Aliyawanders

I once got the silent treatment. Was it in 2018 or 2019? I honestly can’t remember anymore.

And all because I chose to be firm.

At that time, we were already struggling financially. Just enough to cover our commitments—barely a cent more. Then, during what was supposed to be routine maintenance, my house was damaged by the contractor. I had this nagging feeling it was intentional, hoping I wouldn’t notice, just so he could squeeze more money out of me.

When I asked for compensation, because the damage was major, he simply went silent. He refused to repair what he had done.

Then the rain came.

Constant, steady, incessant, relentless.

Water poured into the upper floor like an angry waterfall. Mold followed. I cried. We got sick.

By the time the rainy season ended, it was too late. The damage was done, and I didn’t have enough to repair my home.

The contractor got into an accident a year later and passed away. I didn’t feel any joy in his misfortune, but I also couldn’t find it in me to feel sorry for him.

Eventually, I managed to fix the roof. But the floor… it remained broken.

I told everyone, please don’t come over. I couldn’t cope with the state of the house, and I wasn’t in any place to host anyone.

Then Eid came. Some extended family decided to make plans to come over anyway—without even consulting me or my husband.

I said no.

You can’t.

You can’t just plan something involving me without asking first. And it wasn’t like I hadn’t already told them.

But my words didn’t carry much weight.

They told me they didn’t mind seeing the state of my house.

But did they ever think about how I would feel about people coming over?

Of course not.

It has been ingrained in our culture—especially among the older generations—that anyone can drop by unannounced. And if you say no, you’re accused of “tolak rezeki.”

But this time, I put my foot down. Firmly.

Then came the silent treatment.

Immediately after, some turned away when I offered my hand to shake.

Others wore their displeasure openly on their faces when they saw me.

Joke’s on them—because now, I have a valid reason not to entertain them anymore.

I may look social and friendly when I’m out and about, but deep inside, I crave tranquility. I enjoy my quiet moments—the kind that let me wind down and recharge my social battery, as the younger ones would say.

So their silent treatment? It’s actually doing me a favour. I’m no longer expected to attend every gathering, no longer expected to contribute anything.

The silent treatment “punishment” has long ended, but the now-changed dynamic remains—to my pleasure.

I’ve become the black sheep—and honestly, I’ll gladly take that title.

Now, my weekends are truly mine. No more surprise guests. No more unannounced arrivals. I can finally make plans freely, without having to rush home just because someone decided to show up at my doorstep.

What some people see as a punishment can, in fact, be a gift.