MANY men carried the weight of adulthood long before anyone realised it and in the midst of responsibilities, expectations and the quiet pressure to always “be strong”, even a simple hour of hanging out with friends had become an essential reset button.
What looked like men wasting time over a glass of 'teh tarik', was in reality, a small space where they breathed again.
Most men experienced their first taste of freedom at around 18. They went out with friends, explored the world, enjoyed late-night ‘mamak’ sessions and lived with almost no real commitments. That period of liberation usually ended the day they decided to marry the woman they loved.
From that moment, many began saving for a wedding, an event that commonly cost at least RM30,000 in today’s economy. Some saved even more, sometimes up to RM55,000, simply because their parents could not contribute and the rising cost of living demanded it.
While saving for a wedding, young men still juggled monthly commitments: vehicle loans, personal expenses and various financial obligations; that followed them into adulthood.
Marriage added new layers: caring for a wife, securing a place to live and navigating the reality that in the Klang Valley, anything below RM500,000 was considered “cheap”, usually a high-rise unit, not a landed home that many dreamt of.
Then came the children. One kid, two kids, three kids; each blessing also a responsibility. More bills, more priorities, more weight on the shoulders. Sometimes, only by the time a man turned 50, when his children became working adults, could he finally pause long enough to ask himself: What do I want for me?
Since the story of Adam and Eve, people have compared the hardships of men and women. But the truth was simple, both genders faced unique struggles. Both had their burdens. Both fought their own silent battles.
This commentary did not try to decide who had it harder; instead, it highlighted that being a man, especially a good man, was not easy.
Many good men spent their lives thinking about how to provide, how to protect and how to stay responsible. Amidst all this, one thing often helped them reset: a short session of 'lepak' with friends.
Women often asked, “Why do men need to go out and 'lepak'? You are not even doing anything at the 'mamak'.”
Exactly. They were not doing anything and that was the whole point.
Men could sit together, order a single 'teh tarik', scroll through their phones and somehow feel lighter. Half the conversations were jokes, teasing, nonsense or memories from their teenage years; moments that briefly turned men back into the boys they once were.
The other half involved the practical realities of life: asking advice about loans from a friend who worked at a bank, learning about car issues from the “mechanic friend”, discussing politics or even asking for small financial help when it was the middle of the month.
And on weekends, football entered the picture, most of the time watching the English Premier League (EPL) at the ‘mamak’. Whether it was trolling their friends when their team lost, arguing over Fantasy Premier League (FPL) points or simply shouting at a TV screen together, men relived the competitive part of themselves that adulthood rarely allowed.
This was why many men gravitated to sports too. Football, futsal, badminton; it was not just exercise, but a chance to compete, to win, to feel alive. Playing with family was wonderful, but it was not the same.
A husband could not exactly unleash a Lee Chong Wei-style smash on his wife nor could he blast a shot into goal if his child was standing there. But with a friend whose nickname is usually “Bob” as the goalkeeper, he could go full Cristiano Ronaldo mode without consequences, except laughter.
If he shot the ball too hard towards his kid or accidentally smashed a shuttlecock too hard at his wife, that would be an entirely different kind of problem to bring home, right?
Occasionally rare, but powerful, men shared their deepest issues during these 'lepak' sessions. And when they did, it was raw, real and without filters. Men were not afraid to tell their friends hard truths because they wanted the best for one another.
These conversations, often held over a simple drink at ‘mamak’, stayed with them for life.
This was the part many people overlooked. That one hour with friends could reset a man, not to escape his responsibilities, but to return home better, calmer, clearer and emotionally grounded.
Of course, moderation mattered. No good man abandoned his wife or ignored his family to 'lepak' excessively. The commentary here clearly referred to responsible men, those who communicated with their partners, considered their families first and understood boundaries.
And when a wife showed understanding and gave her blessing, men carried a responsibility too: not to betray that trust. Because sadly, some men did. But the good ones never did. Those who valued their families used that short “healing time” wisely.
Most men worked five days a week. Around 70 per cent of their time went to work, leaving only the weekends for family. So perhaps, if men used just 10 per cent of their weekly time to 'lepak', play sports or simply breathe, it was not unreasonable. It was not selfish. It was a reset.
And maybe, just maybe, if it is viewed this way, 10 per cent did not sound that excessive after all, right ladies?