I’ve learned the hard way that gift-giving is often a minefield of disappointment.

I remember my first corporate gift exchange. I stayed within the budget but made a stupid mistake. I bought a pair of elegant earrings - small but high-quality, and more expensive than they looked.

I realized quickly that it lacked the heft of the usual gift.

Trying to fix it, I went out of my way and spent extra - to buy a second accessory to pair with the earrings. I thought the extra cost and effort would prove my sincerity; after all, anyone could go to the boutique and check the price tag.

Instead, when the recipient opened it, they eyed me with a look of disappointment and suspicion, as if I had skimped on them.

In that moment, I realized that in a room full of people, big is always seen as better than good. Perhaps this is why so many gravitate toward loud brands and oversized logos—they need the world to see the price tag because there’s not enough appreciation on quality or understatement.

To them, value is loud; they have no eye for the quiet elegance of low-profile, high-quality craft.

Now, I know better.

Compared to the substantial coffee bean grinder I received, my gift really looked like nothing more than part of the wrapper and ribbon for a real gift that never arrived.

The company began requiring receipts for every exchange. I actually gave more, yet I ended up being the reason for a transparency policy.

Whenever I travel, I love finding unique souvenirs to pack for my friends and family.

In New York City, I spent time hunting for a specific Snoopy hardcover for a friend because I knew she was crazy about the character.

Looking back, I realize I was the only one who felt any joy in that exchange; I was so happy when I found it, yet I was met with total indifference. I had expected a moment of shared delight, but instead, I felt only a chill - both when I gave it and afterward.

It leaves me wondering: did I miss the mark?

Then there’s the sour puss brigade. People who won’t even look at you when you hand them a gift, telling you to just leave it there.

It feels like they resent my travels, ignoring that I earn these trips through hard work and incentives.

I am grateful for my opportunities, but it’s exhausting to return from a well-earned break only to be met with a black face of jealousy from the people I tried to include in my joy.

There was one instance so insulting that I finally put my foot down and vetoed them from my gift list forever.

Their complaint? It was a hamper, and they actually said it was too light.

I was stunned.

One has to ask: what does a person expect from premium Chinese herbs? I wonder what they were comparing the gift to - a pig at the market, where the value increases with every extra kilo? Or a solid bar of gold?

It wasn’t just the one comment; it was the cumulative weight of their ungratefulness.

When you add this insult to the sourpuss faces they’ve given me time and again, the message is clear and I have no reason to keep giving.

I am finished. No more gifts for them.

Some people don’t want a gift; they want an annual tribute or a personal tax, demanding expensive items that could have easily covered the necessities in my own modest home.

It is staggering to think that while I am managing my own budget, they are expecting treasures - gems, pearls, and cashmere.

I once had someone question why I changed brands from the previous year, clearly implying that the current one was cheaper.

She was calculating the price difference in real-time. As if I was defaulting on a loan.

A gift is meant to be a gesture of thought, not a rental agreement where the value is expected to stay the same or go up, but never down.

A gift is not an obligation either.

But for some, it’s a tribute that validates their self-importance. They expect the price tag to reflect the high level they think they occupy.

The hypocrisy is staggering.

Local specialties from the Mediterranean were met with a blunt, WTF is this? and dismissed as bloody awful.

Yet, branded jewelry and expensive cashmere shawls - luxuries I haven’t even bought for myself - always seem to earn me a smile.

It is clear that a premium price tag is the only tribute worthy of these… what should I call them? Self-important, pirated royal highnesses?

The breaking point came when Vietnamese snacks were practically thrown back in my face with the elitist comment: We don’t eat these kinds of things.

It was a physical slap in the face.

I’ve learned to stay invisible now. I no longer want the credit for any gift, because I refuse to be the target of their condescending feedback.

These days, my shopping list is for my three furballs.

Sure, they might let a gift grow cobwebs while they play with the boxes and wrappers. Their treadmill has become a high-end cat bed, gathering dust as a fitness tool but serving perfectly as a napping spot - but I’m happy.

Buying for them brings me joy, not frustration Cats don’t check price tags or demand tributes.

See? Even animals are better than humans.

I’m done serving ingrates, only to be left with a cold plate of disdain.

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✍️Previously published: 30th December 2025
📖 Selected Winning Entry | CCC Freewriters Daily Series

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