Earning a Living on a Cruise Ship and Sending Money Home

The First Pay Cheque and the Weight of Responsibility

In a Malaysian household, your first pay cheque isn’t just yours. It carries expectations, unspoken but deeply ingrained. A portion of it – maybe more than you planned – goes straight to your parents. It’s not a rule, but it’s what you do.

I didn’t mind. I owed it to them.

But getting the money home wasn’t as easy as handing over an envelope. There was paperwork. There were deadlines. And there was my new job, which was already enough of a challenge without adding banking logistics into the mix.

Onboard, there was a monthly transfer service handled by the personnel office. You applied once, setting a fixed amount to be deducted from your salary each month. No fees, no hassle – unless you forgot to submit your application in time.

And I did.

The personnel office had strict cut-off dates, and it closed before my shift ended. I kept missing it, caught up in duty hours, trying to remember the endless tasks of a new job.

At the end of the month, when my salary arrived, a small weight settled on me. It wasn’t just about the money – it was about not letting my family down.

Why Crew Members Send Money Home

On the surface, working on a cruise ship looks like a dream – travel, adventure, a salary that stretches further than it would on land. But for many, the job isn’t just about exploring new places or saving up for themselves.

It’s about home.

Some crew members send a portion of their earnings each month. Others send nearly everything. For many, it’s not an option. It’s a responsibility.

Younger crew members fall into two groups. Some enjoy life – saving money in their own accounts while making the most of ship life. Others, especially those with young children, have an entirely different reality. They send money home for nappies, school fees, and hospital bills, working at sea while missing their kids’ milestones.

Older crew members often stay for the steady salary and job security. They’ve built their lives around ship contracts, accustomed to the rhythm of work and home visits. Many have long-term financial commitments – family, property, retirement savings – but they also know the value of the job they hold.

It’s an unspoken reality in ship life. People don’t always talk about why they send money home, but you see it in their habits. The ones who live on the bare minimum, counting every dollar. The ones who send remittances at every port. The ones who are working not just for themselves, but for the people waiting for them back home.

And then there are those who, despite their earnings, feel like they never have enough. Because when you’re responsible for others, your pay cheque never really belongs to you alone.

The Practical Side: How Crew Members Transfer Money

Sending money home wasn’t as simple as tapping a few buttons on a banking app. It depended on the systems onboard, the country you were sending to, and how much effort you were willing to put into the process.

For me, the monthly transfer system was the easiest. It was a one-time setup with the personnel office. A fixed amount was deducted from my salary every month – no extra fees, no need to queue up at the cashier, and no risk of forgetting to send it.

The only catch? The amount had to be less than my salary.

I found out the hard way. One month, I decided to send more because I had some leftover salary from the previous month that I hadn’t transferred. I submitted my request, only for it to be rejected. That’s when I learned the rule: no matter how much was in your account, the monthly transfer couldn’t exceed that month’s salary. It hadn’t even crossed my mind before. I just assumed I could send whatever amount I had.

For crew who needed more flexibility, there was the one-time transfer option. You had to submit an application to the general cashier each time, deciding how much to send. The upside? You could transfer whatever was in your balance. The downside? A fee for every transaction.

I didn’t want to lose money to fees, so I stuck to my automated setup.

Other crew members had their own ways of handling remittances. Filipino crew members, for example, had part of their salary automatically deducted and sent home. On payday, most of them queued up at the general cashier, withdrew whatever was left, and headed straight to a money transfer service ashore.

For them, sending money home wasn’t just routine – it was urgent. Many sent nearly everything, keeping only the bare minimum to get through the month.

When I was assigned to a Malaysia-based ship, I had another option. I could withdraw MYR directly and deposit it myself.

But over time, more Malaysian crew members started using Wise – not just for the decent rates, but also because it was safer. Carrying large sums of cash outside the ship always came with a security risk. With Wise, everything was done online, avoiding the need to carry stacks of cash while looking for a remittance centre.

No single method was perfect. Everyone used whatever got the money home safely with the least loss possible.

The Emotional Rollercoaster of Sending Money

Sending money home wasn’t just about choosing the cheapest transfer option. It carried expectations, and unspoken pressure.

There was pride – the quiet satisfaction of knowing my hard work made a difference. Every month, I sent money home, picturing it covering bills, groceries, or school fees. Even from thousands of miles away, I was contributing.

But there was also pressure.

No one told me how much I should send. My family never asked for more than I could afford. But I still felt responsible. If I had extra, I’d send extra. If I spent on myself, I wondered whether I should have sent more.

And then there was guilt.

I saw colleagues living on the bare minimum to send nearly everything home. Some had families relying entirely on their salaries. They stretched every dollar, prioritising remittances over personal comfort. Meanwhile, I was buying clothes, indulging in small comforts, and still sending money.

Was I being selfish?

At the same time, there were crew members who spent freely. New iPhones. High-end watches. Designer bags. Some upgraded their gadgets every contract. Others splurged at ports, returning with shopping bags of things they didn’t need.

It was hard not to compare.

Some sent nearly everything home. Some saved for themselves. Some spent as if the money would never stop coming. And yet, we were all working the same contracts, earning from the same payroll.

But the hardest part?

No one talked about the emotions behind it. Crew members discussed exchange rates and transfer fees, but never the internal struggles of sending money home. It was just something we did, something that became second nature.

It took me a while to realise that there’s a fine line between generosity and self-preservation. And at some point, I had to figure out where I stood.

When Money Felt Endless – And the Lessons Learned

In my first few years at sea, I felt rich.

Even after sending money home, I still had more than I’d ever had as a student. No rent, no utility bills, no daily commute draining my bank account. My pay cheques came in, and for the first time, I wasn’t worrying about whether I could afford something – I could just buy it.

And I did.

I wasn’t extravagant, at least not compared to some of my colleagues. But I spent more freely than I probably should have. Clothes, little indulgences, things I didn’t need but wanted just because I could.

At the time, I thought it was fine. I was working hard, earning my own money, still sending a decent amount home. Why not enjoy it a little?

But money spent without thought disappears fast.

I looked at some of my colleagues – older crew members who had been working at sea for years. Some had built houses, bought land, or saved enough to retire comfortably. Others had spent years earning a steady income but had nothing to show for it.

That realisation hit me harder than I expected.

I had a choice. I could keep spending mindlessly, assuming the money would always be there. Or I could start thinking long-term – not just for my family, but for myself.

It took time to shift my mindset. To start saving with purpose instead of just saving whatever was left over at the end of the month. To recognise that generosity and financial security weren’t opposites – I could send money home and still prioritise my future.

I used to think feeling rich meant having money to spend. Now I know it means having money that lasts.

Finding a Middle Ground: Supporting Family Without Self-Sacrifice

At some point, I realised I couldn’t just keep sending money home and hoping things would work out for me later.

Helping my family was important, but so was making sure I wasn’t struggling years down the line. There had to be a balance – between supporting them, enjoying life in the present, and securing my own future.

But the thing is, I never actually set limits.

My family never made requests, so I sent what I felt was right. When I thought they could manage on their own, I simply kept my own money instead of sending as much. I still helped when I wanted to, occasionally giving when needed.

It wasn’t a conscious decision. There was no moment where I decided, From now on, I’ll send less. It just happened naturally. The way I saw it, if they weren’t asking, they were doing fine.

That’s when I started thinking beyond monthly transfers. Short-term remittances helped, but long-term financial security mattered too. Instead of just covering immediate expenses, I wanted to make sure I was securing something for myself.

Some crew members bought land. Some started businesses. Some built savings accounts that no one could touch but them. I didn’t want to reach the end of my years at sea with nothing to show for it.

At the same time, I knew financial independence worked both ways. The more my family could sustain themselves, the less they needed to rely on me. And the more I prioritised my own future, the less I had to worry about struggling later.

Sending money home was never the problem. The real challenge was learning to give without losing myself in the process.

The Silent Strength of Seafarers

Working at sea isn’t just about the job itself. It’s about the responsibility that comes with it – the quiet sacrifices made in the background, often unnoticed.

For many crew members, a pay cheque isn’t just theirs to spend. It’s a lifeline for the people waiting back home. Every month, salaries are divided before they’re even received. Some for family, some for the future, some – if there’s anything left – for themselves.

But over time, I learned that helping others shouldn’t mean neglecting myself.

It took me years to realise that financial security isn’t just about what you earn – it’s about what you keep. That sending money home and saving for myself weren’t opposing choices, but ones that had to exist together.

Now, I see things differently. Supporting family is important, but so is making sure I don’t become a burden later on. There’s no point giving everything away today only to struggle tomorrow.

Looking back, I wouldn’t change the fact that I helped. But I’m also glad I learned to do it in a way that doesn’t leave me with nothing.

Seafarers don’t just work for themselves. We work for the people we love. The real challenge is making sure we’re not forgotten in the process