(While attending post-secondary school, I share an apartment with two of my cousins, one of whom attends a different school. My program is only two years, while hers is four, so immediately after I complete my program, I have to travel away for a job. As I’m not totally moving, I keep paying my share of the rent, so I can have a room to come home to when I have days off from the job. I am at the apartment for perhaps ten days over a three-month period, May to July. My aunt, my cousins’ mom, has come to visit for a few days, in July. The apartment is a complete and utter disaster; there is a horrific fruit fly infestation and mold on dishes waiting by the sink. It’s disgusting. I am in town, as well.)

Aunt: “[Cousins #1 & #2]! This is a complete pigsty! How did it get like this? Have you guys not been doing your chores at all?”

Cousin #1: “Well, I’ve been too busy with school. I was so behind on so many assignments! My professor gave me a summer extension.”

Cousin #2: “It wasn’t my turn to do the dishes.”

Aunt: “Well, whose turn was it?”

Cousin #2: “It was [My Name]’s!”

Aunt: “But hasn’t [My Name] been away for work since May?”

Cousin #2: “Well, yes, but—”

Aunt: “So, you haven’t done any dishes since she left?”

Cousin #2: “But it was her turn!”

Aunt: “Were the dishes done before she left?”

Cousin #1: “Yes, because it was my turn before her.”

Aunt: “So, what you’re saying is that you used dishes, cooked, and so on, and left the dirty dishes for [My Name] to clean up, even though she wasn’t actually living here, and kept piling them up, waiting for her to come do them, because it was her turn?”

Cousins: “Yes!”

Aunt: “SOAP. GLOVES. NOW.”

(It was a huge relief to have them put in their place. They are wonderful girls, but it was absolutely ridiculous that they somehow expected me to be responsible for cleaning up after them when I wasn’t even living in the apartment. One cousin had to do all dishes, while I helped the other scrub out the cupboard to get rid of the fruit flies. Tip: apple cider vinegar will draw them. I now have a major sensitivity to fruit flies, and deep-clean my own house anytime even one shows up.)

(My dad’s American and my mom is from the Philippines. Every couple years, we visit Mom’s side of the family. One of my cousins has a new girlfriend, and all the aunts and uncles are excited to meet her for the first time. My parents and I end up being unavailable when he brings her to meet the family, so later we ask my aunt, that cousin’s mom, about her.)

Mom: “So, how did it go? How was she?”

Aunt: “Healthy.”

Mom: “Okay? What was she like, though?”

Aunt: “Just healthy.”

(I asked my mom about this later, and she confirmed that my aunt was saying the girlfriend was fat. No other indication of her personality or accomplishments, just that she was fat. As much as I like being Filipina, they can be savage, and I’m glad I don’t spend a lot of time with that side of the family.)

This story is included in our Philippines roundup – part of the Not Always Right World Tour!

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(My cousins are visiting us for the weekend, and we are about to head out for my youngest brother’s soccer game. My dad, brothers, uncle, and female cousin have already left, leaving my mom, aunt, my male cousin, who is ten at the time, and me. I am thirteen. My cousin gets a bloody nose, and it’s a pretty bad one, with blood running down his face. I take him to the bathroom and get him cleaned up, then notice I’ve used the last of the toilet paper to do so, and there are no tissues or paper towels in sight.)

Me: “How are we supposed to stop the bleeding?!”

Cousin: “You’re the one who’s supposed to know this stuff! Think of something!”

(I suddenly remember a tip my English teacher — an avid outdoorsman, and a little weird — told us. I go into the lower cabinet and grab one of my mom’s tampons. My cousin doesn’t know what it is, so I just unwrap it and stick the cotton part up his nose. It quite effectively stops the bleeding, and we go into the kitchen where my mom and aunt are.)

Mom: “[My Name], what the heck is up [Cousin]’s nose?!”

Me: “A tampon. His nose started bleeding!”

(My aunt is laughing too hard to respond at this point.)

Mom: “Why did you put a tampon up his nose?”

Me: “His nose was bleeding, and in the movie we just watched in English, a girl pretending to be a guy sticks a tampon up her nose for her fake nosebleeds, and Mr. [Teacher] says it’s really effective!”

Mom: *face-palms* “While I’m sure it might be, it’s not something he can have up his nose in public!”

Cousin: “Wait, what is it supposed to be for?”

Mom: *freezes*

Aunt: *falls over laughing*

Me: “It goes in a woman’s lady parts when she gets her period. It’s made to absorb blood!”

Cousin: “So… it’s doing its job?”

My aunt has six children, two of which were twins. Sadly, one of the twins died as a baby due to cot death. This year is the remaining twin’s 30th birthday. She planned a big party for herself and invited her mum — my aunt — along.

Her mum told her she couldn’t make it because she was throwing a party for [Dead Twin]’s birthday.

Sadly, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. I understand that you want to remember the child that you lost, but at the cost of ignoring the twin that lived?

(Years ago, when my youngest aunt first attended school, she had until then been called “Jojo” by family and friends instead of her birth name. This wasn’t an issue until she started school.)

Teacher: “[Aunt]? [Aunt]? I guess she’s absent.”

(After roll call is done, my aunt raises her hand.)

Aunt: “You didn’t call me!”

Teacher: “I didn’t? What’s your name?”

Aunt: “Jojo!”

Teacher: “There’s no Jojo on the list; your name can’t be Jojo.”

Aunt: *getting upset now* “Yes, I am! I’m Jojo!”

Teacher: *light bulb goes off* “The only absent person is [Aunt], are you [Aunt]?”

Aunt: “NO! I am Jojo! My name’s Jojo!”

Teacher: “[Surname] is your last name, right?”

Aunt: “Yes!”

Teacher: “Then you’re [Aunt].”

Aunt: “NO! I said my name is Jojo!”

(She then proceeds to have a full-on tantrum, so the teacher drags her to the office and calls my grandmother to try to resolve the issue. My grandmother just laughs.)

Grandmother: “OH! Jojo is her nickname. I didn’t realize we were only calling her that. Yes, this is [Aunt].”

Aunt: *stomps her foot* “Mooooooom! You’re dumb! My. Name. Is. Jojo!”

(Forty years later, the family will not let my aunt live it down.)