(Disclaimer. This blog entry is based on what I have experienced and heard firsthand.)

This is probably an entry that resonates with many people today, especially those who belong to the workforce. The world has been spiraling under economic and geopolitical pressures, and sadly, it’s the common folk who end up bracing the impact—often as direct casualties.

We are all doing our best to get by, with some even resorting to unorthodox means just to meet basic needs. The fixation on earning more has slowly become harmful, yet many of us feel we have no choice but to comply—because almost every move we make now comes with a cost.

Across social media platforms, arguments constantly surface about how one should live life “properly” or “fairly.” But people will always have different dreams, priorities, and definitions of fulfillment. No one truly has the right to blame another for choosing what helps them survive. To each their own, as the saying goes.

Over the past few weeks, many of my students have chosen the same news article for our discussions—one that highlighted the growing inequality felt even in first-world countries. The study explained how people attempt to bridge widening financial gaps by working longer hours, simply to get by or to sustain the kind of life they want.

During these discussions, my students shared a sobering realization: free time has become a luxury not everyone can afford. Overtime work has become normalized, leaving people with no option but to prioritize sleep just to function the next day. This cycle—work, exhaustion, repeat—inevitably leads to burnout and unhealthy lifestyles, exactly as the article implied.

These conversations also sparked realizations among students who have just entered adulthood. Many expressed how intimidating it feels to even consider starting a family, given the financial responsibilities that come with it. Some admitted hesitation toward marriage altogether, largely due to societal expectations like childbirth. Instead, they’d rather spend their income on personal fulfillment—even if that means working overtime to afford moments of happiness.

This collective mindset has contributed to declining birth rates in several countries, which, in the long run, creates instability in the workforce itself. Personally, I can’t blame today’s youth—not with the way the economy continues to unfold.

These thoughts lingered with me long after class. They were further amplified when a recent lesson with one of my Korean students took an unexpectedly personal turn.

We were supposed to have a typical lesson when he opened up about what has been going on in his life—something that began when I casually asked how he was doing, as part of our pre-class routine.

He briefly talked about his workload, which has been forcing him to work late hours. He shared how little time he has for himself because he still needs to take care of his two sons afterward. He had been so busy that the night before was the first time he read a book in over a decade. It wasn’t even an interesting one, but he finished it in two hours simply because, for once, he didn’t feel suffocated by the responsibilities he was juggling.

“Teacher, I know you like reading too. I wish I could read more, but I find it hard to read in English because I have no time to study. But I really want to read more,” he said.

I gave him the usual encouragement I share with my students about improving proficiency. But he went on to explain how life has been weighing heavily on him—even with a relatively high salary. He’s now more focused on sharpening his trading skills for long-term security, which explains his lack of time for English lessons, despite needing proficiency for work.

He ended our conversation with a quiet confession:
“Teacher, no matter how much we make, we can never have enough, can we? This materialistic society is sucking the life out of us.”

It may be true that humans are insatiable—but today’s socio-economic climate is undeniably exhausting. Perhaps the truth behind modern burnout isn’t a lack of ambition, but the absence of real choice. Many of us aren’t chasing excess—we’re chasing breathing room. We work longer hours not because we want more, but because standing still feels unsafe. In a world where rest has become a reward instead of a right, exhaustion is no longer a personal failure; it’s a structural response to the times we’re living in.

I know I’m not exempt from this. I, too, have worked more than I probably should, fueled by responsibilities and dreams that demand motion. I’ve taken on side hustles, committed myself to continuous upskilling, and even entertained the idea of moving abroad in search of hope—because staying sometimes feels heavier than leaving. I dream of income streams that allow me to breathe without constantly overextending myself, even if that reality still feels far off. So I keep going, holding on to the belief in delayed gratification—that the long hours will someday soften into stability. I imagine many people are doing the same, quietly enduring and hoping, which is why my empathy runs deep.

As a teacher, moments like these conversations remind me that learning spaces have evolved beyond skills and credentials. They’ve become places where people unload the weight they carry, even briefly. Sometimes, the most meaningful lessons don’t come from textbooks, but from shared vulnerability and understanding. Until balance becomes accessible rather than aspirational, burnout may remain familiar—but empathy, reflection, and human connection can still serve as small anchors, reminding us that we’re not navigating this exhaustion alone.