Raised by singles

Why are others’ daddies and mommies married? Why are Daddy and Mommy siblings?”

That was a question I remember having as a child. Soon I realized that Daddy and Mommy Tiya are siblings, and along with their four siblings, Tito Yap, Abay, Tito Meng, and Tito Pet, they raised me, their niece, in the family home where they spent their childhood.

My aunts and uncles are my late mother’s siblings. My late Lola saw me as a cure to her boredom, always asking my aunts and uncles to fetch me so I could stay in their house during weekdays.

My stay, however, became permanent when my mother passed away while giving birth to my younger sister. I was only one year old then, and while my sister lived with my father and his side of the family, I stayed with my mother’s siblings. My father let me stay with them because I was already comfortable with their presence, while my younger sister liked being with the father’s side of the family more.

Since then, my unmarried aunts and uncles became my parents.

Growing up, I knew I was a special case. In the small and conventional world of my childhood, where everyone had a nuclear family, I was the odd one out.

For our lesson in Grade 3 about genetics, I could not provide a single photo of my mom with me and my sister. Since the lesson was about how children inherit physical traits from their biological parents, I could not submit pictures with my aunts and uncles either.

When I was in Grade 8, we had to act out one of the members’ lives, similar to the drama anthology “Maalaala Mo Kaya,” but a role-play version. When choosing whose life story to dramatize, all fingers were pointed at me.

I knew that my family setup was nontraditional since I had received my fair share of looks of pity, but it comforted me that I was not the only one out of the ordinary. My aunts and uncles were odd ones, too.

Four out of six of my mother’s siblings remain single. One got married in his 40s while another got married then separated. None had a biological child of his own.

As I grew older, I began echoing the same questions I had heard from other relatives throughout my childhood.

“’To, bakit kayo single? (‘To, why are you single?)”

Tito Yap remembered that my Lolo and Lola were strict when they were younger. He said that they were the “disciplinarian” parents. As someone superstitious, he also said that being single runs in the family. Their great aunts lived the rest of their lives unmarried, too.

But what struck me was Tito Yap’s most important answer: Being single is a choice.

I would like to think that they were just way ahead of their time. Now, many Filipino Gen Zs do not even want to get married. I knew very early in my childhood what others my age are probably realizing just recently: married life is not the only path one can take.

My upbringing also taught me that romance is not the only love that brings the family together. The kind of love I grew up witnessing was my aunts and uncles’ undying love for my late mother and the unspoken and often overlooked bond between them as siblings.

My aunts and uncles have taken on the roles of each other’s spouses and children. Tito Yap, 65, the eldest child, still spoils their youngest, Mommy Tiya, 49, by buying her mangoes from the market. Mommy Tiya, as the youngest, helps the older ones deal with technology, such as withdrawing money from the ATM.

My aunts and uncles share everything: food, household chores, childhood stories, the love for sports, and the responsibility of taking care of me. Raising me was a collaborative effort.

Abay quit her job as a seamstress to take care of me. Daddy brought me the prettiest dresses for Christmas and New Year. Tito Yap knows that I only eat puto made from rice and not wheat. Tito Meng gave me the recipe for his famous dinuguan.

For my aunts and uncles, taking care of me was not a big deal. It was not a heroic move straight out of a soap opera. I was not a charity case. They simply loved me like it was just the most natural thing to do.

Now, they are in their 40s, 50s, and 60s, with gray hair, fragile health, and retirement. Slowly, the possibility of my taking care of them in return becomes imminent.

Sometimes, it is the small things I worry about. Who would help me cook during fiesta when my aunts and uncles become too old? Would I stay in Bataan to take care of my aging aunts and uncles, or would I move to another place to pursue my career?

Maybe I will handle my future responsibilities better than I imagined. Hopefully, I will have more time to prepare for them. Hopefully, I would make my unmarried aunts and uncles proud, not just of the child they raised, but of the adult whose life they had changed.

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Mary Shane C. Waje, 21, is a second-year communications student at the University of the Philippines Baguio.