The bill arrived at our table last Sunday. RM740 for five people at a Korean BBQ place in Sunway. My older brother reached for his phone, not his wallet.

I reached for mine. This is how it always goes when I’m home. The bill comes, there’s a pause, and then everyone just assumes I’ll handle it. I work abroad, my salary converts to RM17,000 when they do the maths in their heads, so I can afford to fund every family gathering during my two weeks home.

What they don’t think about is that I took the 6-hour bus from Singapore instead of flying. Saved RM200 on transport because I knew I’d be paying for dinners like this all week.

What Happened To “How Are You”?

I work as a banking analyst in Singapore and I’ve been here for three years. My salary is SGD 5,000 (around RM15,000) a month, which sounds impressive until you factor in that my rent alone is SGD 2,000. After tax, bills, and groceries, I’m left with about SGD 1,500 for everything else.

But my family hears “SGD 5,000” and converts it straight to ringgit. In their minds, I’m rich.

My older brother works in tech sales in KL. Drives a newer car, lives in a Mont Kiara condo. You know the type. His salary is probably RM8,000 to RM10,000, maybe more. 

But when I’m home and the bill comes, everyone looks at me. Nobody asks how I’m doing, how work is, if I’m settling in okay. Just straight to assuming I’ll pay because I’m the one who “made it” by working abroad.

The Dinner Where I Realised There’s No Hope

A few months ago, I was home for a long weekend for my younger sister’s birthday. We went to an Italian place in Bangsar. 

Before we ordered, my brother mentioned he’d just gotten his mid-year bonus. So I thought maybe this time, it would be different. Maybe he’d offer to split the bill, or cover it entirely since it’s our little sister’s birthday.

But surprise, surprise. The bill came to RM640 for five people. I paid, and nobody offered to split or suggested someone else could cover it. Not even my brother with his fresh bonus. Just the usual “thanks ah” and we moved on.

That’s when I realised: if he won’t help for our own sister’s birthday when he literally just got his bonus, he’s never going to help. And my parents let him. There’s no occasion special enough, no amount high enough. It’s always going to be me.

The Christmas Trip Home I’ve Been Dreading

I’m home for two weeks over Christmas and New Year. My mom’s already planned three family dinners. My aunt suggested another for New Year’s Eve since my cousin’s birthday falls somewhere in between.

I did the maths before I even booked my bus ticket. Five family dinners, probably RM600 to RM800 each depending on where we go and what people order. That’s RM3,000 to RM4,000. More than two months of my Singapore rent. More than I spend on food for myself in three months.

When you work abroad, your family is proud of you. But that pride comes with assumptions. “You’re doing so well in Singapore” somehow means you should take care of everyone when you’re back. “We only see you a few times a year” becomes justification for expensive dinners I’m expected to fund. “Let’s make the most of your time home” translates to multiple gatherings that drain my bank account.

I know the pattern. I know it needs to change. But I still can’t bring myself to say it.

The Scripts I have In My Head

I need to start with my brother. Talk to him privately, not during dinner or in front of everyone. Tell him I can’t keep doing this because I’m still building my career, still saving, and still paying off debt.

But part of me knows I should address the whole family too. The way everyone just assumes I’ll handle it, the way my parents never say anything.

I’ve drafted different versions:

“Can you start covering some of these dinners? The cost is adding up and I’m still trying to save.”

“Hey everyone, can we rotate who pays? Cost of living in Singapore is actually really high.”

“I took the bus to save money. I really can’t keep covering every meal when I’m home.”

I haven’t sent any of them…

Before I Book My Next Trip Home

Chinese New Year is in two months. Multiple reunion dinners, ang pow for younger cousins, probably some family outing someone will suggest. 

I’ll probably take the bus again. But this time, I’m setting a boundary for myself. Either I speak up or I stop coming home as often. 

---

Do you deal with this when visiting family? How do you handle expectations when people assume you earn more?