A Childhood My Children Will Never Fully Know
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The author and her sister in the 80s (Photo courtesy of Elena Baldwin)
Not better or worse. Just different.
I grew up in the Philippines surrounded by people all the time. There were cousins everywhere, neighbours dropping by unannounced, karaoke playing in the background, and family gatherings that somehow always became bigger than planned. I remember family reunions that fill up a basketball court, plates constantly being refilled before you had even finished eating, not bothered by not having many friends at school (because who needs friends when you have 20 cousins!) and adults still talking long after the children had fallen asleep somewhere in the corner.
A typical birthday in the 90s (Photo courtesy of Elena Baldwin)
Even ordinary days felt shared.
Now, raising my children in the UK, life feels much quieter.
Sometimes our street here feels almost too quiet compared twith the neighbourhood I grew up in. Life feels more scheduled, more individual, and although there is beauty in that too, there are moments when I deeply miss the closeness of home.
Our family in the UK (Photos courtesy of Elena Baldwin)
After having my children, I also went through quite a difficult period returning to work after maternity leave. I think many mothers understand that feeling of suddenly being pulled in so many directions while quietly trying to figure out who you are again underneath it all.
For a while, I felt like I had lost parts of myself in the routine of work, motherhood, responsibilities, and simply trying to keep up with everyday life. Writing slowly became one of the few things that felt like mine again.
But it also became something else.
It became a way of holding onto home.
I found myself thinking more about the parts of my childhood I wanted my children to grow up knowing too. I want them to feel proud of every part of who they are, British and Filipino.
But when you raise children far away from family, you realise how difficult some things are to pass on.
Not just traditions or language, but the feeling of family itself.
There is a deep ache of home that becomes stronger after every trip back to the Philippines.
My little one with her cousins (Photo courtesy of Elena Baldwin)
You spend weeks surrounded by noise, conversation, laughter, children running between rooms, family nearby, people constantly arriving with food, and family members squeezing around tables that somehow always make room for one more person.
Then suddenly you come back to quieter routines again.
I always feel that transition emotionally, especially now as a parent.
During our last holiday home, I found myself watching my children more than anything else. Watching how they slowly adjusted to being around cousins all the time. Watching them learn to share space, toys, attention, and affection in ways that feel so natural in big Filipino families.
At one point, I realised that not being the centre of attention all the time felt like such a new concept to my little one. Honestly, that moment stayed with me long after we returned to the UK.
Not because one way of growing up is better than the other, but because it reminded me how much family quietly shapes you without even realising it.
Growing up in the Philippines, I never had to think about community because it was simply there all the time. Here in the UK, family life can feel smaller and more self-contained. Beautiful in its own way, but different.
Quezon City Public Library, Storytime + creative writing event, May 12, 2026 (Photo courtesy of Elena Baldwin)
Sometimes I think that is why going home can leave such an ache afterwards.
You return carrying the warmth of being surrounded by family again while knowing your children are growing up far from much of it day to day. There is a quiet sadness in knowing some parts of Filipino childhood, the constant closeness, the shared upbringing, the easy familiarity of extended family, may only exist for them in short visits and memories.
Maybe that is also why storytelling became so important to me.
I did not start writing because I planned to start a business. Honestly, it began during quite a difficult period in my life when I was trying to reconnect with myself again outside of motherhood and work. But it also came from wanting my children to see themselves in stories.
I wanted them to hear familiar names.
To recognise Filipino food, humour, traditions, and family dynamics.
To grow up knowing they never had to choose between parts of themselves.
Slowly, those stories became Mango & Marmalade Stories.
Why I wrote these stories (Image courtesy of Elena Baldwin)
What surprised me most was realising how many other families connected with the same feelings. Not only Filipino families, but mixed-heritage families and parents trying to hold onto culture, memory, and connection while building lives far from home.
In many ways, the stories became my own way of preserving pieces of home too.
This year feels especially meaningful because Mango & Marmalade Stories books will officially become available in the Philippines through 8Letters Publishing from August, and the books will also join the Manila International Book Fair in September.
Growing up in the Philippines, I never had to think about community because it was simply there all the time.
There is something emotional about knowing these stories, which began quietly at home with my own children during a season when I was trying to find myself again, are now making their way back to the Philippines too.
My children may never fully have the childhood I had growing up in the Philippines. But through stories, family, memory, and the small things we continue to carry forward, I hope they will always feel connected to it in some way.
Elena Baldwin is the founder of Mango & Marmalade Stories, a Filipino British children’s storytelling brand creating books that celebrate culture, identity, and belonging for mixed-heritage families. She is based in the UK with her family.
Website: www.mangoandmarmaladestories.com
Instagram: @mangoandmarmaladestories
Philippines Publisher https://www.8lettersbooks.com