In Filipino culture, the word “bayanihan” means community: shared identity, togetherness, and showing up for the people close to you even when your glass is half empty. Growing up in the Philippines, I didn’t realize how much my culture instilled this value in me until I moved to America for college. Leaving my community behind made its absence impossible to ignore — I lost the give-and-take, the quiet ways people held each other up. Everyone back home became my village before I could even understand what I was a member of. When I moved to the other side of the world on my own, I had to learn it all over again.
Building community somewhere new showed me that this is no easy feat. America’s individualistic culture meant that making connections often felt transactional and isolating. But through luck and people who decided to step up anyway, I found my village here, too. The price of community is inconvenience. It’s showing up — even when you’re tired, busy, or stretched thin — because someone needed you, and you were there. Being a part of a village requires you to be a villager, too.
What I’ve learned from friends on both sides of the world is this: A sense of community is not something that happens overnight. It is a choice that someone makes, over and over, in small and ordinary ways. These are some of the things that my communities taught me to do.
Inconvenience yourself without keeping score: Whenever I ask my sister for help, she gives more than I ask for without expecting anything in return. She leaves 44 comments when I ask her for feedback on an essay, spends half of her trip looking for gifts I want her to buy for me, and takes thousands of photos of me when I ask her to. From my sister, I learned how to be intentional with how I treat people. To me, this means pushing my homework back when someone asks to get lunch, staying up to call my friends in different time zones, and saying “yes” to plans even after long and tiring days. When I show up for someone, I try to do what my sister always does — treat me like I was never an inconvenience to begin with.
Make people feel seen: I feel seen by my communities when someone I know notices we’re in the same class and moves from the back of the lecture hall to sit beside me, when my roommates come to the dining hall with me even if they’ve already cooked themselves dinner, or when my mom plans a last-minute surprise party for me and people make an effort to come despite being busy. Community is built when I walk into a room and see people’s faces light up into smiles — and I try to pass it on by smiling at people as I walk to class. The people who make me feel seen don’t have to do anything extraordinary — they just pay attention. Sometimes, it’s as simple as telling someone they did a good job when they need to hear it, hugging your friend when you see them, or letting someone know you miss them if you haven’t heard from them in a while. Those who show up deserve to know that it matters.
Be vulnerable: In offering so much of ourselves to building community, we must allow people to show up for us as well. Earlier this year, I met with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while, and he confided in me about struggles I was unaware of. I felt honored that he trusted me with such personal information. I always feared that people would view me differently if they learned too much about me, and oftentimes, that fear takes over. I tend to suppress my feelings, convince myself that no one notices my absence, and isolate myself from the people who matter. But pulling away is more damaging than letting people in.
Community is about trust and connection — feeling safe to be our full selves and letting go of your fear of what people might think. Vulnerability also means being able to ask for favors. People won’t know how to show up for you if you don’t ask. I used to avoid asking for favors, but I realized that the people I love want to show up for me as much as I want to show up for them. Allowing someone to be there for you is its own act of love: a friend walking you back to your dorm, a cousin driving you home even if it’s out of their way, and sharing your burden with someone when the world feels like it’s falling apart. While I am still learning this myself, my friends who trust me make it easier to believe.
Building community is far from easy, but I know I wouldn’t be who I am today without mine. We create our villages out of those small but deliberate choices that bring us together, even when it inconveniences us. Every single person in my village knows this. I try my best to practice it every day too. How far are you willing to go for your community?
