We recently opened Balustre in Crosswinds, Tagaytay. I envisioned it as a nod to the Filipino way of gathering around the table—a place that celebrates delicious regional dishes and the memories that come with every bite. I imagined every meal becoming a moment filled with stories, laughter, and the familiar comfort of home. I also saw it as a way to revive a Filipino tradition now threatened by modernity and technology.

The Filipino tradition of gathering around the dinner table to share food and stories has changed a lot. It was a quiet, almost unnoticeable change: phones appearing beside plates, messages buzzing in the middle of conversations, someone pausing a story to reply to a chat. At first it felt harmless, but slowly the rhythm of our meals shifted. Where there used to be long conversations, there were shorter answers. Where eyes used to meet, they now looked down at screens.

In many OFW families, a family member, perhaps nanay or tatay, could not come home because of work abroad, and instead of an empty chair there was a small phone propped up on the table—a face on a video call trying to be part of the noise but also drifting away into another world. Modern life and social media made it easier to stay “connected,” yet somehow the feeling of deep togetherness at the table began to thin out.

And this was not only true during Christmas. There were meals when everyone was physically there, but it did not feel like the old communal table. Families would sit together, but half of their attention lived somewhere else—on timelines, on chat groups, on other people’s celebrations. The table was still full of food, but not always full of presence. That was when the loss became clear: Without real attention, the tradition of gathering to eat becomes just another routine, something done because it has always been done, not because hearts are fully in it. And when that happens, the quiet lessons that used to pass from one generation to another—the respect in listening, the patience in waiting, the humility in sharing—are harder to pass on.

Yet every time Christmas comes, there remains a chance for renewal, a chance for new beginnings. Perhaps this year your family decides to put the phones away, even just for that one night. The first few minutes may feel a little strange, as if we have forgotten how to be bored together, how to fill silence without a screen. But then, slowly, the old warmth returns. Someone starts a story, someone else teases them about it, a cousin laughs so loudly that everyone joins in even without knowing why. In those moments, the table becomes what it once was: a place where Filipino values are not discussed but lived—where “pakikisama” is in the way we include everyone in the conversation, “respeto” is in the way we listen to our elders’ long stories, and “utang na loob” is in the quiet gratitude we feel for simply being together.

On nights like that, identity stops being an idea and becomes something felt. Sitting there, passing a bowl of food to an aunt, watching parents talk with their kids, you realize that these are the people who shaped your sense of self. The way you speak, the way you deal with the outside world, even the way you dream for the future, all come from moments like this—sitting around a table, sharing rice and stories. Meals, especially during Christmas and New Year, centered on this simple act of eating together, become a mirror. They show who we have been as a family, who we are now, and who we still hope to be.

Maybe this is why the erosion of this tradition in many homes feels so painful, even if it is hard to name. When families stop gathering at the table, especially at Christmas, something in the Filipino soul grows quieter. But as long as there is even one person who says, “Let’s all sit and eat together,” the story is not over. A pot of spaghetti topped with that sweet Pinoy-style sauce, a small ham, even just pandesal and coffee can be enough to bring everyone back. What matters most is not what is on the table, but who is around it—and how willing they are to put the world on pause, look at one another, and remember that in this shared space, around this Christmas table, they are home.

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