While living in Malaysia, I once had an experience that gave me my first real glimpse into how corruption can quietly creep into everyday situations. At the time, my husband and I were trying to obtain a dependent pass for my brother-in-law so that he could stay with us in Malaysia for a longer period.
He had suffered a stroke and was mentally incapacitated, and we wanted to care for him properly.
However, we soon discovered that obtaining a dependent pass for a brother-in-law was not straightforward. The authorities generally grant such passes only for immediate family members such as parents or children.
As we struggled with the process, someone introduced me to a man who claimed that he could help us secure the dependent pass. Of course, he said his help would come at a price. When you are in a difficult situation, it is easy to become desperate.
At that moment, we thought perhaps this might be the only way forward. We paid him an initial deposit of RM2,000, believing that he would assist us in navigating the process. But soon things began to feel strange. Each time a form needed to be submitted, he would ask for additional payments — RM30 or RM40 per submission.
The first time he asked, I paid without much thought. The second time he asked again. That was when I began to feel uneasy. I told him clearly that we would not pay any more money simply to submit forms.
After that, he called repeatedly, assuring me that he could still “help,” but that I needed to make further payments first.
At one point, he even told me: "Look, I can give you the account number of the person working in immigration. You can transfer the money directly to her."
Hearing those words sent a chill through me.
At that moment I realised that I might be dealing with a corrupt network, and that if I continued down this path, the demands for money would likely never end.
I decided immediately that I had to stop.
The feeling that followed was a mixture of anger and disgust, but also anger at myself for having allowed the situation to go that far.
Then the man called again with another suggestion. He said he had heard that I was caring for three undocumented children, and that he could also arrange documents for them. That alarmed me even more.
I told him firmly to stay away from those children and that I wanted nothing further to do with him. I threw away the account number he had given me, blocked his number, and cut off all contact.
Looking back, the experience left a deep impression on me. It was my first direct encounter with the reality of corruption operating behind the scenes.
It also reminded me how easily vulnerable people can become targets when they are trying to solve urgent family problems. Most importantly, it taught me that sometimes the hardest decision, walking away is also the right one.
Experiences like this made me realise that corruption does not always appear in dramatic ways. Sometimes it begins quietly, through small requests, friendly promises, and the exploitation of people who are simply trying to care for their families.
March 13th, 2026
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