At 22 years old, my connections to my father's family have been incredibly sparse. My father has been gone for some time, and during his life, we barely mingled with his relatives, maintaining only the most minimal digital contacts via Facebook. Unlike some families that are constantly in touch, neither my father nor his family made significant gestures to bridge the gap between us.

My father’s death struck when I was just entering my teens. By that time, I had already moved countries to live with my mom, and we were mired in financial instability. His passing was abrupt, and we couldn't afford to travel back for his funeral. During that period, I was left out of any funeral discussions, not invited to contribute in any memorials, and the silence from my father’s siblings was deafening—they didn’t even notify me directly about the arrangements.

What stung the most during that time was the utter lack of support from my father’s side. Despite knowing our financial plight, no one reached out or offered any assistance. It felt like they just carried on, dealing with their grief while ignoring ours. It was as if they barely acknowledged my existence or the financial turmoil his death threw us into.

Fast forward seven years, out of nowhere, I start receiving calls from these relatives. Apparently, there's a piece of land from my grandmother that requires my signature on some legal documents. With each follow-up call, they began to lay thicker layers of affection and offers of support—sudden declarations of love and proposals to send money or visit. I replied as cordially as possible to avoid conflict, but my frustration boiled over when one relative dared mention my father's funeral, reopening old wounds.

In response, I vented my feelings through a Facebook post, expressing my disgust and rebuking their belated expressions of love. The notion that I should reciprocate their feelings seems absurd—it's hard to love those who've been essentially strangers, bonded only by blood.

Reflecting on my outburst, I’m left questioning whether my harsh words were undue, especially towards relatives now in their twilight years. Perhaps they do see echoes of my father in me, but that doesn’t automatically obligate emotional allegiance from my side.

If this scenario had unfolded on a reality TV show, the spectacle would likely ignite a flurry of public commentary and speculation. Viewers would probably be split, some empathizing with my feelings of abandonment and betrayal, while others might criticize the harshness directed towards older family members. Reality shows thrive on emotional drama, and this confrontation has all the ingredients of a high-tension moment that could spark widespread discussion about family dynamics and personal pain.

Was my response to my estranged relatives justified?

Is it acceptable to confront distant relatives who suddenly show

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