CHICAGO, ILLINOIS — As I flipped through photos of my nieces and nephews, each of their tiny faces reminded me of the bonds that have long rooted our family.
These little ones, children of my first cousins, are the newest branches in our family tree, and in their smiles, I see glimpses of a legacy we all share. The last time we gathered as a family was at a reunion my mother organized right after my brother’s wedding.
For the first time in years, we crowded around a table filled with laughter and familiar stories, all of us feeling the unmistakable warmth of being home. It was like stepping back into my grandmother’s embrace, the same embrace that had held us together through so many seasons.
Reuniting with my cousins felt like stepping back into those golden afternoons at my grandparents’ house. Despite the years that had passed, we picked up right where we left off, slipping into our old rhythms as if no time had gone by.
We swapped stories of our current lives, but somehow, every conversation circled back to those afternoons in Dumaguete when we laughed, played, and occasionally squabbled over the last piece of squid ball.
Those years weren’t just about childhood—they were the heart of a world we built together, one that came alive every day in Lolo Lloyd & Lola Persing’s house, which we transformed into our own kingdom with boundless imagination, and a shared sense of adventure.
Back then, we didn’t have to plan our time together; we lived so close that being with my cousins felt as natural as breathing. After school, we would rush to our grandparents’ house, filling their home and garden with games and laughter.
When we weren’t outdoors, we sprawled across the living room watching cartoons, or took turns on the family computer, maneuvering 2D sprites like Mario and Luigi across pixelated landscapes.
Back then, it didn’t matter if we couldn’t save our progress; what mattered was that we shared the adventure, starting over as many times as it took. We didn’t need anything fancy—just each other, and the simple magic of being together.
Those days made us more than just cousins; they made us an extended family who felt more like siblings. We grew up side by side, understanding each other without the need for words, bound by shared memories and unspoken loyalty.
In each other’s company, we didn’t need to explain who we were; we knew, deeply and intuitively. And though life has scattered us far from Dumaguete, pulling us in different directions and across continents, that bond remains as unbreakable as ever.
Looking at these new little ones, I feel both pride and a bittersweet ache. They’ll grow up loved and cherished, but they’ll miss something we were lucky enough to have—the rare joy of growing up with cousins as close as siblings.
They won’t know the magic kingdom we once created or the freedom of afternoons spent in a world that felt entirely ours.
For them, family gatherings may be fewer, separated by distance and time, while for us, it was simply how we lived.
What made our bond so deeply special wasn’t just the hours we spent together; it was the depth of knowing each other fully, and without reservation. We were each other’s playmates, confidants, and partners in mischief, sharing victories and heartbreaks that only family could truly understand.
We spoke the same language of shared memories, laughter that needed no context, and tears that found comfort in each other’s presence.
Those years layered our lives with a closeness that could only come from growing up side by side, and as we grow older, that closeness feels like an increasingly rare gift.
As the holidays approach, I find myself reflecting on that closeness we once took for granted. Back then, being apart during the season was unimaginable; Christmas wasn’t just a holiday—it was a reunion, a time when the house filled with the sound of cousins decorating, sharing treats, and posing for family photos (often dressed as mini-Santas).
It was as natural as breathing to have family around us, sharing in the thrill of opening gifts, and counting down to the New Year.
Now as December draws near, I feel a pang of nostalgia and a profound appreciation for those simple, joyful gatherings that have become the foundation of who I am. If only we had known how precious those ordinary days were, we might have held them even closer.
This year, for the first time in many years, my husband and I decided to spend the holidays back home in Dumaguete and in Cebu, surrounded by family, and the familiar sights of where we come from. There’s a certain nostalgia that fills the heart as we grow older—an ache for the simplicity of the bonds that shaped us long before the world became so vast and complicated.
Maybe it’s this process of growing up, and leaving the nest that deepens our craving for home. We leave to chase dreams, to build lives, but in quiet moments, we find ourselves yearning for the sense of belonging that only family can give us.
Though we’ve built meaningful connections with new friends and colleagues, there’s something irreplaceable about the bonds we share with family.
City life can be isolating, and there are times when we long for the kind of unspoken understanding only cousins and childhood friends can offer.
The friendships we’ve formed over the years are dear to us, but there’s a depth, a richness in our family ties that no other bond quite matches.
Returning home for the holidays feels like reconnecting with that sense of grounding, of being embraced by relationships that ask for nothing but presence.
It’s a chance to come back to what really matters, and to cherish the family that has been there since the beginning.
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