Home Is Where The Hurt Is
So this is a story all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down, so I worked hard and bought my parents’ house. Now, I will admit this right from the start: I’m not a good person for doing what I did. I’ll have to give a little bit of back story to explain this whole thing. First, my parents married young, I wasn’t planned, and when they were growing up, it was the standard thing that when you have a baby, you get your own place.
It didn’t matter if you rented or bought a place. So with my parents being young and with a baby on the way, they rented from this lovely fellow from Osaka, Japan who we’ll call Uncle Kiryu. Now, Uncle Kiryu was a wealthy man who made a lot of money from Oil and Property, but he started from nothing. Because of this, he knew that being young, you needed a helping hand to get started.
So he would rent out apartments and houses at lower than market rates for people who wanted a roof over their heads. He still made a profit and because he had so many properties, he always had steady income, whether there was a recession, floods, etc. Now, Uncle Kiryu was always generous to me and my family, helped where he could, and we even had him over for birthdays and New Years.
He once brought me to the dentist when I fell and broke a tooth at age 11, and he paid it without question. Over time, as my parents got older, finished college, and got better jobs, he helped them move from a one-bedroom apartment with no garden to a nice townhouse, to a three-bedroom house right outside the city center in Dublin. All of which he owned and rented out to them.
However, if Kiryu has a fault, it’s that he always tries to see the best in people, even if their flaws are staring him in the face. The reason I’m telling you so much about Uncle Kiryu is because he is very important in this story, and because I literally owe him my life. About 12 years after they had me, my parents unfortunately were in a car accident, and had numerous injuries.
My dad cracked his ribs, tore a muscle in his back, and dislocated both shoulders, while my mom broke her leg in two places and shattered her right foot. Thanks to these injuries, they sadly lost their jobs—this was back when you could get away with making people redundant for long-term medical injuries. After that, they were stuck at home all day, and could do very little except take pain medication and watch TV.
I spent a lot of time with family, babysitters, or just hanging out with friends outside for at least a year while they recovered and went through rehab and surgeries. There is a part of long-term injuries that isn’t always brought up: Pain management. Between broken bones, torn muscles, and not being able to work, mom and dad were taking a lot of pills and injections just to function, and well, pain medication can be quite addictive and can change you as a person.
This was only too clear to see as my parents changed from proud, hard working, loving people to addicts who cared about getting a fix. Once they recovered from their injuries, they couldn’t get pain pills anymore, so they switched to different substances. That’s when it all came crashing down for me. Because once that started, the mistreatment followed.
They teased me about everything: Making me feel bad about getting 92 on a test, taking money I was making at a part-time job I had as a waitress in a hotel, complaining about having to pay for new bras and clothes when I outgrew them (which I unfortunately did a lot), culminating in me learning to sew and make my own bra extenders and repair tears in my clothes and school uniform.
To this day, I still have an emergency clothes fund as a just in case. They also guilted me into slowly doing more and more housework, to the point that my days literally consisted of “get up, make their breakfast, go to school, occasionally go to work, come home, do the housework, make dinner, do homework, shower, bed.” The moment that broke me was when I was 17.
We had been fighting over something stupid. To this day, I still can’t remember what, but I do remember what they said to me: Dad: You’re just a lazy good-for-nothing. All you do is rip your clothes and complain, even though we keep this roof over your head and food in the fridge. Mom: So shut up, you’re worthless, you’re just going to be a waitress all your life anyway.
This was followed by a slap from dad and my mom spitting on me. Have you ever heard the expression “You can’t see the forest for the trees?” Well, that day lit a fire under me and I got ready to burn the forest down. What followed was me putting all my time into school and work. This part will sound like I’m bragging. I don’t mean to, I’ll try to make it more factual and to the point.
The next five years seemed to fly by in a month. I don’t know how or why, but I turned into a machine and made something of myself: I finished my schooling and got into culinary college. I passed with flying colors (and a very sticky Croquembouche that fell on my teacher) and got a job as a prep chef in the hotel I was working at.
I moved out of my parents’ house and into an apartment, thank you Uncle Kiryu! Busted my butt and got promoted to Commis Chef, then Line Chef, and after about three years, Sous Chef. I wasn’t the best chef there, far from it, but until I made Sous Chef, I was paid hourly, so I worked every hour they would give, and that earned me a lot of respect, plus I would always clear the oil and water drains in the kitchens.
I also saved up a lot of money for a rainy day. All the while, my parents fell deeper into their addictions. We kept our distance mostly. We saw each other on birthdays, Christmas, etc. Occasionally I’d get a call to borrow money for food. Here’s a tip: If someone asks for food money, offer to bring them shopping. If they’re genuine, they’ll jump at the chance. If not, they’ll run.
Whenever I visit, their house has fallen into disrepair. Broken windows, torn wallpaper, burn marks everywhere, mold in the ceiling, broken plumbing. Seriously, I had to turn the water off to stop the second floor from being destroyed. Uncle Kiryu notices but they wont let him in to fix the place up. Then comes the moment that made my attitude turn into “I will destroy you.”
It was last Christmas. We went to a family get-together, and it was the usual party: Big turkey, tons of presents, the old song about Auld Lang Syne, and everyone watching Mrs. Brown’s Boys, which is a popular show with our family. My lovely aunt was telling anyone who would listen how I helped save her daughter’s wedding by catering the whole thing.
For what it’s worth, I didn’t, I just put her in contact with a friend of mine who specializes in wedding meals. At that point, my dad in his stupor decided to rant about my career. “A Caterer? A caterer? Oh no, I’m sorry, you’re some big poncy chef! Why didn’t you go into construction like me? Do something useful with your life, not some worthless career where all you do is peel potatoes all day.”
My mom, of course, decides to chime in and essentially mumbles some inordinate teasing, calling my work “not a proper job, anyone can do it. A cow like you isn’t worth a fiver.” Now, this is where they touched a nerve. I will admit, I’m a woman who has an ego when it comes to my work. I’m not at the level of Michelin star chefs, but I’m darn good at what I do.
I worked hard to get there and I know I’m worth something. Skipping forward a couple of weeks and I’m at my Uncle Kiryu’s house for his New Years Party; he always celebrates it in mid-January for some reason. He’s talking about work and how it’s a good time to sell some of his properties that are vacant, and it hits me: What if I buy my parents’ house?
So Uncle Kiryu and I get to talking, and he realizes that with the house in such a state of disrepair, it would cost a lot to repair, so he agrees to sell it to me at a cheaper price rather than having it fixed up first. I’m not proud of this, but I convinced (read: outright lied to) him that I wanted to buy the place to ensure my parents would always have a roof over their heads.
Well, it took nearly six months, but soon enough, I got the confirmation from my lawyer and estate agent that I now own my parents’ three-bedroom house and I’m their new landlord. As part of the sale, I asked Uncle Kiryu to organize the transfer of rent payments to a new bank account that I set up, and I’ve had him work as my intermediary with them, so they haven’t had to meet their new landlord yet.
I can’t evict them yet, but when I can they’ll have three months to get the heck out. Then I can fix the damage they’ve done and move into my own home. Meanwhile, they’re on benefits and can barely afford a meal, never mind somewhere to live. I’m watching the calendar, waiting for my day to visit and serve an eviction notice. I’m not the good girl or the hero of this story, but I’m worth more than a fiver.
Also, while it’s true that some of this is for revenge, the main motivation is that place was my home, and I want to continue my life there and move on from that part of my history. Plus I’m getting a three-bedroom house in Ireland, it will be mine, I will live there and have my home. And after all that, there was a little update in the mix too.
At some point, I finally got a chance to meet with Uncle Kiryu and come clean. I invited him to taste some of our new dishes at work and admitted to him why I REALLY wanted to buy the house. His response surprised me. He nodded and said very simply: “I know. I am not happy about this. But I know why you’re doing this.”
Once I convinced him that I wasn’t planning on burning the house down (he was very concerned about it for some reason), he gave me some advice, and gave me the name of a management company, saying that he no longer wanted to be the intermediary. He asked if I realized they would have no home after this and that he cannot save them, I explained that I did.
After that, he asked me to cook his favorite dish as “punishment” and made me promise to give him plenty of notice when the eviction proceedings go forward so he could be miles away.