of desert-control workers equipped with drones, machines and remote irrigation systems. An earth auger can now do in a day what once required about 200 laborers, while a single phone can control drip irrigation across more than 1,000 mu (about 66.67 hectares) of woodland.
For the older Shi's generation, the challenge was getting trees to survive in moving dunes. For the grandson, it is figuring out how to make those forests healthier and more resilient for decades to come.
Their story captures a broader shift in desert control along the southern edge of the Maowusu Desert in northwest China's Shaanxi Province: turning shifting sand into forest was only the beginning.
In 1986, Shi Guangyin, Shi Jianyang's grandfather, led more than 300 villagers into Langwosha, a sandy area in Dingbian County in Yulin City. He had raised 60,000 yuan (about 17,377 U.S. dollars at the time) by selling his family's 84 sheep and borrowing from relatives and banks to contract 3,500 mu of barren sandy land.
The early setbacks were severe. Strong winds destroyed about 90 percent of the saplings in the first year, and about 80 percent of those planted the following year failed to survive.
After seeking advice from forestry experts, Shi and the villagers laid out checkerboard-shaped barriers on windward slopes to hold the sand in place, then planted trees, shrubs and grasses within them. Sapling survival rates rose to about 80 percent.
Over the next four decades, Shi and those working alongside him treated 250,000 mu of sandy and saline-alkali land, with more than 53 million trees and shrubs taking root.
Greening the Maowusu Desert is part of a much larger national undertaking. It is one of the three major battlefronts of China's Three-North Shelterbelt Forest Program, a decades-long effort to curb desertification across northern China.
China has made desertification control a national ecological priority. Since 2023, the country has stepped up efforts under the program, with greater emphasis on systematic restoration and on consolidating earlier gains.
Decades after the first trees took root, a new challenge emerged. Poplars planted decades ago for their rapid growth began reaching the end of their life cycle, with large numbers of trees dying, while forests dominated by a single species were more vulnerable to pests and disease.
Making a forest was one challenge. Keeping it healthy for another generation is another.
Shi Jianyang grew up watching his grandfather and father work to hold back the sand. His father, Shi Zhanjun, spent years planting trees alongside Shi Guangyin before dying in a road accident in 2008 while transporting saplings.
As a boy, Shi Jianyang sometimes resented the work that had taken his father. He spent summer holidays in makeshift tents in the sandy land, eating meals gritty with sand. During planting season, his father would return home with painful blisters in his mouth.
Yet he eventually chose forestry himself.
After studying forestry technology in university, Shi returned home in 2020 and began working in desert control. His team, initially made up of just seven or eight young locals, later brought in university graduates with expertise in soil science, landscaping and pest control.
The younger generation faced a different question: not simply how to make trees survive, but how to make a forest last.
Shi and his team spent more than 40 days in a 5,000-mu woodland setting up sample plots, measuring rainfall, studying soil microorganisms and tracking tree lodging. They proposed renewing aging forests with better-planned forest structures and expanded the planting of Mongolian pine, a long-lived evergreen species that had been successfully tested locally.
To date, about 50,000 mu of land has been planted with Mongolian pine. As some trees fail to survive and require replacement in subsequent planting seasons, the cumulative area of planting operations has reached about 65,000 mu.
Technology has also changed daily work. Drones patrol forests from the air, mechanized equipment dig planting pits, and irrigation can be managed remotely. Sapling survival rates, which Shi Guangyin's generation had raised to about 80 percent through improved sand-control and planting methods, have climbed further to about 92 percent with greater mechanization and more precise management.
Shi said the changes can be felt on the ground. Strong sandstorms have become rare, winds are weaker inside the forest, and the ground stays moist longer after rain. Summer days beneath the trees also feel cooler, while morning dew appears more often. The changes lead him to rethink desert control.
His approach also reflects a broader effort in China's desert regions to link ecological restoration with local livelihoods, giving communities a stronger economic stake in protecting restored land.
With his grandfather's support, Shi and his team have been looking for ways to make better use of the restored land as ecological conditions improve. They have developed potato seedlings suited to sandy soil, promoted greenhouse farming, and set up a livestock cooperative, while increasingly growing potatoes, watermelons and peppers on land once prone to losing water and nutrients.
Shi has also turned to livestreaming e-commerce to market potatoes and other local farm produce, while developing forest-based health and leisure projects. More than 2,000 local residents have seen their incomes rise steadily as farming, livestock breeding and other businesses have developed.
"We used to fear the sand and keep away from it. Now we understand it and know how to make use of it," Shi Guangyin said. "Today, there are opportunities to make a living everywhere in this sandy land."
Across Yulin, forest coverage has risen from 1.8 percent in 1949 to 34.8 percent, while shifting dunes that once encroached on villages have been brought under control.
For Shi Jianyang, however, the green landscape is not proof that the work is finished. "Planting a tree is not difficult," he said. "The difficult part is looking after it for decades."
The grandfather generation learned how to stop the sand. The young generation is learning how to make what grew there last.
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三 | 主要原因是收入不足、职业不稳定、个人和健康可能面对无法预测的问题。另外，29%受访者表示将来能够实现财务自由。目前已经实现财务自由的只有27%。55%的受访者表示，自己知道怎样才能实现财务自由；其余45%或者表示不知道，或者表示从未想过财务自由这回事。前者一般是35岁至44岁的中青年；后者则一般是家庭收入不高的妇女。养儿育女会拖慢实现财务自由另一方面，44%受访者表示，养儿育女会拖慢他们实现财务自由的时间，大约拖慢15年。换句话说，如果不生育，自己可以提前15年就实现财务自由。22%受访者不认为养儿育女会影响财务自由；33%表示对此没有看法。认为养儿育女会拖慢财务自由步伐的有三类人。一类是55岁至64岁的受访者；一类是最小的孩子已经16岁以上的。很明显，这两类是年纪偏大的。还有一类是家庭收入较高的。
四 | 很诡异是不是？家庭收入较高的，反而觉得养儿育女会拖慢财务自由？半数的受访者表示，把一个孩子养育到21岁，需要至少50万新元。在受访者当中，54%没有生育的受访者表示，没有生育计划。已经至少生育一个孩子的受访者当中，80%表示不打算再生育。什么是财务自由什么是财务自由？调查显示，受访者把“财务自由”定义为：一、21%受访者认为，有能力无忧无虑过着自己想要的生活，就是财务自由二、19%受访者认为，没有债务（例如房贷、车贷），就是财务自由三、12%受访者认为，有稳定的工作，能维持生活，就是财务自由四、10%受访者认为，爱怎么花钱就怎么花钱，就是财务自由对第四类受访者来说，他们认为，必须有61万2000新元现金，才能感到财务自由。
五 | 相比之下，2023年的受访者，只要56万6000新元现金就能感到财务自由了。2024年的数据整整比2023年高了8%！而且，根据新加坡中位数储蓄估算，现在需要30年才能够存到61万2000新元的储蓄；而在去年，27年就能够储蓄56万6000新元。
六 | 亲爱的读者朋友们，你们认为，什么是财务自由？你拥有多少现金，才感到有财务自由？你要储蓄多久，才有达到财务自由的现金量？到评论区留言一下吧！多少钱才能退休80%受访者表示，希望65岁就能退休；退休之后每月需要2856新元作为生活费，才能有较为舒适的生活。
七 | 另外，20%受访者表示，为了较低的生活成本、较轻松缓慢的生活节奏、较舒适的气候，希望到外国退休。
八 | 他们首选的退休国家为马来西亚、澳洲、新西兰、泰国。57%受访者表示，自己有人寿保险，38%说自己有重疾保险。
九 | 新加坡只有CPF公积金存款，没有养老金；虽然政府对低收入家庭有高额的医疗津贴，但并非传说中的“全民免费医疗”；因此，养老保险、重疾保险十分重要。
十 | 通货膨胀、存款不足、医疗费高涨压累骆驼的三根稻草今年4月至6月，保险公司Singlife进行了2024年度“财务自由调查”，一共3000人参加，都是新加坡公民和永久居民，年龄介于18岁至65岁。在本年度“财务自由调查”中，总分为100，平均得分为58，比上一年度的60还少。换句话说，能够实现“财务自由”的人，今年比去年少。受访者表示，他们感到最大的财务压力来自通货膨胀、存款不足难以应付退休生活，以及医疗费高涨。新加坡眼丨编辑AY、HQ丨编审新加坡眼丨来源新加坡眼丨图源。
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