Meeting More of the Dolores Family

It always makes me smile when we travel with the cousins and I see luggage tags with ‘Dolores’ printed on them. For a moment, I think that’s not my bag — until I remember that on my mother’s side of the family, Dolores isn’t only my first name. It was my mom and uncle’s last name, carried on by all the cousins.

During this trip, I also had the chance to meet even more members of the Dolores family — All of their faces were familiar only through screens — nieces and nephews I had spoken with on FaceTime or through some other cyber connection over the years. Meeting them in person closed a gap I didn’t realize had stretched so far.

Two of the girls, Michelle and Clarissa, were especially meaningful to meet. Their dad was the same age as Anna and Rica but sadly he passed away almost 20 years ago. I had known them only through photos and messages, but here they were — grown women with families of their own.

Michelle was there with her daughters — Kelkel, Joy Joy, and cute little Inga — each one with their own spark and sweetness. Her partner, Bryan, blended into the gathering with an easy warmth, the kind of presence that makes a family event feel complete.

Clarissa’s son, Xander, stood out in the gentlest way. Sweet, quiet, and thoughtful, he carried a sketchbook with him — and learning how much he loves to draw made me smile. There’s something tender about a child who sees the world through lines and shading, and he carries that quiet creativity with such grace.

Seeing them all together — cousins, nieces, nephews, and the next generation — reminded me how wide the Dolores family has become, and how deeply those roots still run, even after all these years and all these miles.

Meals with Onieh’s family

Our last week in the Philippines unfolded in small, meaningful segments, and one of the most memorable was the time we spent sharing meals with Onieh’s family. These weren’t just meals — they were moments that revealed the kind of care, generosity, and quiet thoughtfulness that stayed with me long after we left.

Buddy had accompanied us off and on during our journey, and we finally had a chance to visit his garden‑setting home. A fun little tidbit about Buddy: many years ago, when he lived in California, he worked at the same place as my daughter Anna. One day he approached her and asked if she knew a Marcela Darling. Anna said, “Yes — that’s my Lola.” Buddy smiled and said, “Well, her brother is married to my sister.” That sister turned out to be Onieh. It really is a small world.

Along with his sister Mayeth and his brother Isat, Buddy prepared a wonderful meal for us — the kind that makes you feel welcomed before you even sit down. During the trip, Buddy always found a way to ask what I loved to eat, and somehow it would show up — on the table, packed to go, or saved for later. It was the kind of thoughtfulness that didn’t need to be announced. You simply felt it.

And that small‑world feeling continued when we visited Doug and Josie — Buddy’s aunt and uncle — whom we also knew from California, and whose home we had heard about for years. Walking into their beachfront place felt like stepping into a familiar chapter we finally got to see in person. The meal waiting for us was a full spread prepared by Onieh’s brother Noel and his family — the kind of abundance that turns lunch into dinner without anyone noticing. People drifted into games of cards and Mahjong, others lingered around the table, and the day stretched out in that easy, unhurried way that only happens when you’re surrounded by people who make space for you.

After a full day at the beachfront pavilion, we spent the night at the home of Josie and Michael, whose warmth matched everything we had felt so far. Before I could say a word, they were already offering their rooms, making sure Jay and I were comfortable. Breakfast the next morning was another feast, and Jay and I thoroughly enjoyed our stay — so much so that Jay even offered to house sit when they travel to the UK in a couple of years.

I also found myself remembering the first time we met Josie in Singapore while visiting Mae and Ronald. That memory folded itself into this one, especially when we noticed she had a photo from that trip displayed in her home — and we have one from that trip on our wall too. Seeing it there, halfway around the world, made the moment feel even more connected.

And somewhere in the middle of all this — the meals, the laughter, the generosity — I realized this was the first time on the trip that I truly felt like I was in the Philippines. Not the city version with neon lights, honking horns, and crowded streets, but the Philippines of my young adulthood memories: quiet, green, open, with clean air and a slower rhythm. It felt familiar in a way I hadn’t expected.

As we prepared to leave, I thought about how deeply we were welcomed. Our time with the Minimo family was filled with kindness, generosity, and a genuine warmth. Jay and I were grateful for every meal, every shared moment, and every bit of time they opened to us.