This story is about a M’sian man living in Singapore whose family reconnected with him with ulterior motives.
I was sitting at my desk, working from home, in Singapore when the call came in, a number I didn’t recognise. The voice on the other end took a second to register.
It’s been ten years since I last heard it. Yet my stomach dropped, I was suddenly my shrunken fifteen-year-old self, standing in the old living room, being berated for getting an “A-” instead of “all A’s” like they demanded.
They’d somehow found my number, which meant someone I trusted had betrayed me. That ruined my mood, and left me…irritated.
No greetings, no small talk. Just demands — money for medical bills, and more to “support them” going forward. RM60,000 a year, they said. Like it was a salary I owed them for living. Irritation turned to anger.
I told them to lose my number and hung up.
A week later, the threats started. They’d looked up Singaporean laws on children’s responsibility to support ageing parents. Told me they could sue me if I didn’t cooperate.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t rage. I just stared at the wall and wondered, again, why this country — this culture — still expects people to be loyal to the ones who broke them.
This isn’t a sob story. It’s not a revenge story either. It’s a survival story.
Growing Up Meant Shrinking Myself
I grew up in a very “normal” Malaysian household. Outwardly, everything looked fine. Two working parents. Decent income. A nice corner terrace house with a garden. Two cars. No visible chaos.
But home wasn’t safe. Not in an emotional sense.
There was constant shouting, micromanagement, and emotional manipulation. If I expressed sadness or frustration, I was “ungrateful.”
If I asked for space or independence, I was “rebellious.” If I did well, the response was indifference or sarcasm. If I failed — even slightly — I was shamed. Not just privately, but in front of relatives and neighbours.
When it came time to apply for university, they flat out refused to fund anything. Said I should “be independent” and “take a student loan like the Western kids.” Except they weren’t offering help with that either. I was on my own.
So I got a scholarship. I planned my exit quietly, for nearly a year. When I finally left, it was on a weekday while they were both at work. A friend helped me move what little I owned — mostly clothes and a second hand laptop that I’d bought for myself and kept hidden.
I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t look back.
Building a Life From Nothing
I stayed on friends’ couches for a while. Found a part-time job. Balanced classes with work, scraped by, shared an apartment with five other people and graduated on time. I did not invite them to my graduation, but I did send them a photo.
Then I cut contact completely, shut down all my social media accounts, and changed my number.
After graduation, I started out in game development as a programmer. I loved it, but I wanted out of Malaysia. Singapore was close, stable, and offered a clearer path. I made the shift and took a job with a regional bank as a programmer. Code is code. Programming is programming. It wasn’t hard to adapt.
My lifestyle now is modest. I rent a flat, cook most of my meals, and travel light. I’m affluent, stable and after several years of therapy, I’m finally F.I.N.E.: Freaked-out, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional. Haha!
And I did it all with nothing from them.
Out of Nowhere, They Came Back
I’d kept my life private for a reason, and honestly thought I’d closed that chapter of my life for good. Then they found a crack in my armor, and got my number from someone. The only way they could have called me.
And they were calling, not out of guilt or love, not to reconnect, but to demand. They needed money. Medical bills needed paying. Living expenses had to be covered. According to them, I must support them.
When I refused, they tried to weaponise the law — specifically Singapore’s Maintenance of Parents Act. They threw around legal threats like they’d never abandoned me, like they hadn’t cut me off when I was just a teenager trying to survive.
I don’t have to do a damned thing just because they want to. I’ve not done that in 10 years. I’m not going to start now!
Western When Convenient, Eastern When It Suits
What really makes my blood boil is the hypocrisy. Back then, they insisted I “be like Western kids” — take responsibility for myself, get a loan, work, and then pay off my degree. I did better than that: I got a full academic scholarship and worked part time jobs to graduate without debt.
They showed me off to relatives. My cousins told me they’d bragged about how “independent” I was, how “strong” and “self-sufficient.” That was the story they sold while I was missing family events, CNY dinners, and every major holiday — because I was working, saving, and studying. They left out the part about skipping meals to pay rent.
But now that I’ve built a portfolio, a reputation and career, earning well in Singapore, suddenly it’s all “You’re still our child,” and “In our culture, you must take care of your parents.” They cherry-pick what values serve their demands. “Western” when they don’t want to help. “Eastern” when they want to demand anything and everything.
When Family is a Weapon
Since that call, I’ve gone dark again. Gone private on all socials. I changed my phone number again, and I painstakingly vetted all family and friends and found the traitor. There was no public execution. I spoke to them, and asked them if they gave out my number and they confessed. They have joined the long list of blocked relatives and extended family.
I hear through the family gossip channel that they’ve started badmouthing me to the extended family, calling me unfilial, selfish, disrespectful. I’ve been accused of “forgetting where I came from,” of “abandoning my duty.”
Some of the older generation believe them. They’ve cut contact with me in solidarity with my parents. Others send passive-aggressive messages laced with “advice” about family honor, filial duty and forgiveness.
But my cousins – my generation – they know. They saw the years I disappeared into work and studies, saw how hard I fought to make a life without being a burden to anyone. They don’t say much. But they stay in touch. Quiet support. No pressure. My spies in the enemy camp so to speak. They are more family than I ever had growing up.
What I Owe and What I Don’t
Here’s what I’ve learned from the School of Hard Knocks and Life that they made me chose, instead of them:
I don’t owe my parents a monthly allowance just because they share my blood.
I don’t owe them peace after a decade of silence, when that silence was the only reason I could finally breathe.
I don’t owe them an RM60,000 a year retirement plan, when they refused to invest even RM50,000 over four years into my university education.
Everything I owe is to myself: I owe myself safety. I owe myself peace. I owe myself freedom from people who treated my life and existence as an inconvenience to their lives, and now see me as a potential banker for their retirement.
To Others Like Me
If you’re reading this and your story echoes mine — I see you. You are not cold. You are not cruel. You are not unfilial or unloving or disloyal. You are surviving. You are rebuilding. And it’s okay to draw a boundary line and say: “This far, no further!”
Love that’s conditional on obedience isn’t love. A family that only remembers you when you’re useful isn’t family. You have a right to your boundaries. You have a right to your own story.
And if they come knocking again? You have every right to close the door — because they don’t know you well enough to demand anything.
And yes, change your number.
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