The other week, I flew back to my provincial childhood home to spend some quality time with my family. I bought my tickets on Thursday, flew the next day, and stayed for a week. This time, I went by myself and had no particular plans other than to simply be with my family.

It was the first time I had done that since getting married more than a decade ago, and it turned out to be a very fulfilling and eye-opening experience. I noticed that so many things have changed—and yet, so many things have stayed the same. The barangay (village) I grew up in feels both different and familiar at the same time.

What Has Changed

What used to be vacant lots or rice fields are now packed with shops, new houses, and small establishments. The old sari-sari stores have turned into proper grocery stores. The single-detached homes of the past have become mixed commercial-residential spaces—not the fancy kind you see in big cities, but ones that still fit the local provincial barangay vibe.

The once-quiet roads where farmers used to lay out palay (unhusked rice) to dry are now bustling with motorcycles, tricycles, jeepneys, and cars. There are even new electric e-bikes—something like spartan golf carts that can carry two to four people. They drive like automatic cars, and apparently, you don’t even need a driver’s license to use one… or so I was told.

The small, tight-knit community where everyone knew everyone—and about half the people were relatives—is now filled with dayos (newcomers), many from neighboring barangays and even from other provinces as far as the Visayas and Mindanao. The families in the older, bigger houses are still familiar, but the people in the newer residential spaces are mostly dayos, some renting for as little as a thousand pesos a month.

Many of the people I knew who once ran local businesses are now old or retired. Some of their children continue the business, but others have closed down entirely—either because no one took over or because the kinds of businesses that thrive today are different. Those who accumulated property in the old days now mostly rent them out for income. Others lend out money and live off the interest.

What Has Stayed the Same

The Marites (gossipers) are still there—strong as ever. In fact, I think social media, especially Facebook, has made them even more efficient. People don’t even need to meet in person anymore to get the latest chismis (gossip). While I’m not a fan, I do recognize that gossip helps people stay connected and updated. It’s still a tried-and-true conversation starter and a form of social glue in the community.

The pressure to get married and have kids is also very much alive. It’s still the default question people ask when they see someone they haven’t met in a long time. Come to think of it, maybe this is something Japan could learn from to address its aging population problem. In Japan—and other “developed” countries—it’s considered rude to pressure others to marry or have children. The result? People really did stop marrying and having kids. In our town, it’s comforting to know that community pressure still exists in this regard. Perhaps that’s part of why the Philippines won’t face the same demographic crisis anytime soon.

The strong sense of community has also endured. Relatives are still just around the corner, ready to help when needed. Local services are as accessible as ever: don’t feel like cooking? The neighborhood carinderia (eatery) to the rescue. Need your nails done? The local manikurista (manicurist) is just a call away—and they even do home service. Forgot to buy groceries? Mobile vendors still drive around selling fish, seafood, and other essentials.

Conclusion

I lived in our barangay only until high school, after which I moved to Metro Manila for university and later to Japan for work. Living there again for a week as an adult felt very different from when I was a student. Compared to life in Manila or Tokyo, the sense of community is much stronger—something that brings both benefits and drawbacks. There are people you can always rely on, but also people who can make your life difficult. You live among both, and you simply have to adapt.

For now, I think I prefer the Tokyo way—keeping a polite distance from neighbors. It avoids awkwardness if things ever go sour, though it also limits opportunities for close connections. Still, you can build those relationships elsewhere—at work, through hobbies, or in other circles. At least if things don’t work out, you can easily walk away.

Maybe as we grow older, our perspective will change. But that’s the beauty of life—finding what fits your current stage and tweaking it as you go along.