In the Philippines, marriage is no longer the unquestioned life milestone it once was. New statistics show that fewer Filipinos are tying the knot, more couples are choosing to live together without a wedding, and attitudes toward kasal (marriage) are shifting in ways that would have seemed unthinkable twenty years ago. In a country long defined by the Catholic Church, family pressure, and lavish church ceremonies, the meaning of weddings, commitment, and forever is quietly—but profoundly—changing.
Fresh data from the Philippine Statistics Authority (PSA), highlighted recently by Rappler and echoed by other national outlets, show a steady decline in registered marriages over the past two decades. In the early 2000s, annual marriages regularly exceeded half a million. By contrast, the years following the COVID-19 pandemic saw dramatic dips, with 2020 and 2021 registering some of the lowest figures in modern records due to lockdowns and restrictions. Even as pandemic measures eased, the rebound has been slower than expected. Demographers note that this is not just a COVID blip but part of a longer trend: Filipinos are marrying later, or not at all.
At the same time, cohabitation—known locally as live-in or pagsasama (living together)—has become more socially visible and more widely accepted. Census data over the years have shown an increase in couples declaring themselves in common-law arrangements. Once whispered about as nakikisama lang (just living together), such unions are now openly acknowledged in barangay (village) records and social media relationship statuses. While older generations might still raise an eyebrow, the stigma has undeniably softened.
Economics looms large behind these numbers. The Philippines remains one of the few countries in the world without divorce, a legal reality that makes marriage a weighty, sometimes daunting commitment. Annulment is possible but expensive and time-consuming, often costing hundreds of thousands of pesos and taking years to resolve. For many young professionals navigating rising housing costs, student loans, and precarious employment, the idea of entering a legally binding union that is difficult to exit feels risky. “Hindi biro ang kasal” (marriage is no joke), as parents often remind their children—but now the younger generation is taking that warning seriously in a new way.
Weddings themselves have also transformed. Filipino kasalan (wedding celebrations) are famously elaborate, blending Catholic rituals, Spanish colonial influences, and uniquely Filipino customs such as the arras (coin ceremony), the veil and cord, and the tradition of ninong and ninang (principal sponsors). These sponsors are not merely ceremonial figures; they are often chosen for social standing and potential influence, reflecting the Filipino value of pakikisama (maintaining smooth relationships) and utang na loob (debt of gratitude). A wedding can double as a networking event, a public affirmation of family alliances.
But such grandeur comes at a cost. Industry estimates from event planners suggest that a “decent” church wedding in Metro Manila can easily exceed one million pesos ($17,000) once venue, catering, photography, gowns, and gifts are accounted for. Social media has amplified expectations, turning once-private ceremonies into curated spectacles for Instagram and TikTok. For some couples, postponement becomes perpetual delay. Others opt for intimate civil ceremonies, beach weddings, or even quiet elopements—choices that were once considered unconventional.
Religion remains a powerful force. Roughly 80% of Filipinos identify as Roman Catholic, and the Church continues to preach the sanctity of marriage and the importance of pamilya (family) as the basic unit of society. Yet surveys in recent years, including those conducted by Social Weather Stations (SWS) and Pulse Asia, have shown gradual shifts in attitudes on related issues such as same-sex unions and divorce legalization. Support for a divorce law, while still contentious, has grown over time, particularly among younger and urban respondents. The House of Representatives has debated divorce bills repeatedly, though they face strong opposition in the Senate and from church leaders.
The changing perception of marriage is also intertwined with women’s roles. Two decades ago, early marriage and motherhood were common trajectories, especially outside major cities. Today, more Filipinas are pursuing higher education and careers. The average age at first marriage has risen, mirroring trends across Southeast Asia. With greater economic participation, women are negotiating expectations differently. The old script—graduate, marry in your mid-20s, have children soon after—is no longer automatic. For many, career stability comes first.
Migration adds another layer. Millions of Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs) build relationships across borders, sometimes delaying weddings until financial goals are met or visas secured. Long-distance relationships can strain traditional timelines. Some couples cohabit temporarily before formalizing their union, while others find that physical separation reshapes their priorities altogether.
None of this means that romance is dead in the Philippines. On the contrary, Valentine’s Day still floods malls with roses and heart-shaped balloons, and celebrity weddings remain national obsessions. What has changed is the calculus. Marriage is increasingly seen less as a mandatory rite of passage and more as a personal choice—one that must align with financial readiness, emotional maturity, and long-term compatibility.
Cultural expectations, however, still exert pressure. Family gatherings inevitably include the teasing question: “Kailan ang kasal?” (When’s the wedding?). In provincial towns, where community ties are tighter, living together without marriage can still provoke tsismis (gossip). And in a society where family honor and reputation matter deeply, parents may worry about apo (grandchildren) born outside wedlock, even as legal discrimination against so-called “illegitimate” children has been reduced in recent reforms.
The generational divide is palpable. Older Filipinos often speak of marriage as sakramento (sacrament), sacred and indissoluble. Younger Filipinos, shaped by global media and economic uncertainty, speak of partnership, equality, and mental health. They value companionship but also autonomy. They have witnessed unhappy unions with no easy exit and are wary of repeating them. Interestingly, the pandemic may have accelerated reflection. Lockdowns forced couples into prolonged proximity or separation, testing relationships in unexpected ways. Some rushed to wed when restrictions eased, craving stability after crisis. Others realized that legal ties were not essential to commitment. The data suggest that while weddings have resumed, they have not returned to pre-pandemic heights.
The Philippines is not unique in experiencing declining marriage rates; similar patterns are visible across Asia, from Singapore to South Korea. Yet in a country where the wedding march still echoes through centuries-old churches and where family is both refuge and obligation, the shift feels particularly significant. Perhaps the most telling change is psychological. Marriage is no longer destiny; it is decision. The Filipino ideal of forever remains powerful, but it now competes with pragmatism. In the words often heard at modern engagement parties, “Ready na kami” (we’re ready)—not because society demands it, but because the couple believes they are.
In that subtle shift from expectation to intention lies the story of how Filipinos are reimagining love, commitment, and the meaning of kasal in the 21st century.
Ah, kasal. The white gown, the trembling groom, the ninong who secretly hopes his envelope is thick enough to impress the bride’s mother. When I was young (younger), I lived in a Philippines where marriage wasn’t a question — it was a deadline. Graduate, find a stable job, marry before the biological clock starts ticking too loudly. End of script.
But my dear readers, the script is being quietly rewritten.
I don’t blame young Filipinos for hesitating. In a country without divorce, marriage isn’t just romantic — it’s permanent ink. You don’t just “try it out.” You sign, you seal, and unless you have a small fortune for annulment, you stay. Forever can be beautiful. Forever can also be suffocating. And today’s generation has watched enough unhappy unions to know the difference.
Let’s talk about money, too. A proper church wedding can cost more than a down payment on a condo. We have turned love into a production: drone shots, pre-nup videos in Tagaytay, coordinated bridesmaids, Instagrammable grazing tables. I adore a good aesthetic, but if the reception costs more than your emergency fund, perhaps we need to breathe. Hindi biro ang kasal — and neither is the bill.
Then there’s the quiet revolution of pagsasama (living together). Once whispered about with tsismis (gossip) over merienda, it’s now practically mainstream. Young couples are testing compatibility, sharing rent, building careers. Is that scandalous? Or is that practical? Commitment doesn’t always need a cathedral to be real.
And let’s not ignore the women. Filipinas today are earning, leading, choosing. We are no longer marrying for economic survival. We are marrying — if we do — for partnership. That changes everything. When you don’t need marriage, you approach it differently. You negotiate. You demand respect. You walk away if it isn’t healthy.
Of course, pamilya (family) still hovers. The aunties will ask, “Kailan ang kasal?” The parents will worry about apo (grandchildren). The Church will preach about sacrament. And yes, there is something sacred about promising your life to another person.
But here’s my spicy truth: marriage should be a choice, not a checkpoint.
If fewer Filipinos are marrying, maybe it’s not because they’ve stopped believing in love. Maybe it’s because they are taking love more seriously. They want stability, equality, emotional maturity. They want to be “ready na kami” — not because society is impatient, but because they are.
And frankly, my dear readers, that sounds far more romantic to me.