Auntie Barbara is a successful woman. She flies between cities for conferences. She writes books in retirement and shares her interviews over dinner. She speaks with absolute certainty on politics, healthcare, and public policy—never to be questioned.
She has a soft spot for animals. Though she owns many cats, you usually see only two when you visit. She loves them too deeply to let them suffer, so she puts them down early.
The first time we met, I was wearing a winter jacket with a fur-trimmed hood. She lifted the fur with her fingers and said, “I forgive you.” I wasn’t sure what I needed forgiveness for—until I learned she was a vegetarian. Then I understood why she skipped over me when introducing family members. I was an omnivore. A moral disappointment.
I considered apologizing. But I also wondered if anyone had told her that her shoes were made of calfskin leather.
She is an optimistic woman, which means she doesn’t entertain complaints from younger women. When I mentioned the sleep deprivation that comes with caring for a newborn, she dismissed it with a scoff and said, “That’s just menopause.” When my sister-in-law brought up the difficulty of balancing work and motherhood, Auntie Barbara snapped, “Then go live on welfare.”
She is a loving mother. Her son’s birth certificate left the father field blank, but the boy received care from every available system. He spent some time in “Shepherds of Good Hope”, then went to a psychiatric hospital, and eventually died there. Auntie Barbara was busy, but she managed to visit when her schedule permitted. After his death, she considered suing the hospital—for not giving her a final visit.
She cares deeply about family. When her niece once planned a destination wedding, Auntie Barbara erupted.
“Have you thought about your family? How can you be so selfish?” she shouted. Even the cats flinched.
Perhaps her niece was thoughtless. After all, she had failed to consider that Auntie Barbara had never had a wedding of her own. Couldn’t she at least be allowed to attend someone else’s?
Her niece wasn’t the only one who stopped speaking to her. Once, I overheard my father-in-law slam the phone down and say, “That bitch!” They didn’t talk for months. I never learned what happened—though I vaguely recall someone suggesting that Auntie Barbara had been trying to send her sister, my mother-in-law, to the psychiatric hospital.
Which was strange. I thought she hated that hospital.
No, no—I would never stop talking to her. I knew she didn’t like me—an immigrant from a so-called third-world country, not working in a restaurant or a coin
laundry, but as an engineer. It made her turn over in bed, in the middle of the night.
We still visit her. After all, I only see her once a year.
Last Christmas, she asked why I still hadn’t given up my old citizenship. It quickly became clear she didn’t know the difference—between permanent residents, foreign workers, and refugees. But since she’s the family expert on foreign affairs, I didn’t correct her. I simply replied, “It’s convenient to visit my parents.”
That gave her the opening she was waiting for.
“Then you have to choose. Do you want your family here or your parents there?”
“My parents are my family.”
She was stunned. I’m usually the silent Asian woman at the table. But my parents and I love each other deeply. We believe in showing love while we’re alive—not just after someone dies.
Believe it or not, I do feel for Auntie Barbara. Even though she never liked me. I can see the pain in her eyes—just beneath the certainty. The wrinkled nose, the narrowed eyes, the way every conversation circles back to her. It’s all armor.
She’s hard to like. But I admire her for having a child on her own. I wish she knew that the women around her were not the ones who let her down.
If she’s disappointed now, she can take it up with her nephew.
My husband.
He’s exactly like her.
Jin, Taili is the pen name of Wu, Shuliu, a Chinese-born writer based in Ottawa. Her work explores the quiet fractures of migration, gender, and family. She writes from the silence between generations.
