Hain: A Quiet Act of Love
Originally published on Substack on February 6, 2025
A simple meal with my husband , parents, and siblings. My sister’s finger obstructs the lens slightly.
“Maghain ka na, Charl,” I hear from the other room. I groan because it’s time for me to get up and set the table while my siblings continue to watch TV or play video games. I check myself and fix my face because if I present like I’m upset about this task then I’m in for some trouble. If I didn’t adjust my outward presentation I’d hear “Wag ka magtampo,” and set my parents into a poor mood too. It’s better to just do the thing.
Maghain, to set the table, in this case for dinner. I grab the placemats and get corrected by my mom because the ones I originally chose need to be cleaned. I start again. A placemat for each person: dad, mom, my brother, my sister, and myself. I put each woven placement in its correct place in that order, completing a small circuit around the table. I carefully brush off any crumbs I see before I grab the flatware and eating utensils.
Then each placemat gets a plate, a fork and a spoon. I adjust the spacing to make sure everyone has enough space for their elbows.
I place the hot kanin and ulam (rice and entrees) on the table because we always eat family style, and I carefully choose the best serving utensils for each dish. I grab sawsawan (dipping sauce) and other extras needed to make our meal complete. And then I’m done, and I feel a tiny sense of pride for how lovely it looks but that feeling is fleeting, replaced with hunger and the knowledge that I won’t hear any praise for this work. I get to call everyone to the table and we take our designated seats. Someone says a prayer (hopefully not me because I already did something for the meal) and then we eat, talk, and connect as a family.
Hain is a simple act that holds deep personal and cultural significance to me. Setting the table for dinner is a simple tradition from my parents’ house that I really miss. “Maghain ka na Charl,” is something I would never hear in my own small apartment I share with my husband, where we don’t even have a dining table, and I can honestly say I miss the ritual of hain.
I’m the panganay, the eldest child, and it was my duty to set the table for my family. As I shared earlier, I did hold resentment toward it, because my siblings got to do nothing while I had so many jobs. And not only did I have jobs in the house, but I was subject to extensive feedback and critique for how I completed my duties. It’s bad enough that I had to do them, now it has to be perfect too? While those ding-dongs get to sit on their asses?
My mom and I preparing dinner.
Hain and the other duties I had as ate (elder sister) contributed to my growing resentment towards my parents and siblings. In the thick of it, I wanted to get away from them as soon as I could. After all, I didn’t ask to be ate or for the responsibilities that came with being born first. Not to mention the different parenting my siblings received over me. As an adolescent and early adult, this brought so much anger and frustration. Why them and not me?
So what are the steps sa maghain? It’s quite simple. Take the items necessary for a meal and place them intentionally in their correct spots. For my family it included placemats because we never had a tablecloth (those are reserved for plastic folding tables), forks and spoons (knives only for foods like roast beef), plates, the meal itself, serving utensils and a napkin per person (with an extra stack on the side if needed).
The intentionality of everything in its place started as a way to keep myself from getting in trouble. If the table was set haphazardly or carelessly, then that was disrespectful to the meal my mother had taken so much time and care to cook. Disrespect wasn’t tolerated, so careless tablescaping was strictly forbidden. I had heard all these stories about how lenient my parents were in comparison to their upbringing, but I didn’t believe them. My grandparents were big softies, no way would my lolo tie my mom up to a chair to ensure she’d sit up straight at dinner. I’m not saying I didn’t have a poor attitude toward my parents, because I did, but it was also perfectly normal to have that begrudging attitude. I didn’t understand why I had to be the one to do these things, nor did I understand what it could mean to set the table for a family because no one took the time to explain it to me.
As an adult, married and family planning, I reflect on what this little daily ritual could give to my household. Having started my journey to reconnect with my kulturang pilipino (Filipino culture), I have learned about the importance of pakikiramdam as attunement - being aware and responsive to another person. This small act of setting the table involves knowing who sits where, what their preferences are, do they need a fork instead of chopsticks, and will my brother be overly messy and need more napkins than the rest of us. These are things I would have picked up on slowly and possibly subconsciously. My goal for hain was to do it as quickly as possible without error. So tuning into preferences and anticipating needs allowed me to get things done correctly and exceptionally. That pang of satisfaction would come up every time someone would say “Ay it’s right here,” as if the item’s presence was so seamless that my mom or dad wouldn’t notice it until they needed it - which they inevitably would, because I anticipated the need.
In the beginning, hain was only to make dinner look nice, but now I see it as a way to set the table for rest and connection. It isn’t about aesthetics, it’s about showing care and attentiveness in a small though impactful way.
The family, save for my sister who’s behind the camera.
My little apartment doesn’t have a dining room, so we have no dining table to dress. As content as I am with the little home I’ve carved out with my husband, I yearn for a large table to complete my daily ritual. Instead of a family-style meal, we prepare a plate for ourselves and walk to our Korean table (a gift from a friend, a large low table meant to eat meals seated on the ground). My husband has his regular seat and I have mine. We each have a glass of water or some other drink that we poured for ourselves. The napkins are distributed absentmindedly by my husband - mostly because his arms are longer. And then we choose something to watch on the TV while we eat. Writing this out stings because it forces me to see how detached this feels from my original experience with hain.
And it continues when we’re at other people’s homes. Many people my age don’t have shared meals. It’s often buffet style or a grazing table. There’s love and intention in those styles too, but they still lack something significant to me—the slow, communal comfort of a family-style meal. Even when I’m at my in-laws, where family-style meals are common, I feel strange for not contributing to the meal the Zii (my aunt- and uncle-in-law) prepared. What once felt like an obligation is now something I long for.
The Deeper Meaning & A Longing for Home
After all this time, I’ve realized that this longing isn’t something I can shake. This sense of home is tied to this ritual because hain taught me to see my family through acts of care and attentiveness. I now think of other duties I had as ate and am curious about what other cultural values I may have internalized. I also wonder about my siblings—did they get a chance to learn these values? Did they, in their way, get Mr. Miyagi’ed into internalizing a cultural value or two? Am I, without realizing it, now reaping the quiet benefits of being ate?
I’m still unravelling what it truly means to be ate and panganay—a role that once felt burdensome but now feels layered with meaning. Some days, my resentment and anger are just as fiery as when I was 17. On other days, when I reflect deeply on my experiences, I can see how being ate has helped me develop a keen sense of attunement which comes in handy for work and relationships. I’m still a work in progress, and likely will always be a work in progress, and I’m more than okay with it. If I can make changes as someone so conflicted, there’s hope for others too.
So, let’s set the table—not just for a meal, but for connection. How do you show attunement in your life and relationships? I’ll be asking myself that all day. And when the day comes to an end, maybe I’ll take extra care to set the table at home. Not as elaborately as I did in my parents’ home, but something close to it. Maybe I request that we go without a TV program for one night. Maybe I take a moment to arrange the napkins and utensils thoughtfully before we sit down to eat. I’m not certain just yet, aside from recognizing a need for more intentionality, care, and rest to close my busy days.
Hain isn’t just about setting a table—it’s about setting the stage for care, recognition, and belonging.
Community Spotlight
Filipinas of HamOnt is a community organization in Hamilton, Ontario that has helped me feel more connected to my roots since moving from Toronto. Their next Sadya: Filipino Conversation Circle is Wednesday, February 12 at 6pm at the Hamilton Central Library (Hamilton Room). Sadya is always free to join, and you’ll learn something new about Filipino language and culture.
Register Here: https://events.hpl.ca/event/12648774
Tools for Navigating Migration & Identity
Much of my work stems from the effects of migration across generations. If you are a child of immigrants and can recognize some pain and loss in your parents, then you may have been affected by that unprocessed migratory grief.
What do you think prevents open communication between you and your parents? How might this affect your emotional well-being?
Looking for more? I’ve made a 15-page workbook to help you explore how migratory grief ripples through your life.
Download it here: Between Two Worlds Workbook
Upcoming Events & Opportunities
Starting in March, I’ll be facilitating a 6-week virtual Eldest Daughter Support Group. For $20 per 90-minute session, group members will learn how to move through the grief, guilt, and resentment they experience while untangling their identity for their role as eldest daughter.
Spots are limited and the group starts in March, so sign up today!
Kababayan Corner
In the spirit of community, I would love to hear from you!
What is one thing from your culture that you want to pass on?
