He would carry the title of "great-uncle," and no matter how wonderful of a relative he truly is to my son, that "great" would never be a superlative. It would stand as a reminder of the distance between he and my son. It would be a permanent label, saying that he is not a part of my son's nuclear family. (No sir, not even close.) It would state the widely-held assumption that his relation to my son — what he knows about him, how well they interact, how much time they spend together — is negligible at best. 

Outside of the nuclear family, the standard titles of relatives in a common Filipino household are limited to five: cousin, uncle, aunt, grandfather, and grandmother. No one is removed from each other.We are all easily accessible, just as close an acquaintance in loyalty and reliability as your most trusted and valuable friend. It is not uncommon for cousins to be as close as siblings, for second cousins to be as close as siblings, for generations to be linked by the kind of psychic empathy and understanding that most Americans are used to getting only from their immediate circle of close-knit friends. 

Maybe that's why the children of my first and second cousins take an immediate interest and liking to me: because, as far as they're concerned, I'm their aunt, plain and simple. Maybe that's why I can walk into any establishment in town and mention that I'm so-and-so's (insert one of the familial titles here) and I'm treated like family. Maybe that's why I instantly feel comfortable with my family in the Philippines, regardless of the fact that we haven't communicated regularly and thousands of miles have separated us for over a decade.

Or maybe it's just some deceit of linguistics and mind tricks.

The fact remains: here, in the Philippines, even extended family is close, and that comes in handy. 

*subdivision = Filipino-speak for gated community

Maria Elizabeth Rubio