I just turned 31. I have not yet married. I still live with my parents. And I am tired of pretending any of that is a problem that needs solving. Let’s talk about not being married in the thirties. I was in the living room, working on my laptop, with deadlines looming, eating sunflower seeds on the side, the way you do when you need something to do with your hands mid-task, when my relatives finally arrived for a small gathering. I heard the knock, pushed my laptop aside, and went to the door to welcome them. My parents scrambled to prepare food the way Filipino parents always do, as if hosting were a reflex they were born with. We did the whole greeting ritual, such as Beso-beso, or typically cheek-to-cheek, one side then the other. And then, mano po, it was when I reached for my uncle’s hand and pressed it gently to my forehead, the way we were taught to do since we were small. Respect. Warmth. Family. Yes, I still live with …