Oh boy, I used to just sit on the sidelines of family drama during the holidays, but now, I’m right in the middle of it.
During our Christmas exchange gift event, my grandma dropped a bombshell: she announced that she was passing down the ancestral house to me. The house had been abandoned for years, and no one seemed to care about it—until it was handed to me. Suddenly, everyone wanted a piece of it.
Honestly, I was shocked. Out of everyone in the family, I already have the nicest house—bigger than the ancestral home, even. (For context, it’s an old, creepy bahay na bato, and I live in a renovated resort.) It’s not like I needed another property, yet my grandma chose to give it to me.
At first, I thought, “Sure, I’ll share it.” I even considered renovating it and letting people stay there. But then my grandma explained her reasoning: for the past 15 years, I’m the only one who consistently visited her and spent time with her. That’s when the rest of the family turned on me. They started calling me “sipsip” (brown-noser) and other names. Then they demanded that I sell the house, split the money among everyone, and keep it quiet so my grandma wouldn’t know.
Well, my petty self couldn’t. If I’m the only one who’s been visiting her for 15 years, why should I share? I refused to accept their excuses and sob stories for why they didn’t visit her. My grandma herself said no one even bothered to check on her except during special occasions. That’s over 5,000 days of choosing not to spare a few hours for her, simply because she has her own nurse and a place to stay. They forgot about her, plain and simple.
Now, I’m even more against sharing the house. My grandma’s decision makes total sense, and it’s infuriating that she had to announce it so dramatically, like something straight out of a teleserye. She silenced everyone at the table just to declare that the house was mine. It was chaotic, but I get it—and honestly, I’m playing my part now. Apparently, it’s just me and my grandma against the world.
Now the entire family hates me. Apparently, being a decent grandchild makes me a “sipsip” and a “Jollibee.” (Their words, not mine.) The logic is wild—they seem to think I should’ve ignored my grandma like they did. The hypocrisy is unbelievable. For years, no one cared about that house, but the moment it was given to me, everyone suddenly wanted a share.
Am I the only one who sees how ridiculous this is?
