by AKPK
One woman’s journey through debt, redemption, and the hard lessons of credit.
It was a quiet, serene, misty November morning. The air hung heavy, thick and clammy against her skin, the smell of damp earth rising from the ground. The gentle morning breeze whispered through leaves, rustling branches. A sliver of orange peeked over the horizon, stretching her shadow long and lonely across the turf, a silent witness to her solitude.
She stood there – alone and hurt – in between two large stone curbs that have weathered under years of rain and sun. The smell of ashes was a constant reminder of what might have been.
At 42, Mei thought she had it all: a stable job in sales, a comfortable suburban home, and a nest egg that she and her husband had painstakingly built over fifteen years. But just five years later, Mei found herself standing in a credit advisory agency’s crowded reception area – drowning in debt, stripped of her life savings, and desperate for a way out. Her story mirrors the lives of countless individuals drowning in credit card debt, trapped between the shimmering promises of financial freedom and the stark realities of repayment.
Mei’s downfall began innocently enough. “It was small at first,” she recalls. “A credit card to cover tuition fees. Another for a family vacation. Then another for unexpected medical bills.”
Each new card seemed like a lifeline – until the lifelines tangled into a noose. When she had her first credit card, it symbolised aspiration and whispered of freedom – the ability to dine out, travel, and smooth over life’s uneven patches. But for many, especially in the age of rising living costs and stagnant wages, credit has become less of a tool and more of a trap.
Over-indebtedness rarely begins with reckless spending. It creeps in through student loans, job loss, medical bills, rent increases, big weddings, divorce – the cracks of modern life into which credit seeps, offering short-term relief and long-term strain. Mei juggled six credit cards, all near their limits. “It was a slow-motion collapse,” she says. “We liquidated our savings trying to stay afloat. We even borrowed against our retirement funds. But it was like trying to empty a sinking boat with a teaspoon.” Looking back, Mei admits she didn’t always appreciate her parents’ financial advice – a regret that now lingers with the wisdom of hindsight. They were her first – and only – financial teachers. Formal lessons were rare; instead, guidance came wrapped in stern advice and quiet sacrifices.
Mei is far from alone. Recent financial data reveal that the average credit card debt per borrower in many developing nations has reached record highs. In 2022, two-third of Malaysian consumers own a credit card with an average outstanding credit card balance of RM11,955 per person.
Multiple cards, each with revolving balances and high interest rates, are common. The temptation of minimum payments – low enough to seem manageable – conceals the truth: interest compounds, balances balloon, and before long, debt becomes a permanent resident.
In the beginning, credit appeared teeming with possibility – like a cloud heavy with promised rain.
Banks, too, presented credit cards as gateways to empowerment. Sign-up bonuses, loyalty points, reward programmes, cashback offers, and sleek metal designs all played into a narrative of control and status. But just as clouds can obscure and rain can flood, the hidden costs of this financial instrument often emerge only after the shine has dulled. As the interest accumulates, many are left facing both sides of their financial decisions – the bright beginnings and the grim aftermath.
The psychological toll is immense. Shame, anxiety, and depression are common companions of those deep in debt. Many avoid answering unknown numbers, fearing it’s another collector.
Relationships strain. Sleep becomes elusive. “It changes how you see yourself,” Mei recalls. It was shame that kept her from reaching out for help sooner.
“There’s a stigma around debt,” she says. “You feel like a failure. Like you should’ve been stronger.” Solutions exist, but they require courage and support. Credit advisory, debt consolidation plans, financial literacy programmes, and regulatory reform can offer lifelines. Yet, the stigma of debt often silences those who need help most.
It was the ceaseless bank notices that finally drove her to Agensi Kaunseling dan Pengurusan Kredit (AKPK). Within days, Mei was sitting across from a counsellor, Akhdan, who listened patiently as she detailed her financial freefall. Akhdan’s message was simple but powerful: There is a way back. He recommended a Debt Management Programme (DMP) – a structured repayment plan that consolidates into a single monthly payment, often with reduced or waived interest rates. Creditors agree to the plan, allowing clients to pay down principal balances in an organised, realistic timeframe. “It wasn’t until I spoke to a counsellor that I could breathe again,” Mei admits. “I thought I’d be judged. But Akhdan just listened.”
For Mei, the DMP meant commitment: RM4,000 a month for 60 months – five full years. “At first, it sounded impossible,” she says. “No vacations. No luxury goods. No new gadgets. No big nights out. I had to completely rethink what was ‘normal’ for me.” Mei and her husband adopted a frugal lifestyle: cooking at home, selling a second car, and slashing every unnecessary expense. They even took part-time gigs on weekends to boost their income.
But there were emotional hurdles, too. “Debt isn’t just about numbers. It’s about fear, guilt, regret,” Mei admits. Advisory sessions at AKPK helped her confront the psychological toll of her financial struggle, rebuilding not just her bank account, but her confidence.
Progress was slow but steady. Each month, a little more of the mountain crumbled away. Halfway through the DMP, she began seeing the light at the end of the tunnel.
“It was transformative,” Mei says. “The discipline I learned didn’t just fix my finances – it changed how I approach life.” In April 2023, Mei made her final payment.
Today, Mei is proudly debt-free. She has rebuilt a modest emergency fund, contributes regularly to retirement savings, and uses just one credit card – which she pays in full every month. “My husband and I live differently now,” Mei reflects. “We appreciate simplicity. We understand the value of patience. And we know that asking for help isn’t weakness – it’s wisdom.” Mei often shares her story with others struggling with debt, volunteering through AKPK’s Sahabat Kewangan, a community initiative aimed at gathering feedback for better financial habits. Mei’s message is clear: “You can fall hard. But you can also rise. It starts with one brave decision: to ask for help.”
To look at credit from both sides now is to acknowledge its duality — its power to both help and harm. It’s to recognise that behind every maxed-out card is a person trying to survive, to provide, to keep up appearances, or simply to hold on. As a society, perhaps it’s time we see credit for what it is — not an illusion, but a responsibility, one that must be wielded with care and compassion. Only then can we begin to help those lost in the fog find their way back to clearer skies.
Is there life after debt? Mei’s financial rebirth proves that there is.
She stood there in between two slabs of stone, etched with delicate characters. Ash from burnt paper fluttered in the breeze. The air was heavy with the sweet smoke of incense, rising in slow spiral, a constant reminder of her eroding financial health. Her gaze lifted; a question etched on her face. She tried to find solace in the beauty of the sky as the song played in her head. “I’ve looked at clouds from both sides now… from up and down and still somehow, it’s cloud illusions I recall…” croons Joni Mitchell in her haunting ballad – a song about disillusionment, hindsight, and the slow unwinding of dreams. Like the clouds in Mitchell’s song, credit once seemed full of promise, but like clouds hiding the sun, the hidden costs of credit cards often reveal once the initial shine fades.
Mei looks at life from both sides now. From give and take. From win and lose. From good and bad. From right and wrong. From ups and downs.
Something’s lost but something’s gained.
Reference:
- Malaysia State of Consumer Credit 2022, CTOS
