This story is about how a M’sian couple found themselves saying yes to an exorbitant cross-country wedding, warning others not to make the same mistake.
When I tell people I took out a six-figure loan for my wedding, they assume palaces, designer gowns, Armani tuxedos, and a multi-country honeymoon. Get married in a palace, her in a designer gown, me in a tux from Armani, complete with a once in a lifetime multi-destination honeymoon.
Sadly, it wasn’t for us. Really. That loan, the weddings were not for us. Really, it was for them. The families. The aunties. The uncles. The cultures. The expectations.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, we–newlyweds–got lost.
RM200K Loan, Three Weddings — And None Were Really Ours
One wedding reception? Please. We were unfortunate enough to have three: One in Switzerland, one in Hong Kong, and one in Malaysia — because our families couldn’t agree on anything… except that everything needed to be done separately. That, ironically, was the only common ground between both mother-in-laws and various other relatives.
My wife is Swiss. I’m Malaysian-Chinese. On paper, we were a modern, well-adjusted couple who thought love could transcend culture. In practice, we were on a diplomatic wedding mission dressed for Wawasan 2020.
What started as a plan to have a small, heartfelt ceremony quickly snowballed into a logistical hellscape. Menu tastings across time zones. Venue negotiations in three currencies.
Her family needed wine pairings. Mine needed auspicious table placements. My wife needed one, maybe three cheongsams — and at least two wedding dresses. And everyone needed to be happy — except us.
Somewhere between the third dress fitting and the fourth round of ang pow negotiations, I realised this wasn’t about us anymore.
RM200,000: No Receipts, Only Regret
I took a personal loan from the bank for RM200,000. Not for a house. Not for a car.
Just to keep everyone smiling long enough to get through the final photo. Here’s how it went roughly:
- Flights, visas, and hotels — for us, both sets of parents, and in-laws in between.
- Multiple cheongsams, suits, dresses, outfits, shoes. Because different sides, different customs.
- A 9-course dinner at the Beau-Rivage Palace in Lausanne — her side’s version of “simple elegance.”
- A Banquet at the Mandarin Oriental in Hong Kong — with an auntie rearranging the flowers and tables for optimal feng shui.
- A Swiss uncle whispered, “The duck is exquisite, but where’s the Burgundy?” during a three-hour meal.
- Meanwhile, a Hong Kong Tai-Tai auntie loudly complained the steamed fish was “overcooked and facing the wrong direction.”
That was the moment I knew. This wasn’t a wedding. It was a three ring circus starring “the newlyweds” as the uncredited stars of the show.
And when the curtain finally fell on three full-scale productions, there was no standing ovation. In fact, the audiences barely applauded and there was just a pile of bills.
The Cost and The Aftermath
You’d think that was the hard part. It wasn’t. Counting the cost was part of the greater aftermath. The week after, I looked at the final figures. No joy. No nostalgia. Just relief — and a quiet thank you to both God and Yue Lao (Chinese God of Marriage) that it was finally over…
That’s when it hit me: the “happiest day” of our lives? Not even close. The happiest day was yet to come — if we survived this.
There were fights, of course. Planning arguments. Budget arguments. Silent tension.
But the hardest moment was showing my new wife the loan statement and explaining, line by line, how deep we were.
She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Then she looked at me and said, “I’m sorry.” To be fair, I apologized too – and we stayed together.
A Marriage That Started in the Red
We didn’t start our marriage with a honeymoon. We started with a monthly repayment plan. Every ringgit felt like a reminder of what we gave up to make everyone else happy.
We had to grow up, fast. We had to be honest, fast. No more illusions.
The irony? That quiet, mutual resentment — the shared exhaustion — brought us closer. We didn’t bond because of the weddings. We bonded despite them, and grew closer as a couple as we cleared it in five years — mostly fueled by Maggi mee, five nights a week.
What I Learned About Family and Boundaries
I used to think family was everything, but now I know that not everyone who shares your blood deserves access to your wallet or your peace of mind. Now I think family are the ones who don’t demand everything.
I didn’t cut anyone off. I didn’t need to. I just learned to draw boundaries. The people who really love you will respect them. The ones who don’t? They’ll poke, prod, test — and reveal themselves in the process. And then they get cut off.
My wife understands and she carries her own quiet anger, at herself, at her family and mine. Not loudly, but it’s there. And weirdly, that made us stronger. There’s solidarity in the anger and scars that we earned and healed together.
Would I Do It Again…?
Would I still marry her? Yes. Would I do that “wedding” again? Absolutely not. We’ve talked about it, when we renew our vows. Probably forty people, maximum fifty depending on what global crisis is going on and how many can fit at one table.
The one celebration will take place in whatever country we are in. Something we’ll remember — not something we’ll regret.
No grand banquet. No production. It’s, “Come or don’t come.” This was never just about money. It was about pressure. About identity.
About learning when to say “enough” because the wedding is one day. Marriage is the rest of your lives. Choose the right one. If you can’t? Then you’re not ready to get married.
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