The question I always get
Every time I cross back into Selangor after moving back to Ipoh, friends and former colleagues ask me the same question: “So… where are you working now?” It’s not, “long time no see! How are you?” or “How are you doing?”
I always hesitate before answering, because I know however I answer it, it will be misunderstood. I settled on the vague answer that “I moved home.” People assume that something… bad or unpleasant happened to me or someone I care about. The most common question is whether I was laid off.
Most of the time, I just smile and shake my head because nobody believes me when I say, “I chose to move.”
A series of firsts
My parents were very proud of me when I was the first in the family to graduate from university, earning a degree in Applied Computer Science from UiTM Perak. I decided to head to the “big city” of Kuala Lumpur because I believed that was where my career would be.
My first home was an apartment with three other housemates, and of course there was my first job, and first salary. I felt like I’d made a strong start in life.
The first trip home after getting paid felt like a true milestone: I came with small gifts for my parents. I insisted on paying for dinner, even though my father kept reaching for the bill. It wasn’t an expensive meal, but walking out knowing I’d paid for my parents for the first time made me feel like I’d finally become an adult.
Life was exciting and hard work paid off as I built the life I thought I wanted. I got multiple promotions. A better apartment. Bought my first car. I got a gym membership. Then a coffee club subscription. Foodpanda Pro and Grab Platinum.
Everyone back home said “Walao! You’ve made it.”
From life to logistics
Somewhere along the way, life became a logistical plan: Wake. Coffee. Traffic. Office. Traffic. Gym. Dinner. Gaming or Netflix. Sleep. Repeat. Friends became calendar appointments. Seeing my parents became video calls instead of visits. Birthdays became emojis. Weekends were about recovery from work. It was suddenly the logistics of existing. Not living life.
I was content with existing because the money was good. I could send money home every month. My parents never had to worry about bills or repairs or replacing something because I could afford it. I convinced myself that was reason enough to continue.
Over my decade in KL, going home monthly became going home once every two months, then three. Work got busier and then visiting every six months started feeling normal. Every time I left, Mum would ask when I’d be back and my answer became less certain.
Home started measuring time differently
Chinese New Year arrived and my parents spent days preparing because “our son is coming home.” Mum cooks everything I’d loved since I was a kid. Papa tells the neighbours I’ll be back for the holidays.
I arrive on Friday night. I’m supposed to leave on Sunday afternoon. Even while sitting in the living room, my laptop is open. Slack notifications keep appearing. I answer emails between meals. I take one work call in my old bedroom while my relatives chat outside.
Nobody complained or stopped me from working. On Sunday morning, Mum starts packing food. Just like she always does. Chinese New Year cookies. Her hainanese chicken rice. Fried rice. Containers keep appearing on the dining table.
She smiles. “Take more.”
I laugh. “Mum, my freezer isn’t that big.”
Then she says something so ordinary that I barely notice it at first. “Never mind. Next month I’ll cook again.”
I look at her and realise… I’m not coming home next month. Probably not the month after that either. All I manage is… “Maybe.”
The drive back to Kuala Lumpur feels unusually quiet. I’d just passed Tanjung Malin when I realized that Mum is still measuring months. I’m measuring quarters.
My parents stopped expecting me
Life went on. Work projects grew with promotion and salary to match. My visits were less frequent, and shorter. My parents stop asking, “When are you coming home?” Instead they ask, “Tell us early so Mum knows what to cook.”
Without saying it out loud, they’ve reorganised their lives around the fact that I’m rarely there. When I rejected a call from Mum and sent a message “Will call later.” It was two hours later when I finally called. Mum laughed and said “Oh… nothing important. I just wanted to ask if you still liked the pineapple tarts. I’m making them this weekend.”
She simply wanted to know whether she should bake my favourite biscuits. I couldn’t spare two minutes. That night, lying in bed, I started doing maths in my head. If I only come home three or four times a year. How many visits is that over the years my parents have left?
Money solves a lot of problems but won’t buy another visit once the opportunity is gone. That thought didn’t disappear. It followed me for months. I had wanted the big city life. I’d lived it, enjoyed it and realized it wasn’t the life I wanted forever.
I stopped asking myself whether I can afford to move home. I started asking whether I can afford not to.
The decision nobody understood
I found an available remote lower-level role and requested an internal transfer. It took a few months to arrange, but once it was confirmed, I went home to visit my parents, and told them, “I’m coming home. To Ipoh. Can I stay for a while, till I get my own place?”
My parents were confused, then they assumed the worst. Then I explained, perhaps badly, that I wanted to be closer to them. To home. They were confused again, but said, “Of course. Your room is here.”
My salary dropped 40%. My colleagues thought I was crazy. My friends didn’t understand, calling it career suicide. Some predicted I’d be back in a year or two because I’d get bored. Some thought I had cracked under the pressure and burned out.
The first remote morning
My eyes snapped open. It was dark and silent, no traffic outside. It took a moment to remember: This was Ipoh not KL. There was no 6am gym session. I got out of bed, showered, got dressed and went for a walk.
It was surreal. I walked streets I knew and remembered from my childhood. I found myself smiling as I walked past my primary school, three streets away. It was the familiar, welcoming silence of a comfortable home.
When I reached home at 6:15am, Papa was sipping coffee on the veranda. There was a second cup next to his. I took it. We didn’t say anything. I could hear Mum in the kitchen, making breakfast. It was strange, being home. Mum asked me if I would be home for lunch with a smile. And I laughed for the first time in months, and it was real.
Success started looking different: Regular meals with my parents. A phone I could ignore when work called late at night and on weekends. I reconnected with the pasar pagi sellers and the neighbors I had known as a child.
My salary had already dropped 40% when I transferred home. After a year, I was made redundant, and still chose Ipoh. I found a new job that paid better – 80% of my KL salary – but I had to drive to the office twice a week. I didn’t mind: The drive is ten minutes each way on a bad day, instead of the daily ninety minute roundtrip in KL.
I don’t ration my mother’s cooking anymore in various bekals to take back to KL because I have dinner with them two or three times a week. I actually have evenings to do things – whether it’s a movie, the gym, gaming or just Netflix. These are the luxuries that feel bigger than the promotions and paychecks I once celebrated.
When friends visit from KL
I’ve now been back in Ipoh for about five years. Friends who visit are often surprised by how much more relaxed I seem. My friends earn more than I do, but I’m the relaxed one. Sure I miss the bookstores, the late-night mamaks with friends. I do miss the nightlife of the big city.
I still visit KL. Sometimes to meet clients. Sometimes to meet friends. I still enjoy the city. Dinner with my parents used to be something I’d schedule between meetings. Today it’s a message from Papa, saying, “Mum making wanton mee. Come for dinner and help me trim the mango tree.”
Going to Kuala Lumpur as a fresh graduate gave me so much. The most important thing it gave me was the confidence to know that I could leave.
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Read also: ‘I gave up my family to pursue my dreams’ Shares 34 YO M’sian woman – In Real Life
https://inreallife.my/i-gave-up-my-family-to-pursue-my-dreams-shares-34-yo-msian-woman/
‘I gave up my family to pursue my dreams’ Shares 34 YO M’sian woman
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