This story is about a Malaysian woman who grew up with less, and how even as an adult, the weight of frugality still shapes how she sees money, belonging, and office culture.
I didn’t grow up with much. No silver spoon, no family business waiting for me. Just the typical Malaysian life route which is to study hard, graduate, and pray that whatever job you land can pay the bills.
So when I finally started working, every ringgit mattered. Until today, I still calculate before ordering food, I still compare prices before buying shampoo. Some people say I’m kedekut. But I know I’m not – I just know what it’s like to have less.
That’s why, even now as a working adult, I always feel out of place when money gets thrown around casually in the office.
The RM50 Gift That Stressed Me Out
One memory still makes me cringe when I think about it: our office Christmas gift exchange.
The budget was set at RM50 minimum. At first, I just stared at the email. RM50 might be nothing to some people, but to me, it’s half a week’s groceries. It’s a whole month’s worth of train rides. It’s literally five packets of nasi campur at the office canteen, with ayam goreng and sayur.
But I didn’t want to be the odd one out. So I told myself, okay lah, once a year, just do it.
I went to the mall and picked out a Starbucks gift card (because honestly, who doesn’t like coffee?) and a decent-quality Tupperware. Not the pasar malam kind, but a sturdy one I thought anyone could use. I even felt proud of it – practical, thoughtful, useful. The kind of gift I would actually want to receive.
Dinner with a Side of Class Divide
When the day came, we all gathered at this “nice” restaurant. The kind of place I would never step into on my own, with chandeliers above and waiters who refill your water before you even realise it’s empty. Nobody said anything about how the bill would be split, but deep down, I already knew what was coming.
When it came to ordering, the difference was glaring. The seniors happily ordered mains, appetisers, and wine without even glancing at the prices.
Us juniors? We looked at each other, then quietly shared one main between three.
I remember looking at the table – it was like a mirror of class differences. One side overflowing with steak and pasta, the other side scraping together, trying not to look too obvious while calculating if we could still afford Grab home later.
The Gift That Wasn’t Enough
Then came the gift exchange.
One by one, people unwrapped theirs. Some smiles looked genuine, others felt forced. Then it was my gift’s turn. A senior opened it, took one look, and muttered, though it wasn’t loud but most people on the table heard it: “What the hell is this?”
The words stung more than I expected. My face went hot.
I wanted to shrink into the chair. Because while my gift wasn’t extravagant, it wasn’t “cheap” either. It came from the little I had. But at that moment, it felt like it wasn’t enough.
I glanced at the other junior staff. Their gifts weren’t any fancier, but somehow I was the one being called out. I laughed it off, but inside, I felt small. Invisible.
“Desserts on Me!” (But Not Really)
And then, in a twist of irony, one of the bosses stood up and cheerfully announced, “Desserts on me!”
Everyone laughed, ordered cakes and ice cream, and for a brief moment, the mood lightened. I thought maybe things weren’t so bad.
But when the final bill came, they asked us to split it anyway.
That was the part that really broke me. We didn’t plan this. We didn’t ask for it. Yet somehow, we were made to carry the weight – financially and emotionally.
Why It Hurt So Much
That night, I went home and thought about it more than I should’ve. Why did it hurt so much? Maybe because it wasn’t just about the money. It was about being reminded, once again, that not everyone starts from the same place.
That while some people can spend RM50 without blinking, for others it means eating Gardenia bread for the next few days just to cover the gap.
And in the office, nobody sees that. They just see a “stingy” junior who doesn’t play along.
The Truth About Frugality
Sometimes I wonder if being frugal makes me look small. But the truth is, for some of us, frugality isn’t a choice. It’s survival.
And the saddest part? It feels like no one even notices.
A Quiet Plea to Office Culture
Looking back, I don’t think my colleagues meant harm. Maybe they really thought desserts on the boss’s “treat” would make the night more fun. Maybe the senior who mocked my gift didn’t realise how sharp her words were.
But that’s the thing about privilege – it doesn’t always look cruel. Sometimes, it just looks careless.
I wish more people understood that not everyone has the same starting line. That for some of us, RM50 isn’t “nothing”. It’s a week of choices, a week of trade-offs.
So if you’re ever in a position to set a budget, plan an office dinner, or even open your mouth before judging someone’s gift – pause for a second. Think about the quieter ones at the table. The ones calculating in their head. The ones who laugh along, but go home feeling small.
Because kindness doesn’t always mean paying for the whole bill. Sometimes, it just means not making someone feel like they don’t belong.
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