At three in the morning, Grandma Conching was already awake. This day was special—it was her 80th birthday.
Even though her knees and back hurt, she patiently chopped the ingredients. She cooked her grandchildren’s favorites: sweet-style spaghetti, lumpiang Shanghai, kare-kare, and leche flan.
“Junior will surely be happy with this,” she murmured to herself as she stirred the pot.
“And Grace loves lumpia.”
By eleven in the morning, everything was ready. A red tablecloth was spread out. Plates and glasses were neatly arranged. Grandma Conching wore her favorite red dress and even put on a little lipstick.
She sat on the sofa and waited.
Tick… tock… tick… tock…
One o’clock in the afternoon came. Still, no one had arrived.
The phone rang.
“Hello? Child? Junior?” Grandma answered excitedly.
“Ma, I’m sorry. We won’t be able to come today. I have an emergency meeting at the office. We’ll visit next week instead. Happy Birthday.”
The call ended.
The phone rang again. This time, it was Grace.
“Grandma! Happy Birthday! Oh no, I’m so sorry—the child is sick. We can’t travel. We’ll just send you a cake through Grab.”
One by one, her three children and five grandchildren made excuses.
Busy.
Traffic.
Sick.
No money.
Six in the evening.
The spaghetti had gone cold.
The lumpia was no longer crispy.
The leche flan had turned watery.
Grandma Conching simply stared at the long table full of food.
Untouched.
No people.
Her only companion was the silence of the large house.
Tears began to fall from Grandma’s eyes.
“I cooked so much…” she whispered hoarsely.
“Who will eat all of this? Should I just throw it away?”
She grabbed some plastic bags, planning to pack the food to give to the dogs or throw it out, because she couldn’t possibly finish it all by herself.
So overwhelmed with sadness, she just wanted to sleep and forget that it was her birthday.
Suddenly—
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Someone was knocking at the gate.
Grandma Conching wiped her tears.
“Who is it?”
When she opened the door, she saw Aling Maring, the gossip-loving neighbor from across the street. But behind Maring were Mang Tasyo (the tricycle driver), Bebang (the sari-sari store vendor), and a group of children who usually played on the street.
There were almost twenty of them.
“Grandma Conching!” Aling Maring greeted her.
“I noticed from my window that your table had been set for a long time, but no one was coming. And we could smell your kare-kare all the way to the next corner!”
“That’s right, Grandma!” said the boy named Moymoy.
“We’re hungry! Can we eat with you? It would be such a waste!”
Grandma Conching froze.
“H-huh? Well… come in, please.”
The neighbors poured in like ants.
“Wow! Spaghetti!” the children shouted.
“Hey, pass the rice! That shrimp paste smells amazing!” Mang Tasyo called out.
Suddenly, the once-silent house came alive.
It was filled with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of utensils.
They finished all of Grandma’s food.
Nothing was left.
While everyone was eating, Aling Maring suddenly stood up.
“Hey, hey! Enough eating! We have a birthday celebrant here!”
Moymoy pulled out a cupcake bought from the nearby corner store, with a candle stuck on top.
Together, they all sang:
“Happy Birthday to you…
Happy Birthday to you…”
The neighbors clapped.
The children, their faces smeared with spaghetti sauce, sang loudly.
The tricycle drivers cheered.
Grandma Conching broke down in tears.
Not from sadness—
but from joy.
“Blow the candle, Grandma!” they shouted.
She blew out the candle.
Aling Maring and the children hugged her.
“Thank you…” Grandma cried.
“Thank you all. I thought I would be alone tonight.”
“Oh, Grandma,” Mang Tasyo said while chewing on lumpia,
“Even if your children aren’t here, we are. You’re the grandma of the whole barangay.”
That night, Grandma Conching learned that family is not always bound by blood.
Sometimes, they are simply the people around you—
willing to keep you company,
fill your heart,
and finish all your food so that nothing goes to waste.