This is a story of a Malaysian guy who believed hard work and gratitude were enough until he discovered that his boss’s ‘kindness’ had a hidden price.
The struggle of looking ‘professional’ when you’re broke
When I first joined this company, I was just two years out of uni, still figuring out how to become an adult properly.
My wardrobe? Nothing fancy. A few collared shirts from Padini sale racks, one pair of black slacks that had started to fade a bit and shoes I’d been wearing since my internship. I didn’t think much of it. After all, I was there to work and my work is certainly not related to the fashion industry.
But my boss, Ms. C, clearly had other ideas.
She’d glance at me during meetings and comment in that half-joking, half-serious tone:
“Eh, you wear this shirt again ah? Next time try something more formal lah.”
At first, I laughed it off. Malaysian bosses like to tease, right? But over time, her comments piled up:
“Your pants a bit casual for work.”
“You don’t iron your shirt ah?”
“Next time we have client meeting, don’t wear this colour, not professional.”
I tried to explain that I was making barely enough to cover rent, groceries and my student loan. But she just brushed it off with a smile and said,
“Iinvest in yourself a bit lah. You’ll look more successful that way.”
I wanted to scream, “I barely afford My50 topup this month, what success are you talking about?”
“Go make a proper suit, I’ll pay first”
Then one day, she dropped a bomb.
We were going to have a big meeting with shareholders. It’s the kind where everyone dresses like they’re about to sell a company for RM10 million. Ms. C pulled me aside and said,
“You need to get a proper suit. Not like your usual one. Tailor-made, okay?”
I froze.
A tailor-made suit? I didn’t even have enough for a Uniqlo one.
I tried to tell her nicely, “I really can’t afford that right now,” but she just waved her hand.
“Never mind lah, I give you some money first. You go make one. I insist.”
I was hesitant as I didn’t want to owe anyone, especially not my boss. But she was very insistent and honestly, I didn’t want to seem ungrateful or unprofessional.
So I gave in.
She transferred RM1,000 to my account and told me to go to her friend’s tailor. “He’ll do a good job for you,” she said proudly.
The tailor measured me, picked the fabric, and within two weeks, I had a suit that actually made me look like I had my life together.
When I wore it for the first time, Ms. C looked genuinely pleased. “See? So handsome now. I told you must dress up.”
At that time, I actually felt thankful. I thought maybe she really believed in me, that this was her way of helping me grow.
Reality check: ‘Help’ with strings attached
The meeting went well, and work continued as usual. I worked late, met deadlines and handled clients. I thought I was doing fine.
But as months went by, I started to feel burned out. My workload kept increasing but my salary stayed the same. When I brought up the topic of a salary increment, Ms. C laughed and said,
“Your pay already high for your age. You just graduated two years ago only. You should be grateful already.”
Then she started to use my “suit” against me.
“I gave you RM1,000 for that suit, remember? I even belanja you makan sometimes. You still not happy?”
It felt like every “nice” thing she’d ever done for me suddenly became a debt I had to repay through my silence.
She’d say it with a smile, but the message was clear: I helped you, so don’t ask for more.
I started to dread going to work. I didn’t even want to wear that suit anymore. Every time I put it on, I’d think of how it was supposed to make me feel confident but instead reminded me how small I felt.
The breaking point
One day, after yet another passive-aggressive remark about my “attitude,” I realised I couldn’t keep doing this.
I started applying for jobs quietly. I wasn’t even looking for something double the pay. I just wanted peace and more money please, dear God.
And after a few interviews, I finally got an offer. Better pay, better hours and most importantly, a boss who didn’t care what brand of shirt I wore.
When I told Ms. C I was resigning, she looked at me, totally expressionless.
“Alright,” she said. “But before you go, you’ll need to pay back the RM1,000 for the suit.”
I blinked. “Wait, what? Why would I need to pay that back?”
“Because that was an investment. I invested in you. Now you’re leaving before I get any returns, so it’s only fair.”
I swear, I thought she was joking. But she wasn’t. She actually expected me to repay that money.
“It’s not in the contract, boss.”
I went back to check my employment contract, just to be sure – nothing. No mention of any bond, loan, or reimbursement clause.
So I told her calmly, “It’s not in the contract, so I don’t think I’m obligated to pay it back.”
Her face changed instantly. From calm to cold.
“I really thought you were different,” she said. “I gave you chances, I helped you, I even gave you money, but this is how you repay me?”
That sentence hit me hard. Not because I felt guilty, but because it confirmed what I already suspected. Her “help” was never help. It was control.
She wanted me to feel indebted so that I’d never leave.
I chose to leave anyway
So I did. I left.
The day I walked out of that office for the last time, I felt a mix of fear and relief. Fear of the unknown but relief that I was finally free from her emotional manipulation.
A week later, she texted me again:
“Don’t forget about the RM1,000.”
I didn’t reply.
That suit is still hanging in my wardrobe, a reminder of how easily a simple act of “generosity” can turn into a weapon.
The lesson: Kindness with conditions isn’t kindness
I used to think that in the working world, loyalty and gratitude meant staying no matter what. But I’ve learned that it’s okay to walk away, especially when someone uses “help” to make you feel small.
If you’ve ever been made to feel guilty for wanting fair pay or for leaving a toxic environment, just remember:
You don’t owe anyone your peace of mind.
So yeah, this is the story of a Malaysian guy who learned that not every boss who helps you is doing it out of kindness.
Sometimes, they’re just buying your silence and the best thing you can do is chau before they start charging you interest.
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