There's something strange about being the last one home. All my life, I was the baby sister – the one everyone fussed over, sent money to, and worried about. Now I'm the one keeping track of everyone else.
The Scattering
My family used to be neatly gathered under one roof in Cebu. Now we're scattered across the globe like seeds from a dandelion:
My sister Maria works as a nurse in California, saving lives and sending home Kirkland chocolates that everyone fights over.
My other sister Mariia built a successful life in Florida – though she still complains about the humidity, which makes me laugh because... has she forgotten what Cebu is like in April?
My younger brother Mario became a tech worker in Saudi. The same boy who once couldn't figure out how to use our old DVD player now explains things like "cloud computing" to me over video calls.
And my oldest brother Marioo is... somewhere in Negros doing... something. Even with my family information network, there are mysteries I can't solve. Last I heard, he was starting a farm, but knowing him, he's probably switched to opening a resort or training fighting cocks by now.
<<Yeah, those aren’t their real names…LOL>>
Then there's me. Still in our family home in Cebu. The last one standing.
The Gradual Shift
I didn't plan to become the family hub. It happened so slowly I barely noticed.
It started after Dad passed away. Suddenly, there were decisions about the house, about Mom, about family property. Since I was here, I handled them. Just temporary, I thought.
Then Mom moved to California to live with Maria. That's when it became official – I wasn't just the baby sister anymore. I was the anchor, the one who kept our home alive.
All Roads Lead to Me
Now, all family news flows through me. I'm like a human switchboard, connecting lives across oceans and time zones.
"Have you heard from Marioo?" "Can you tell Cousin Jenny about the baptism?" "Does Mario know about Tita's surgery?" "Did you send Maria the pictures from the reunion?"
I use every communication tool known to humanity. WhatsApp for daily updates. Facebook for sharing photos. Instagram for the younger cousins. Video calls for important discussions. Sometimes I even write actual letters to our older relatives who still don't trust "that internet thing."
I've become the keeper of our family's story, making sure everyone knows what's happening with everyone else. Without me, my siblings might go months without hearing about each other's lives.
The Visa Coordinator
Being Filipino means travel is never simple. Getting visas is a nightmare of paperwork, interviews, and crossed fingers. And I've become the unofficial family travel agent and visa coordinator.
Last year, my cousin and her kids were actually at the airport, ready to fly to Singapore for her brother's wedding, when immigration stopped them. Something was wrong with their papers. They called me in tears.
From my living room in Cebu, I made frantic calls to relatives, coordinated with her brother in Singapore, and arranged for someone to pick them up from the airport. Three days later, with the right documents in hand (and a lot of prayers), they made it to the wedding just in time.
Seeing the Human Side
The strangest part of becoming the family cornerstone? Seeing my older siblings as real people, not the perfect adults I imagined them to be growing up.
I was thirteen when Maria left for nursing school. In my eyes, she was a full-grown woman who knew exactly what she was doing. Now, at 2 AM, she calls me crying because she's homesick or having problems with her husband, and I realize: she's still figuring it out too.
Mario asks me for advice about sending money home, and I think – when did I become the one with answers? Mariia confesses she sometimes feels like a fraud in her successful American life. And Marioo... well, on the rare occasions I hear from him, he still sounds like he's making it up as he goes along.
They were my heroes growing up. Now I know they're just humans, doing their best, sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing. It's both disappointing and comforting to realize.
The Weight and the Joy
Being the family connector comes with mixed feelings. Some days, it's heavy – I'm the one who has to share bad news, mediate disagreements, or explain to a niece why her father missed another video call.
Other days, it's lonely. While I know everything about everyone's lives, I sometimes feel like I'm watching everyone else's adventures from the sidelines. They're out there seeing the world while I'm here, keeping the home fires burning.
But there's joy in it too. I'm the first to hear about new babies, promotions, and achievements. I get to be the bridge that keeps our family connected despite the thousands of miles between us. When someone needs to know if we still have our grandmother's recipe for bibingka, I'm the one they call.
There's power in being the one who remembers, the one who connects, the one who stays.
From Cared For to Caretaker
Sometimes I look around our family home – quieter now, with fewer shoes by the door and fewer plates at the table – and I marvel at how things have changed. The baby sister, the one everyone protected and provided for, is now the guardian of the family's unity.
I never expected this role. Never asked for it. But as our family has spread across the globe, someone needed to be the center. Someone needed to stay.
So here I am, the accidental anchor, the last one home, turning the lights on and off in the house where we all once lived, making sure everyone still feels connected to this place and to each other.
It's strange, it's hard, it's beautiful. And somehow, it fits. The baby sister grew up and became the heart of the family – not because I was the strongest or the smartest, but simply because I was the one who stayed.
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