I'm sorry Grandma... I don't love you

nce upon a time, there lived a malicious, juvenile, selfish, power-crazed, son-favouring, glory-seeking, rumour-mongering, sympathy-seeking, money-minded swine who had seven children – four daughters and three sons. A daughter, a daughter, a son, a daughter, a son, a son and a daughter. The eldest daughter was adopted, so that makes the second daughter the rightful Firstborn. However, because she was a girl, she was to have no place nor share in the family heirloom. That honour was bestowed upon the eldest son, the second born. Sadly, that much-loved son passed on early in life.

Without a doubt, the two younger sons were favoured above everyone else and their families were heralded as heaven-sent deities. They were presented with jewellery, precious stones and priceless objects just for existing on this good earth. The rich get richer, they say.

Of the three daughters, the two younger daughters married into wealth – and this pleased the old swine tremendously as it gave her bragging rights and the justification she needed to give them their rightful places on the family tree. Alas, the Firstborn daughter did not enjoy such prosperity. She had followed her heart and married a good, humble man of modest income and insignificant birth. “Your eyes are in your panties!” the old swine shrieked when she heard of the news. And from that day forth, the Firstborn had no choice but to rough it alone, living on love, fresh air and sunshine.

The Firstborn gave life to three overweight brats who caused her immense pain and infinite joy all at once. Although semi-estranged, she was still summoned to the ruling family’s occasions, if only to quench the ridiculous power-drenched face-saving desire of her mother, the matriarchal swine. All that effort lugging her three children and modest husband around – and all she got was more ridicule.

“Your children have no confidence or personality!”
“How come they all look like their father? Features all not nice!”
“Your husband doesn’t know how to make conversation.”
“Why are you wearing last year’s dress?”
“Please throw your shoes away. The kway-teow lady has better taste than you!”

…

The matriarchal swine gave all the children jewellery from time to time. She would distribute the jewels based on “suitability”, “priority”, “more deserving” and other urine-drenched criteria. For the afore mentioned reasons, the Firstborn somehow always got the smallest, the ugliest, the worst quality, the flawed one. But she held out her hand humbly and accepted what remnants of love were dished out to her. For years, she stood by and watched as gift after gift was showered upon her younger siblings.

And then came the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The Firstborn had asked the matriarchal swine for an antique chest of drawers, and nothing more. “I have never asked of anything from you” she said, “but this one thing which I have loved ever since I was a little girl. May I please be given your chest of drawers when you no longer have the need for it?”

Yes, of course, the swine had promised. Year after year, the Firstborn reminded her mother of the chest of drawers. Year after year, her mother the swine said Yes, of course.

And yet one fateful day, the Firstborn chanced upon her younger sister’s negotiation with the swine on that very same chest of drawers. And to her utmost chagrin, the swine immediately cleared the drawers out and surrendered it to the second daughter. No, I did not promise it to you, she had denied. No, I definitely don’t remember it at all!

The Firstborn left for home and told her story to her three brats, and they all cried for her. I’m not sure about the other two brats, but I’ve personally made an oath to never forgive my grandmother for what she did to my mother. Not even if she were choking on a chicken bone and begging me for help.

Grandmother, I hate that I am related to you.
Grandmother, I will NEVER forgive you for being who you are, for doing what you did to all of us.
Grandmother, you will NOT have a morsel of my grief when you die. The only grief I will have is for my mother, in that she will lose her useless mother. Good riddance to bad rubbish.

You swine. When my brother was no more than a toddler, cousin Aaron roughed him up. When they both started crying, you hit my brother. Fuck you.

You scum. You gave my sister and I rejected jewels from a bracelet that you disliked. I gave it to my mother for safekeeping so that she can pawn it for money one day when she needs to make that trip to Rome.

You cretinous ebola strain. You told my mother not to burden her with OUR visits because we wore you out. You stupid bitch, the only reason we stay with you is just to give you face. I can fucking afford to put my mother up in the Raffles Hotel if I wanted to and don’t need to subject ourselves to your mosquito-infested house, driving our grey matter crazy with your nauseating Chinese variety shows and downgrading our palette to your canine-worthy leftover food. AND THAT’S WHY WE, THE LAW SIBLINGS, NEVER SET FOOT IN YOUR FUCKING HOUSE ANYMORE. And I don’t fucking care if I don’t see you alive anymore. You are dead in my eyes and my heart to begin with.

The swine is ill, and these next few weeks may be her last. I am looking forward to taking a much-deserved holiday from work on the pretext of “compassionate leave”. Singapore, here I come! And I should ask Aaron to buy that iPod Shuffle clip now so that I can collect it during that trip.