How are you, kuya? (kuya means Big Brother)Â Such a sweet endearment.
Kuya. It is a filial courtesy, a social position of respectability of the male heir, a paternal contrivance of responsibility. A societal instrument by which parents instruct their offspring on the concepts of obedience, patience, reward and punishment. A power trap.
Oh, yes, being kuya has its perks. You are the man of the house, next to your father, of course. You are the prince of your household, the man in the making. Naturally, some things are expected of you. Take out the garbage, feed the dog, wash the car, trivial little chores for you to practice being responsible. Not bad for what you get in return. You get first dibs on the phone, the use of the family car, get to go out and stay out late… sometimes very late… after all, you are a man of the world. Of course you have to be a good role model to your younger siblings. Never mind the idol worship the younger ones give you or even the jealousy and envy it sometimes arouses. Being kuya can be good.
And as we venture out of our family circles we realize that the Kuya Phenomenal  transcends immediate filial ties! Younger, unrelated people calling you kuya. Duh. Ok, fine, it gives you a wider sphere of influence. You adopt rather get adopted by either an individual or a barkada. It is interesting how a filial social structure is recreated in unrelated individuals. The way hierarchies create themselves and develop seemingly through osmosis. Younger people deferring to your “age†and “experienceâ€Â, listening to your stories, sometimes trying to infer advice or admonition from your tales and exploits. You become some sort of mentor directly, or indirectly. Its a cool thing. It endows you with a measure of power.
But power is a funny thing. The funny kind of thing that doesn't make you laugh. It is fickle. And as dangerous as a double edged sword.
ou have become someone to look up to. Someone people emulate if not admire, openly or not. You have a wealth of experience, good and bad… its just that your stories are so good. Sometimes it cant be helped that you are admired. A perk really, something that boosts the ego and reinforces your conceit. It is addictive. And you always seem to have something important to say, your wards hanging on every little syllable. Advice and direction are a constant commodity you peddle. A nod from your head brings about joy. And the shake of your head heralds displeasure and doom.
And the owner of your heart calls you kuya.
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