Chapter Three: The Price of Love (and Lunch)
Today we fought again. Not the dramatic, plate-throwing kind — more like quiet sarcasm over dinner that slowly turned into a TED Talk about financial responsibility.
It started when the bill came. He reached for it (of course), and I sighed (also of course). That sigh was my love language lately — equal parts affection, exhaustion, and mild panic about our future mortgage.
See, we both come from the same kind of Asian upbringing, where generosity is sacred, and men are expected to pay for everything. Meals, family gatherings, probably the air-conditioning bill at the restaurant if they’d let him.
In his world, paying equals respect.
In mine, paying equals bankruptcy.
Our cultural math doesn’t always add up.
He grew up watching his dad treat every meal like a sponsorship opportunity. Meanwhile, I grew up watching my parents count coins before paying electricity. I learned that love doesn’t need to be expensive — just sustainable.
But try telling that to a man whose ego is partly built on the phrase “I’ve got it covered.”
He says I’m stingy. I say he’s reckless.
Somewhere in between sits the truth, sipping boba and minding its business.
After dinner, we walked home in silence — not the comfortable kind from Chapter One, but the tense kind where even the traffic lights feel judgmental.
When we finally talked, I tried to keep my voice calm. “If we keep living like this, we’ll never have enough to start a family.”
He frowned, the kind that comes from both pride and pain. “You don’t understand. It’s how I was raised. People expect me to pay. It’s… respect.”
I wanted to argue, but then I saw his face — tired, loyal, trying. He wasn’t being careless; he was just being who he thought he had to be.
I whispered, “But what about us?”
He didn’t have an answer. Maybe neither of us did.
Later that night, he fell asleep first, breathing softly beside me. I stared at the ceiling and thought about how love can be generous and unfair at the same time.
Maybe this is the hidden truth of marriage — learning that both of you are right, and both of you are wrong, in your own ways.
So I wrote in my diary:
“Money arguments are never about money. They’re about fear, pride, and wanting to feel safe in different languages. But maybe we can still build a future if we learn to translate each other first.”
And I added a quiet prayer to Buddha for good measure — not for wealth, but for wisdom. Because if we ever do become rich, I hope it’s in patience first.
With Love,
Thesoftwarriordiaries
🧘🏻♀️ Soft Warrior Reflection
“We’re not fighting about money — we’re learning how to build a shared future while honoring our past. He teaches me generosity; I teach him balance. Together, we learn sustainability — of love, life, and faith.”
