During my years in the Philippines, I felt people were a million times closer to one another as compared to the West. They had these big, large and tight-knit families. And equally big, large and tight-knit groups of friends they’d call a barkada. They’d drink, share, cry and laugh together. Jam together. Love together. Hurt together. There was just this togetherness that I found nowhere else.
Back home, I had my share of friends, and sure enough I got along fine with my cousins. But at no point did I feel anywhere near as close to them as I did in the Philippines. Even a second or third cousin is treated like a sibling. Ever old man in your town is a lolo (grandfather), or tito (uncle), even non-related women are tita (auntie), lola (grandma). An older male friend, kuya or manong. An older female friend ate or manang. Big bro or big sis.
It just felt so… sweet? And the sweetness of it never quite left me. The country had a lot of issues, too. But it was never a result of this comforting familiarity and hospitality. More likely, the issues were because of the collective tendency of Filipinos to forgive a little too easily… which can be wonderful within a group of friends or with family, but disastrous in, for example, politics.
In the other countries I visited, and there have been many, I’ve never quite felt this togetherness again. Having eventually married into a Filipino family myself, I have to say I felt almost instantly like I belonged. I doubt my own spouse felt that way with my family, at least, not anywhere near as quickly.
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