Upon my college graduation, I ventured to Manila in pursuit of employment. While I am fluent in Tagalog, upon my arrival, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the people I encountered swiftly discerned my Ilonggo heritage. How did they discern this, you might ask? Perhaps they recognized my Ilonggo roots because of my appearance? However, allow me to sidestep discussing my alleged handsomeness and instead, share with you the origins of my background.

  I hail from Bacolod City, Negros Occidental, born into a large family. My father, a valiant soldier, bore the brunt of World War II on the frontlines. Post-war, my parents proceeded to expand our family in rapid succession.

  Their union blessed them with a total of 17 children—12 boys and 5 girls. Yes, you heard it correctly, a brood of seventeen offspring between the two of them. I proudly claim the fifteenth spot and, according to my mother, held the distinction of being among the most handsome and well-behaved sons.

  My formative years unfolded within the confines of our familial abode in Bacolod. While our parents sustained a modest income, our sizable two-story dwelling accommodated our large family, inclusive of my grandmother and aunt, who resided with us to assist with household chores and child-rearing. Our home boasted a total of ten bedrooms, where cherished memories of spirited games like “panagu-ay” (hide and seek) were etched into my childhood. These games occasionally included our friends, elevating the challenge for the seeker, often leading to prolonged searches throughout the house. On one such occasion, I was discovered asleep amidst a heap of soiled garments behind a bed’s headboard, causing quite a stir.

  Our expansive living room, adjoining the dining area furnished with a long table for twelve, still insufficient to accommodate our entire family simultaneously. To sustain such a large household, we frequently settled for basic fare of fish and vegetables, occasionally relishing a rare treat of chicken tinola that felt akin to a celebration.

  Chores were an integral part of my upbringing. With my father’s military background came a strict adherence to household duties, sparing no one, even the most well-behaved son.

  Proximity to the public market meant early exposure to market trips for me and my siblings. We were trained to select fresh produce and negotiate prices, skills necessary for meal preparation, a task rotated amongst us.

  The most arduous chore was undoubtedly dishwashing. Each meal left us with an overwhelming stack of dishes to clean, often taking over an hour to complete.

  Conversely, washing clothes with my mother by the well near our house was a joyous affair, akin to a picnic. Post-laundry, the small tub transformed into our swimming pool, where my siblings and I would spend the morning swimming and indulging in our mother’s prepared lunch—blissful moments etched into my memory.

  Reflecting on these cherished moments from my modest yet joyous childhood, characterized by both playfulness and responsibility, reinforces the value of familial bonds. Despite the diverse paths we’ve taken as we’ve grown older, the tight-knit bond fostered during our childhood remains steadfast to this day.

  These childhood memories have served as my compass and inspiration in raising my own family with my wife—a smaller yet tightly-knit unit. Witnessing the contentment and happiness of my family of five today reaffirms that this approach has proven successful for us.

  I am the fifteenth in line, offering you a glimpse into our roots.

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