Why I Stopped Going for the Cheapest Option

As a little girl, my parents had always taught me to go for the cheapest option.

Dim sum. Flights. Clothes. Fresh fruits…kitchen tools.

Money was, after all, something my parents didn’t have much of growing up. As kids, they had to eat whatever my grandparents brought in for the day, have their hair cut at home, and quite frequently (much to their dislike) restrain themselves from splurging on wants in order to save up for their education. Whatever once belonged to them — toys, clothes, books — eventually made its way into the hands of their siblings. If the house got cold (and during winter it got very cold) they hardly ever, if at all, turned on the heater as it was outrageously expensive so instead, alternatively, they wore extra clothes to keep warm. Then, just as they became legal adults, when they started to believe that things couldn’t get any harder, they found themselves saying goodbye to their home country, Hong Kong, to build a new and better life in the States, bringing nothing more but their passports and ambition.

If I had to say something about my parents, about the circumstances they had gone through to get to where they are today, it’s probably this:

My parents went through one hell of a life in order to have what they have today: a home to sleep in, a car to drive to places…