It was a cloudy afternoon on the porch when the news came: my cousin was finally getting married. For most people, a family wedding is a joyous occasion. But for me, it felt like déjà vu — an old wound being reopened.
“They said the theme is navy blue. We’ll have to buy the fabric and get it tailored ourselves, so we can match the others,” my mom said, her face glowing with excitement, as if she’d forgotten everything that happened before.
I just stayed quiet, forcing a smile. In my head, memories from a few years ago played like an old movie.
Back at the start of the pandemic, I had just been laid off. Savings were thin, and I was barely getting by on severance and my last holiday bonus. At that time, I was the sole breadwinner — my mom depended entirely on me. And right then, that same cousin announced plans to get married — and asked the whole family to wear silver uniforms.
Imagine that: during the worst economic downturn of our lives, they wanted us to spend our own money to buy satin and 3D lace and have them tailored. No budget, no offer to help.
I told my mom, “We really shouldn’t, Mom. We can’t afford it.”
But she insisted, “It’s okay. I’ll pay for it.”
With what? With the government aid of less than 50 dollars we had gotten, meant for households earning below $250 a month. Money that should’ve been enough to feed us for a month ended up wasted on fabric that’s still lying untouched in the closet to this day — because, in the end, that wedding was called off.
No one ever apologized. Not once.
Now they’re really getting married. This time, at a five-star hotel. A lavish party, they say, costing up to $100,000. But the same thing: asking family to wear matching uniforms — yet again providing neither the fabric nor tailoring costs.
At that point, all I could do was laugh bitterly. You can afford a luxury hotel, fancy invitations, endless food and extravagant décor, but you can’t spare a cent to help your own family buy a uniform?
My mom still tried to defend them. “We might need their help someday…”
I told her quietly but firmly, “I don’t need them. If I ever do, I’d rather turn to someone else than keep putting up with this.”
She fell silent. Maybe she was shocked. Or maybe she felt just as hurt by my words. But I was already too tired.
I could already see where this was going. If I gave in again, it would just keep happening. There are three of them — siblings — and if one starts being unreasonable, the others will follow. And the one always expected to make sacrifices? Me. The only child, the only one who has to carry everything.
So I decided to leave town the day before the wedding. I packed a small bag, took the train, and spent the day in a little café, sipping coffee and watching strangers pass by. It felt lighter than staying home and listening to my mom scold me for not playing along.
I just hope someday my mom realizes: no matter how good her siblings might seem, at the end of the day, the one who’s always there for her… is me. The one who works day and night, who shields her when storms hit, who ends up paying — in money and in sanity — every time the family drama flares up.
Don’t force me to keep walking a path that makes no sense. Respect my hard work. Learn to tell the difference between what’s reasonable and what’s just wasting time and energy.
Someday, if I ever get married, I promise myself: I’ll never make guests suffer like this. Because when someone shows up at your wedding, they come with good intentions, to share your happiness. You should never make them lose just to make yourself look good in pictures.
Until that day comes, I’ll just keep it all to myself. These wounds, repeated over and over — they end with me.
Photo by Kier in Sight Archives on Unsplash
