MY PARENTS were born in the 1960s, my siblings in the 1980s, and I was born in the 2000s. You could say that we have a little bit of an age gap. It’s fascinating to have three different generations living under the same roof.
In my house, there is always something new for each one of us to learn. One day I could be teaching my parents how to use an online shopping app, the next day I could be learning about what a FamiCom is from my siblings or what EDSA looked like during the People Power Revolution from my parents.
As the bunso, I have always been taken care of by those around me. If I couldn’t understand my math homework, I could always ask my kuya for help. If I wanted to rant about my horrible day, I knew my ate would listen. I loved being the youngest, but as the years pass by, I have realized just how much responsibility it bears.
There is a lot that comes with being the youngest in a relatively big family. Part of it is getting to watch all your older siblings and cousins try new things before you. When I was in high school, most of them were already finished with their education. A few were in medical school, while some had already joined the workforce and others started having families of their own. If I learned anything from them, it would be to face every challenge with a smile and to see every failure as an opportunity to learn something new.
As inspiring as it was to watch them achieve milestone after milestone, there was always a strange feeling in my chest knowing just how far behind I was. Though I have learned and continue to learn a lot from them, I somehow feel like I am always trying to catch up on the road they paved.
On the other hand, I find that the best part about being the youngest is getting to hear the crazy stories my relatives have accumulated over the years. We often spend long nights at my grandmother’s house where my mother and uncle would catch up over a few drinks. My cousins and I would sit along the dining table with them and the night would be spent exchanging outrageous stories that could range from my parents’ activist days to my cousin’s hectic shift as a medical intern. I loved nights like this when I got to hear about the amazing lives the people around me have led. It made me proud to be part of such a family, though I would never be able to say this to their faces, of course.
For the longest time, I thought this was all it meant to be the bunso—to watch, listen, and learn. To some extent it’s true but the COVID-19 pandemic has put a whole new weight on what it means to be young and healthy. Half of the people who would be laughing and telling stories until the early hours of the morning are now part of the vulnerable group.
Age has suddenly become so much more than a number. I haven’t been to my grandmother’s house in the longest time in fear of potentially bringing the virus to her. I do the grocery for my mother so she doesn’t risk being exposed to a crowd. I haven’t seen my sister for the longest time as the travel ban to Japan hasn’t been lifted.
It isn’t so much about feeling left behind anymore when the lives of your loved ones are at risk. In more ways than one, I’ve come to learn that being the youngest also means becoming the future of my family. I am not just the bunso, I am a person that my family depends on especially during these trying times, and I could be the one paving the way for someone else in the future. It’s my responsibility to live out what I learned from my family–to always get back up and to do your best for the people you love. Maybe someday I could tell my own stories to a younger generation and bring honor to the ones before me. For now, I am just as much a pillar of strength for my family as they are to me.
