Chapter 1The Martydom Addiction

My mother has an addiction to suffering.

When I took her to the mall to buy new clothes, she stood in the middle of the store and screamed at me.

"You make five thousand a month, and instead of saving it, you just think about shopping!"

Then, she turned around and complained to our relatives that her life was so hard she was practically wearing rags.

When she got sick and was hospitalized, I told the doctors to use the best medication available to minimize her pain.

She accidentally saw the bill. She ran to the attending physician, threw a tantrum on the floor, and accused them of having no ethics.

"This is robbery! It's just a minor illness, why are you giving me such expensive drugs? Refund it! Give me my money back!"

The doctor looked at me, embarrassed and helpless.

I decided not to enable her anymore. I looked the doctor in the eye.

"Doctor, listen to my mother. If she likes suffering, let her suffer. You don't need to use the expensive meds anymore."

* * *

My mother is a woman who thrives on hardship.

There are three kids in our family. My older brother makes $40k a month. My sister-in-law is a full-time author; her income fluctuates, but she usually nets over $10k after taxes.

My younger sister works for my brother and pulls in a steady $20k.

I’m the "poorest" one, but I have a stable government job with great benefits.

Even my dad, after retiring, took a job as a security guard at a bank. He makes about $4,000 a month, and he transfers almost all of it to Mom.

My brother and his wife cover the mortgage and all household expenses. On top of that, they give Mom a $6,000 allowance every month. My sister gives $3,000. I give $1,000.

Add it all up, and she has over $10,000 in disposable income every single month.

Logically, she should be living the high life.

She isn't.

We live right above a high-end supermarket and a fresh organic grocer. The produce is fresh, quality guaranteed. We beg her to just shop downstairs.

She refuses.

Every day, she insists on riding a rusted-out bicycle she salvaged from a dump. She rides for an hour to a wholesale market in the next district just to buy vegetables that are literally a few cents cheaper. Then, she rides another hour back.

The road to that market is crawling with semi-trucks.

We worry about her constantly. We’ve stopped her a thousand times, begging her not to risk her life for a ten-cent discount on cabbage.

She gets furious. She screams at us in the living room.

"Who am I saving this money for?! You think just because you make a little money now, you're big shots? If something happens later and we need cash, what are you going to do?"

What are we going to do?

We all have insurance. We all have savings.

Besides, if a real catastrophe hits, the fifty cents she saved on bok choy isn't going to save us.

We talked until we were blue in the face. She wouldn't listen. She did whatever she wanted.

Until one day, on her way back from the market, she rode into a truck's blind spot. She almost got sucked under the wheels. She spent half a month in the hospital and racked up thousands in medical bills.

That finally quieted her down.

For two months.

As soon as she healed, she forgot the pain. Ignoring our pleas, she’d wait until we left for work, tell my sister-in-law (who works from home) that she was just going downstairs, and then sneak off on the bike to the distant market again.

We held a family intervention. We asked her what it would take for her to stop.

She cried. She said we all despised her.

In the end, we just gave up. We let her do what she wanted.

Because none of us could out-stubborn her.