In Filipino culture, utang na loob—often translated as “debt of gratitude” is a cherished value that binds families, friends, and communities together.
It highlights loyalty, reciprocity, and remembering those who’ve helped you climb up the ladder of life. However, this cultural gem can quickly turn into a heavy burden, shackling individuals to expectations and obligations that can stifle growth and even foster unhealthy dependence.
For many Filipinos, especially the millions of overseas Filipino Workers, striving to build better lives abroad—utang na loob can be both a source of strength and an invisible cage. Let’s unpack how this so-called virtue can morph into a curse, and why it’s crucial for Filipinos (and those who work with them) to understand its complexities.
The weight of invisible debts
At its best, utang na loob ensures we remember kindness and repay it with loyalty. However, when misused or taken to extremes, it can become a manipulative tool that traps people in a never-ending cycle of giving back—even when it’s no longer sustainable.
Consider the OFW who finally lands a job abroad. She knows she didn’t get there alone—there was the kumpare who helped her process papers, the tita who lent money for airfare, the barangay captain who wrote a recommendation letter. All these gestures of support become strings of utang na loob she must never forget.
Soon enough, her balikbayan boxes are brimming with pasalubong: branded sneakers for cousins, gadgets for godchildren, and so on. Each trip home means more pasalubong, more obligations, more social debt to repay. It’s as if the sacrifices she makes abroad aren’t enough.
She’s expected to share her hard-earned money with everyone who “helped” her—even if that help was repaid long ago.
Utang na loob as an obstacle to success
Here’s the rub: this cycle can seriously hinder progress. Instead of building savings or investing in a better future, the OFW’s resources are drained to satisfy cultural expectations.
It’s not just about sending money for emergencies or genuine needs—utang na loob demands she keeps giving, no matter how it affects her own financial stability.
For instance, a former seafarer shared how, every time he returned to the Philippines, he was reminded to bring home pasalubong for his uncle — the same uncle who once helped him secure a connection to a job backer. Even years after landing the job, the expectation of bringing back gifts never faded.
For many Filipinos, the thought of “not paying back” those who helped is unthinkable. To say “no” would be a betrayal of deeply held cultural beliefs. This dynamic often traps individuals in a perpetual state of sacrifice, sacrificing their own dreams to fulfill someone else’s demands.
It’s not just OFWs, either. Even in local communities, utang na loob can keep people stuck in unbalanced relationships. Employees feel compelled to stay loyal to a boss who gave them their career headstart — even if the job is toxic.
Entrepreneurs often feel a sense of guilt about moving on from a supplier or partner who once did them a favour, even when it’s clear that sticking with them is harming their business.
It’s as if they’re trapped, unable to switch to a more reliable or cost-effective option, all because of the weight of utang na loob.
Students feel obligated to keep repaying a mentor or family friend, long after they’ve already expressed thanks in countless ways.
In politics, utang na loob can also be a double-edged sword, with leaders feeling bound to repay campaign supporters or political patrons with favours, appointments, or contracts—often at the expense of good governance and transparency.
The social cost of never-ending reciprocity
One of the most damaging aspects of utang na loob is the guilt it carries. Filipinos are raised to believe that it’s almost immoral to “forget” the people who helped them. This guilt is a powerful force; it can override logic and keep people giving beyond their means.
The result? Financial stress. Anxiety. An inability to say no. Instead of focusing on building their own security and fulfilling their own goals, Filipinos often prioritise meeting the unspoken demands of utang na loob.
For OFWs, this means working overtime to fund endless rounds of pasalubong and remittances. For local breadwinners, it means shouldering family members who refuse to find their own footing. In some cases, it can even mean tolerating toxic relationships—because to cut off someone you owe a debt to is seen as the height of betrayal.
How can we break the cycle?
Let’s be clear: utang na loob isn’t inherently bad. At its core, it’s about community, kindness, and generosity—values Filipinos can be proud of. But when it becomes a tool for guilt and manipulation, it’s time to draw the line.
Here’s what we can do:
- Set healthy boundaries – It’s okay to show gratitude and repay kindness—but not at the expense of your own well-being or dreams. Learn to say no when the demands become unreasonable.
- Communicate clearly – Explain to family and friends that while you value their support, you also need to focus on your own goals. Open conversations can defuse guilt and lead to more realistic expectations.
- Prioritise your future – Remember: helping others shouldn’t come at the cost of your own progress. Saving for retirement, investing in a house, or building an emergency fund isn’t selfish—it’s smart.
- Educate the next generation – Teach children the true meaning of utang na loob: that it’s about mutual respect and support, not blind loyalty or endless giving.
A final word: reclaiming utang na loob
Filipinos are known for their warmth, hospitality, and sense of community. These are beautiful traits that deserve to be celebrated. But it’s time to redefine utang na loob for the modern world—one that recognises boundaries and understands that true gratitude doesn’t have to cost us everything we’ve worked so hard for.
When we let go of the guilt and the weight of never-ending reciprocity, we free ourselves to grow and succeed on our own terms—while still honouring the roots of what makes us Filipino.
So to my fellow kababayans, here’s a challenge: let’s turn utang na loob back into a source of strength, not a curse. Let’s remember that real success means moving forward—without forgetting who helped us, but also without sacrificing who we’re meant to become.