The debt we don’t talk about

THERE'S an unspoken rule in Malaysia: You don’t ask people about their age, their salary and apparently... your money back.

Over the years, I’ve found myself witnessing a strange pattern among family, friends and colleagues. The people who borrow money and never pay it back are often the ones who end up thriving in life.

They climb the corporate ladder, renovate their homes, collect passports filled with airport stamps, while their creditors quietly tighten their belts and "move on."

But do they really move on?

Let me start with someone I knew.

She had a habit of borrowing money — RM100 here, RM200 there and sometimes even thousands from colleagues and friends. She was very convincing in the moment, with her urgent tone and the familiar promise of "I’ll pay you back later."

Yet, no one saw a single sen again.

One day, almost like something out of a Malay drama, she quietly disappeared. And the next thing we knew, she was taking on leadership roles in organisations and being celebrated like a rising star in her field.

Meanwhile, the colleagues she owed money to? Doing fine, but certainly not living the LinkedIn-glam life she was. And she acts like the debts never existed.

Then there’s another person I know, now prospering with a shiny career and even shinier cars. Family vacations, fancy restaurants, gifts for the kids, living the dream. Except… he once made a purchase worth over RM5,000 using his friend's credit card, likely out of urgent need.

The friend waited. And waited. And asked, gently, awkwardly and finally desperately, but was met with replies like, "nanti lah aku settle," followed by months and months of… nothing.

That friend? Not doing half as well today. But he carries the invisible emotional tax of being dismissed by someone he trusted.

Closer to home, my late father had once lent a huge amount of money to help a relative start a business. The business? It thrived, new cars, new everything. But the debt? Still outstanding, years later.

And then, of course, there’s my own story.

I once lent a friend thousands of ringgit when they were going through a tough time. I gave without thinking twice. But when it came time for the repayment, suddenly every text message of mine felt like a job application.

I had to "follow up," "remind," "check in," "double confirm." It felt as though I was the one borrowing the money.

And when I finally got it back (most of it), the person acted like the entire ordeal never happened. No apology, no reflection.

So why does this keep happening? Why do borrowers forget and lenders remember?

After observing these patterns up close, I’ve realised something uncomfortable.

Borrowing from someone you know feels like it's "interest-free." No contracts, no reminders, no deadlines. To them, it’s not a loan. It’s a favour. And favours don’t have due dates.

Success gives people confidence, but does it also give them selective memory?

When life gets better, money owed can feel insignificant to the borrower. To the lender, however, it remains heavy because it came from a place of sacrifice.

The borrowers rarely feel guilty unless reminded, whereas lenders feel like they are being rude or petty for asking for what is literally theirs.

Maybe the mistake wasn’t lending the money. Lending is an act of care. But perhaps, we didn’t set boundaries, we didn’t verbalise expectations, we trusted too much. We also assumed they carried the same weight of responsibility we did.

It makes you wonder, why do some people treat borrowed money from family and friends as if it isn’t a responsibility?

Is it carelessness? entitlement? or something else entirely?

And more importantly, what does it say about the lenders when we allow it to happen, feeling awkward or ashamed for simply asking for what's ours?

People who don’t pay back aren’t forgetful. Maybe they don’t prioritise the debt because the relationship absorbs the discomfort for them.

Meanwhile, the lender absorbs the loss. So where does that leave us?

Not jaded, but wiser. Not stingy, but less naive. And perhaps with a new golden rule: If someone’s lifestyle thrives while their debt to you doesn’t, your generosity wasn’t the issue; their integrity was.

And that, I think, is the quiet heartbreak many of us carry.