Baon. This word that I learned as a kid has remained relevant in my life until today, many years later, as an adult. One would think baon, or packed meals, is something only kids love, consumed during school lunch or merienda breaks; but as an adult working in the big city, I’ve relied on baon to keep me fed and happy.
Bringing packed meals is a universal experience. However, in the Philippines, baon is deeply embedded in our culture, reflecting some of the core values we’re taught at an early age: pagmamahal (love), pakikisama (getting along), and pagpapahalaga sa pamilya (family). It’s love, thoughtfulness, and togetherness in one full and hearty meal.
Pagmamahal
As a young child, my baon consisted only of biscuits and juice boxes—snacks that would fuel my half-days at playschool. When I got into middle and high school, rice was introduced in my lunchbox as the days in school got longer. I didn’t think it was a big deal back then, but in retrospect, no matter how early my school bus came to pick me up, my lunchbox was always ready with freshly cooked rice, home-cooked ulam, snacks, and my water jug to keep me energized at school.
Preparing baon is a sacrifice in time and energy—a form of love that goes beyond words. It’s people’s way of saying “I care” and “I love you” in a form of precious meals. It’s how my grandmother would wake up at 4 a.m. to prepare my baon, or how my mom would thoughtfully ask what I’d like to eat, cooking my favorites when I’m at home, and packing the rest for me to take back to the city. Growing up as a Filipino, food is one of the many ways we express the most important value we were taught growing up—love.
Pakikisama
As a working adult, I never thought I would come back to bringing baon, let alone in a city that has restaurants and cafes in every corner.
“Hello, do you have baon?” As early as 11 in the morning, I’d hear my officemates asking this question and planning our office lunch options. Are we eating outside today? Getting our meals delivered? Or does everyone have baon? Still a huge snacker, I love bringing snacks to work: gummies, candies, pretzels, chips, and my favorite muscat grapes. I would walk around and share them with my officemates, or bring them in during creative meetings to fuel our brains. These small moments of sharing is also when I get to catch up with them over the little things, pausing in between workloads.
For office lunch, we’d occasionally eat out to celebrate a birthday or a project we completed. Sometimes we’d order in, arguing whose delivery app we’re using this time (and thus who is collecting everyone’s order), but mostly we’d all march to the office microwaves with our food containers, claim one of the long tables at the office pantry, and eat our baons together.
Within my team, lunch would mean discussing everything and anything under the sun—including your baon for today: what it is, who prepared it, the history and stories behind this dish, and your preferred way of cooking or eating it. We’d even argue over different ulams and how they are different per province.
I get reminded of how big an impact food can have in fostering relationships with people around you. This simple routine of eating my baon with co-workers reflects one important value we were taught as kids—pakikisama or getting along. It’s a conversation-starter, an avenue for us to get to know people better, and a chance to build and nurture community through sharing food. A simple baon can introduce you to people in so many ways—their personality, background, and even the smallest things they like in life.
Pagpapahalaga sa pamilya
I’ve narrated many times during office lunch how I’ve never been any good in the kitchen. While cooking is therapeutic for some, it’s a frustrating task for me, and a nightmare for the people I share the kitchen with. Aside from easily getting allergies to strong smells, I did not inherit my mom's and grandmother’s magic in the kitchen. They are purely instinctive cooks, cooking without measuring out ingredients or the presence of recipe books or guides to follow.
My mom and grandmother have always loved cooking and have been trying to get me to learn a few recipes even before I started working. It has not worked yet, though, so even at 28, my mom would cook food for me to bring to the city ahead of every work week. I’d keep them safe and stacked in my fridge, and heat them when I’m in the office or working from home.
My mom does this for all of her four children—one working adult in the city, two college students in dorms, and one high schooler. It’s a lot of hard work and dedication to feed your kids even from afar, and it’s deeply touching for a daughter who lives away from home to get a taste of it by eating her baon. No matter how far apart we are, the commitment to nurturing the family stays. And in return, I’d think of them wherever I go and bring home pasalubong from the places I’ve been to—whether it’s a small dessert from a cute café in the city that reminded me of them or a delicacy from a country I’ve visited that I think they’d like to try.
Packing food and sending it off for people to enjoy at their comfort is one of the many ways we Filipinos show love and care for one another. It’s etched in our core values of love, family, and hospitality and mirrors our resilience, practicality, and resourcefulness. There’s a lot to unpack in each of our tiny food containers, but at lunch over my packed food, I get a glimpse of the values that shaped me, the culture I grew up with, and the nostalgia of my childhood in one tiny container.
