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• Floating fish farms used to be a common sight along Singapore's coast.
• But now, their numbers are dwindling: As of October, there were 74 sea-based fish farms left, down from 98 in 2023.
• Local farmers say they face high operational costs and cheaper imports from regional competitors.

Once a week, Alvin Yeo hops onto a small, white skiff at Lim Chu Kang jetty and heads out to a farm on the water owned by his dad.

It's a breezy five-minute journey that takes him past dozens of similar floating farms along the Straits of Johor, which separates Singapore from the neighboring country of Malaysia.

Formed by interlocking planks held together with thick nails and buoyed by floating barrels, these platforms are living relics of the country's fishing village past.

The sun is harsh on most days, but the water is surprisingly calm, save for the waves created by the passing coastal guard boats patrolling the area. Towering apartment buildings loom in the background, a stark contrast to the weatherworn wooden platforms bobbing in the water.

Yeo's father — a former civil engineer — has been in the farming industry for almost 30 years, having started a fish farm in the '90s with his brother out of passion.

"My father is a hobbyist. He likes to rear fish," Yeo, 35, told Business Insider. "But he's not exactly a businessman, so the farm wasn't really making any money."

For small businesses like theirs, it's a constant struggle to stay afloat. Amid rising costs, environmental challenges, and a growing reluctance among younger generations to take on the demanding job, traditional farming in Singapore almost feels like a sunset industry.

Yeo is a rare exception.

Dwindling fish farm numbers

Around 2020, Yeo — a freelance musician — decided to join the trade. Together with his father, the duo separated from the original business to start Heng Heng Fish Farm.

Like most traditional farms, the fish are reared in open-net cages lowered directly into the sea.

While his father oversees the farm's day-to-day operations, Yeo mainly handles the business side of things.

Yeo is also trying to adopt more modern and sustainable techniques to their traditional farm, such as using solar panels for energy and introducing pelleted feed, which pollutes the water less than typical fish feed made from expired confectionary and other food by-products.

"I just felt that I needed to do it because I have feelings for the sea I grew up in. So I didn't want to see it just deteriorate as years go by," he said.

Much like street peddlers and traditional villages, the floating fish farms are a part of Singapore's cultural and economic identity that is rapidly disappearing as the city-state evolves past its fishing village origins.

The country's "kelongs" — offshore wooden platforms used to trap fish — used to be a common sight along the coast. The government stopped issuing new licenses in 1965.

Now, there are only four "kelongs" left in Singapore.

"With the dwindling catch from the wild and increasing cost of raw materials for maintenance of the 'kelong,' 'kelong' owners also saw the need to move toward fish farming as a viable commercial operation," the Singapore Food Agency, or SFA, told BI in a statement, adding that some of them have transitioned to coastal fish farms over the years.

Many locals still refer to these floating fish farms as "kelongs," even though they're not quite the same thing, Yeo said.

Fish farms are dwindling in numbers too, even as the resource-scarce country inches toward the deadline for its "30 by 30" goal — an initiative set by the Singapore government to be able to produce 30% of its nutritional needs by 2030.

Tough to beat prices from regional competitors

According to SFA data, there were 74 sea-based fish farms left in Singapore as of October, down from 98 at the end of 2023. This means about a quarter of these farms have shuttered in the past year.

Some farmers told the local paper The Straits Times that they had between June 2023 and June 2024 to take up a grant of 100,000 Singapore dollars, or $74,500, from the SFA to help them wind down operations. Those who had accepted the grant cited high costs, environmental conditions, and retirement as reasons for exiting the industry. The SFA did not share with BI the number of farmers who accepted the grant.

"To be competitive in the market, you have to be cheaper than imports. But it's hard to fight the cost of imports, especially from places like China, Indonesia, and Malaysia," Yeo said.

The cost of running a business in Singapore tends to be higher compared to neighboring countries, Kevin Cheong, an adjunct lecturer at the Singapore Management University who recently co-authored a study on sustainable fish farming in Singapore, told BI.

"Electricity costs, land costs, labor costs, all these things stack up against the consumer," Cheong said. "Primary production in Singapore, essentially agriculture, would be very challenging."

In Yeo's farm, the tilapia he grows can be harvested in six months. At the current scale of his production, he can harvest 12 batches of around 7,000 fish each in a year.

Since the floating farms are made from wood, their structure requires regular upkeep — and a metric ton of Chengal wood can cost up to SG$4,000, Yeo said.

"We don't really earn much. At the end of the day, it's just enough to keep the farm running," Yeo said.

A challenging environment

Beyond cost constraints, farmers are bogged down by the effects of the climate crisis.

Rising temperatures can lead to a higher incidence of disease outbreaks and algae blooms, Toh Tai Chong, a senior lecturer at the Reef Ecology Lab at the National University of Singapore, told BI.

Algae blooms are deadly for fish because they deplete the oxygen in the water and cause widespread fish death, he added.

"Open-pen sea-based farms are particularly susceptible because the fishes are reared in the natural environment, which is almost impossible to regulate," he said.

Farmers, in turn, have to grapple with worsening conditions.

"In my dad's era, fish didn't really have to be taken care of," Yeo said, gesturing at the bags of fish pellets behind him. "You could simply feed them till they got big, then sell them. But now, you have to feed and raise them."

Dean Jerry, an aquaculture professor who teaches at James Cook University's Singapore and Australian campuses, told BI that to cope with the changing environment, sea-based fish farmers have to rear more hardy species or invest in aquaculture technologies.

Many of these solutions are focused on closed-cage containment so farmers have more control over the environment, he said.

The challenge is compounded by the fact that most sea-based farms don't have mains power, he said. This means farmers will end up incurring extra costs installing diesel generators or solar panels to run these systems, he added.

"It's very, very costly to implement any sort of technological solutions because a lot of technological solutions will require power," he said.

The challenging nature of the job seems to have discouraged younger locals from stepping up to continue the trade.

Yeo, who only knows of one other farmer around his age, has two employees — a husband and wife duo from Myanmar who work and sleep on the floating farm.

"Local help is just impossible to get," he said.

Efforts to stay afloat

To help farmers sustain their businesses, the local government has stepped in with plans to overhaul the aquaculture sector.

In November, the government announced its Singapore Aquaculture Plan. Some new initiatives include increasing the supply of locally produced, genetically superior eggs and facilitating the exports of local fish to China.

"Our fish farms, as part of local production, cushion us from overseas supply disruptions and complement our efforts to diversify import sources of seafood," said Damian Chan, the CEO of SFA, per a media release.

The SFA told BI in a statement that farmers who are keen to increase their farms' productivity can rely on the SFA for advice and funding support for technology adoption.

On the other hand, the Singapore government will support those who choose to exit the industry by providing job-matching and training initiatives, it said.

Despite uncertainties about the aquaculture industry, some young farmers are finding alternate ways to stay afloat. Wong Jing Kai, who left his marketing job a decade ago to run Ah Hua Kelong, is one of them.

"Farming is considered a sunset industry," said Wong, 35. "Nobody wants to do it. So I'm like, if people don't do, I'll do it then."

But instead of being a wholesaler and pitting himself against more competitive imports, Wong opened Scaled — a seafood restaurant — and a fish soup hawker stall, to move his fish stock.

He can support his farm by supplying his own fish to his eateries, he said. "My plan is to have five fish soup stores and three to four restaurants on land. Then, I think we're more or less covered," he said.

Others, like Yeo, believe that the industry will survive as long as local consumers become more receptive to eating local fish.

"Of course, I hope to grow the business and be in this industry for a long time," he said. He hopes to have a high-tech fish farm one day — ideally on land, where conditions are less unpredictable.

"I take each day as it comes," he added.

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• Deborah and Jason Brawn bought an abandoned house in rural Japan for about $23,000 in 2023.
• The Australian couple plan to restore the property in the coming years as they transition into retirement.
• They say that integrating into the local community is a crucial part of being a homeowner in Japan.

Deborah and Jason Brawn's shared dream was to buy a house in Japan.

The couple — from Brisbane, Australia — had long been interested in Japanese culture and its way of life, having visited the country multiple times over the years.

In 2023, they finally decided to take the plunge. With their four kids all grown up, they were soon-to-be empty nesters — it was now or never to follow their dreams.

"We knew that Japan had an issue with akiya, and because we really love the Japanese lifestyle, the people, the culture, and the old traditional houses, we thought, why not?" Jason, 51, told Business Insider. "Everyone else seemed to be following their dreams. Why can't we?"

A lifelong connection to Japan

The couple's love affair with Japan started with Deborah, who studied Japanese at university in the '90s. After graduation, she moved to Tokyo for five years, where she worked as an English teacher. For three decades, she also practiced karate.

Her love for Japan eventually rubbed off on Jason.

However, it was during the pandemic that the couple first learned about akiya, or abandoned houses, in Japan.

Due to the shrinking population and internal migration toward cities, there are millions of unoccupied houses in rural Japanese towns.

In recent years, the Japanese government started offering incentives — such as renovation subsidies and even free properties — in an effort to lure residents to these "ghost towns."

"I'd actually looked at foreclosed properties years and years ago, wanting to buy a property in Japan before the word 'akiya' had become popular. But I was in a position where I had young children," Deborah, 52, told BI.

Now that their youngest is 18, it made sense for the couple to start planning for the next stage of their lives, including retirement. That's where buying an akiya comes in.

"We wanted a project. Like the word 'ikigai,' we wanted to be able to get up and say, that's our passion now. We've raised kids, we want to go there as much as we can and just tinker," Deborah, a business analyst, said.

However, since Japan's borders were still closed at the time, the couple did most of their initial research online. They joined Facebook groups and spoke to like-minded people to learn more about the process.

They knew they wanted to be outside the city and close to nature. While browsing online listings, they put together a list of potential houses they wanted to see in person once travel resumed.

"We were sort of matching them against what we are looking for — something old, very traditional," Jason, a construction workplace health and safety inspector, said.

In November 2022, after the borders opened, they jumped on a plane to Japan for a quick visit.

In April 2023, they returned to the country for a six-week trip, where they drove around and looked at all the houses on their list.

It was in Mitocho, a small town near Masuda city, where they found the perfect akiya — a traditional Japanese house constructed in 1868, during the Meiji era. Masuda city is about a two-hour drive from Hiroshima, and a 90-minute flight from Tokyo.

"We drove over there, and when we saw it, we just knew that was the one, and we didn't look anymore after that," Deborah said.

The property had been vacant for 12 years before they came along. The couple was told it had served as a sake brewery until the early 1900s.

In order to inspect the property, they had to fill out a couple of forms for the local akiya bank. An akiya bank is a database maintained by the local municipalities for abandoned or vacant houses.

"They were very serious," Deborah said. "It was all in Japanese. We had to fill out a form with all our details, our families, what we do for a job, all that stuff. And then another form about our intentions and what we want to do with the house."

A retirement project

The couple paid 3.5 million Japanese yen, or $23,000, for the akiya in August 2023.

It was a 7LDK, which in Japanese housing terminology means that the house has seven bedrooms, a living room, a dining area, and a kitchen.

There are about 300 houses in their village, and their akiya is situated along a street leading to the community center. There's also a 7-11 across the rice field from their akiya.

So far, the couple has fixed up the front of the house by tidying up the garden, as well as adding a new gravel driveway and car park. They've also restored the kitchen, and gotten rid of the old toilet in favor of a modern bathroom.

"The intent is to bring the house back to its former glory with one or two modern touches," Jason said.

While they were prepared for the challenges of fixing up the old house, they were surprised by the amount of wildlife they encountered, including both spiders and snakes.

"And we've got monkeys, we've got centipedes, we've got bears, and killer hornets too. I was chased by one inside the house, so that was really scary — even though it makes a funny story now," Deborah said.

The language barrier was also a bit of a challenge for Jason, even though he's taking Japanese classes now.

"I can't really speak Japanese, whereas Deb can. So it puts a lot of pressure on her too," Jason said. "It's not like being in Tokyo or Kyoto where a lot of Japanese speak English."

The couple expects to spend the next few years chipping away at this project. They have also started documenting their restoration progress on their YouTube channel.

"We've got no urgent timeframe, and we're not trying to make money out of the property. We don't want to Airbnb it or anything like that. This is for us," Deborah said.

The couple still lives primarily in Brisbane, where their jobs are based. They plan to continue splitting their time between Japan and Australia until they fully retire in "hopefully five to eight years," Deborah said.

Integrating into the local community

When they're back in Australia, the akiya sits empty, but Jason said they've installed cameras around the property so they can monitor the yard.

The couple has also become friends with the real-estate agent who handled their akiya transaction — so much so that he even drives by their property once a week just to check on it on their behalf.

Building relationships with their neighbors and the wider community has been the key to the success of their akiya project.

"We've got a good support network there, but that doesn't just come along. You've got to work at that," Deborah said.

She added that they've been involved in the local community since day one, and even joined the neighborhood association.

In fact, the couple says that participating in the local community is one of the most important aspects of buying an akiya in Japan.

It's also why the local akiya bank was so invested in knowing why the couple wanted to buy the property, Jason said.

In recent years, foreigners have been snapping up these old, abandoned homes, in part due to the low price tags and the lack of restrictions on foreigners purchasing property in Japan. For many of them, it's more affordable to own an akiya in Japan than to own real estate in their home countries.

"In most cases potential buyers are asked their intentions before attending a viewing or submitting an application," Alex Shapiro, the cofounder of Blackship Realty, a Tokyo-based real-estate agency, told BI.

The local municipal governments may prioritize potential buyers who intend to live there, contribute to the local community, and pay local government taxes, he said.

However, each local government sets its own rules, Sami Senoussi, the cofounder of Akiya Heaven, which offers consulting services for akiya purchases, told BI.

"Some rural communities, especially those with aging populations, impose stricter guidelines in an effort to preserve the character and culture of their towns," he said. In more urban areas, including Tokyo, it's less common, he added.

Additionally, potential buyers may also be asked to demonstrate that they have the financial capacity to fund the renovations, especially if the akiya in question requires significant repairs, he said.

Indeed, while buying an akiya may be relatively affordable, the cost of fixing the house up can balloon quickly, Jason said.

"There's a lot of time, effort, and money that needs to go into them. And commitment — you can't just turn up in the community and play no part. You've got to put an equal amount of time into the house as much as you've got to put it into the community, and forge those relationships," he added.

Have you recently relocated to a new country and found your dream home? If you have a story to share, contact this reporter at [email protected].

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