Living abroad as a Filipina is a unique journey. It comes with a mix of pride, struggles, new beginnings, and silent choices that are not always easy to explain. When people hear that I live in Germany, they often assume I’m surrounded by a big Filipino community, meeting up every weekend for get-togethers, cooking Filipino dishes, going to church together, sharing laughs, and feeling like home away from home. While that may be true for many, it’s not the case for me. And that’s a choice I made with a clear heart and a calm mind.
I have nothing against my fellow Filipinos. In fact, I carry the Filipino values with me—hard work, kindness, hospitality, and deep love for family. But having Filipino friends in Germany has been difficult. Not because there aren’t any. On the contrary, there are many of us here. We have communities, church groups, social gatherings. Yet I keep my distance, and I do it for a reason that many may not understand at first.
In our culture, there is a trait we all know too well—comparing lives. It starts small, as a casual question: “Where do you live?” “What work do you do?” “How much do you earn?” “Where did you buy that bag?” But underneath those questions is something deeper, something heavier. A silent scoreboard, where every answer is placed as a point for or against you. This habit of comparing—sino ang mas maganda ang bahay, sino ang mas successful, sino ang mas mayaman—leads to jealousy. That jealousy slowly turns into gossip, and that gossip spreads like wildfire, sometimes changing shape, adding stories, poisoning reputations.
I’ve seen it too many times. A happy family being talked about because someone said they’re “too proud” just because they post pictures from a vacation. A hardworking woman being judged for wearing branded shoes, with whispers like, “Saan kaya kinukuha ang pera n’yan?” Friends becoming strangers overnight after one petty misunderstanding gets blown up into a full-blown conflict. And when you try to stay quiet and mind your own life, they say you’re acting like you’re better than everyone else. No matter what you do, you become a subject of opinions you didn’t ask for.
I don’t want that. I can’t live with that kind of noise.
My peace matters to me. My time is valuable, especially now that I’m a mother. During the weekdays, my schedule is already fixed—work, errands, responsibilities. Everything runs on time. So when the weekend comes, I want to breathe. I want to be free. I want to enjoy the silence of a slow morning, the laughter of my daughter as we draw something on the board, or the simple joy of having tea or eating ice cream with my husband on our terrace while watching the clouds move and our daughter play with the sands.
These are the things that make my life rich—not the amount of friends I have, not the number of invitations I get, not being part of every group chat or weekend hangout. I don’t mind being left out of the latest Filipino event in town. I’m okay if my name doesn’t show up in social media posts of group selfies at church or big birthday gatherings. I am not lonely—I am selective. I’m not totally anti-social—I am just protective of my peace.
Sometimes, people ask me why they never see me around. Some think I’m too shy. Others might say I’m “maarte” or distant. But the truth is simple: I just don’t want to be in the middle of toxic circles. I’ve known some people who’ve been in them before. They’ve tried, honestly. They’ve joined group chats. They’ve been to a few gatherings. They’ve tried to build friendships. But over time, they always end up seeing the same pattern—smiles in person, then whispers behind backs. Secrets shared in confidence becoming public in a blink. A story told one way and heard in ten different versions. It exhausts the soul.
I’ve seen how kindness is sometimes used as a weakness. If you open up too much, people start using your story as entertainment. If you succeed, people call you lucky or boastful. If you struggle, they act supportive in front but laugh behind closed doors. I’ve realized that for many, it’s not about real friendship—it’s about who’s doing better or worse.
That’s not the kind of community I want to belong to.
I want real connections. I want conversations that don’t revolve around brands, salaries, or whose child is prettier, taller, or smarter. I want to be around people who don’t just ask “Kumusta ka na?” to find something to gossip about later. I want honesty, depth, and peace. And if I can’t find that in big groups, I’d rather have none than have fake company.
My husband and daughter are my world. They are my safe space. With them, I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to explain why I don’t want to go out or why I chose to spend a quiet weekend instead of attending a gathering. They understand that my energy is limited and precious. They know I give my all to them because they are the only ones who truly matter.
I know this isn’t everyone’s experience. I know many Filipinas living abroad who have found beautiful, supportive friendships in their communities. I admire that, and I’m happy for them. But that hasn’t been my story, and I’ve made peace with that. It doesn’t make me less of a Filipino. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about my roots. I still cook sinigang and adobo at home. I still carry the values of respect, humility, and hard work that I learned growing up in the Philippines. But I choose to practice those values in the way that fits the life I want to live now—calm, quiet, and simple.
I’ve also learned that being Filipino is not about being present in every Filipino gathering. It’s about how you carry yourself and your heritage wherever you go. It’s about staying true to the good parts of our culture while letting go of the ones that hurt us. And for me, the best way to honor my roots is to protect my peace.
Sometimes, I wonder what life would be like if we, as a people, learned to celebrate each other without comparing, to support each other without judging, to lift each other up without tearing someone else down. I wonder how much stronger our communities would be if we stopped seeing each other as competition. I imagine a space where Filipinas abroad could meet, talk, and just feel seen—not sized up, not watched, not whispered about.
Maybe that space will exist someday. Maybe it already does, somewhere. And if I come across it, I’ll be grateful. But until then, I’ll continue doing what brings me joy and what keeps my heart light. I’ll keep choosing a quiet weekend with my family over a loud gathering that leaves me drained. I’ll keep staying out of group chats that only serve to spread drama. I’ll keep choosing peace, even if that means being misunderstood.
Because in the end, life is not about how many people you surround yourself with. It’s about who you become when you’re alone. It’s about how well you sleep at night knowing you’ve kept your dignity, your truth, and your peace.
So no, you probably won’t see me hanging out with other people often. You might not find me in church groups or potluck parties. You might not even know much about my personal life unless you’re really close to me or on my FB friends list, where I mostly share personal posts. But that’s okay. I’m not hiding. I’m just choosing to live quietly, with intention and care.
This is the kind of life that makes sense to me. One where love is found in the walls of my home, not in the noise of the crowd. One where time is spent with those who matter, not wasted trying to please everyone. One where I wake up on a Saturday morning and feel nothing but peace, knowing that I am exactly where I need to be.
