INTRODUCTION 

      I never planned for my life to unfold this way. I didn’t imagine that one day I would pack my entire world into a suitcase and step into a place where everything felt unfamiliar — the streets, the faces, the air, even myself.

      People think going abroad is glamorous, a dream come true.

      But behind every smile in a photo, there were quiet battles I never posted. Behind every achievement, there were nights I wanted to go home. This story isn’t just about traveling. It’s about learning, breaking, rebuilding, and discovering parts of myself I didn’t know existed.

       I write these pages not because my journey was perfect, but because it was real. I cried, I struggled, I laughed, and I grew. I met people who became family. I lost versions of myself I had to let go. I found courage in moments I thought I would give up.

      This book is for anyone who has ever left home — physically or emotionally — in search of something better. For anyone who has felt lonely, scared, hopeful, or brave all at once. For anyone still trying to figure out who they are becoming.

These are my stories.

These are my truths.

These are the unfinished pages of my life abroad.

Welcome to my journey.

Chapter 1: The Day I Left Home

      It was 2018 when I made the hardest decision of my life: to leave home and work abroad. My son had just turned one, my daughter was only two—both too young to understand why their mother had to go. But even at that age, they felt my fear, my hesitation, and the quiet storm inside my heart.

      That morning, I tried to stay strong. I held my son close, inhaling the scent of his hair like I wanted to keep it with me forever.

      My daughter wrapped her tiny arms around my neck, not knowing that her hug would become one of the memories I’d replay in my mind during lonely nights abroad. 

      My parents stood beside me, trying to be brave for my sake. But I could see the worry in their eyes, the silent prayers behind their smiles. And surrounding me were my three sisters—the four of us girls who grew up sharing clothes, secrets, and dreams. They tried to lighten the mood, joking, comforting, hugging me one by one. Their presence made it both easier and harder to leave.

      Easier, because I knew they’d help take care of my children. Harder, because I was stepping away from the warmth of the only home I had ever known.

      We were four daughters raised on love and resilience, and that day, they reminded me of the strength in our family. “Kaya mo ’yan,” one sister said. “For the kids,” another whispered as she squeezed my hand. They didn’t have to say more. Their support wrapped around me like armor.

      But when the taxi arrived, the moment I felt

like a slow, painful tearing. The wheels hadn’t even turned yet, and my heart was already breaking. Every street I passed seemed to pull at me—memories of childhood laughter, late-night talks with my sisters, my babies’ first steps and giggles.

      By the time I reached the airport, reality hit hard. Leaving wasn’t just a physical journey—it was an emotional one. I wasn’t just boarding a plane; I was stepping into uncertainty, into sacrifice, into a future I hoped would one day be kinder to the children I left behind.

      That day, I understood something people often forget: courage isn’t loud. It isn’t fearless. Courage is a mother crying quietly on a plane, wiping her tears so strangers won’t see. Courage is a daughter who leaves home so she can build a better one. Courage is an OFW taking a step forward even when her heart is still standing at the doorway of her home.

      And though my heart ached, it carried something stronger than pain—hope. Hope that every sacrifice would be worth it. Hope that one day, my children would understand.

Hope that the story I was beginning to write, one unfinished page at a time, would lead us all to a brighter tomorrow. 

      When I arrived in Saudi Arabia, everything felt unfamiliar—the streets, the people, even the sound of the language. I was assigned as a cleaner, and at first, it felt overwhelming. I didn’t know Arabic, and simple instructions sounded like a foreign melody I couldn’t understand. For the first three to four months, every day was a mix of confusion, mistakes, and the slow, painstaking effort to learn.

But little by little, the words began to make sense. I learned greetings, names of cleaning supplies, and eventually, how to communicate with both my clients and colleagues.

      I was the youngest in my workplace, surrounded by people who had more experience, more confidence, and more knowledge about the job. At times, it was intimidating. But I found joy in the work itself. There was something satisfying about turning a messy apartment into a spotless home, about helping families feel comfortable in their spaces.

Some clients had us clean houses, some apartments, and some had contracts that kept us busy for months. Each assignment taught me a little more about responsibility, patience, and perseverance.

       My colleagues became a second family. We laughed, shared stories, and sometimes vented about the hardships of working away from home. Their camaraderie made the long hours bearable. And though the work was hard, I discovered pride in my own hands—my effort, my learning, my growth. 

It wasn’t just about earning; it was about proving to myself that I could do this, that I could survive and thrive even when everything was new and intimidating.

      Even in the toughest moments, when fatigue weighed me down and homesickness hit like a tidal wave, I reminded myself why I was there. I was working not only for my children but for the dreams I held close to my heart. Every scrubbed floor and every polished surface became a step toward a future I was determined to

build—a life abroad that, while challenging, was also full of lessons, growth, and small victories.

      The first and second months in Saudi Arabia were the hardest. Every day felt like a battle between my body, my emotions, and the reality of the life I had chosen. I was still learning the language, still adjusting to the culture, and still trying to find confidence in a place where everything felt unfamiliar.

      Some clients were kind… but some were not.

There were days when, while I was cleaning their houses, tears silently fell down my face. I tried to hide them, hoping no one would notice. But there were moments when clients shouted at me for being too slow, or for not understanding instructions. They threw harsh words at me—words that cut deeper because I was far from home, alone, and still trying my best.

        I remember moments when I wanted to give up completely. When a client's anger would echo in the room and I felt so small, so helpless. 

I questioned myself many times: “Kaya ko pa ba? Tama ba na umalis ako?” But every time my hands trembled, every time I felt like quitting, I would open my phone and look at the pictures of my children. Their small faces, their innocent smiles—it reminded me why I was here.      

       I told myself, “Para sa kanila ito. Para sa future nila.” And that belief became the strength that carried me through the toughest days. 

       The pain grew deeper when, for two long months, I had no contact with my kids.

They were staying with their father’s side at that time, and communication was difficult. Not hearing their voices, not knowing if they were okay, not being able to say “I love you” or “Mama misses you” made the loneliness nearly unbearable.

      Some nights, after finishing work, I would lie in my small bed and cry quietly, praying for them, praying for strength, praying that God would give me one more day to survive. I felt like my heart was divided—my body was in a foreign country, but my soul was always with my children.

But despite everything—the shouting, the exhaustion, the silence of not hearing from my kids—something inside me refused to break. Every single tear became a reminder of why I needed to keep going. My sacrifices were not for myself. They were for my son and daughter, for their future, for a life better than the one I left behind.

And slowly, as weeks turned into months, I began to understand something: Even the painful days were shaping me. Even the tears were teaching me.

Even the silence was making me stronger.

End of Chapter 1:

Despite the tears, the shouting, and the loneliness, I kept going. Every sacrifice, every lonely night, and every tear shed in silence became a step toward the future I was determined to build. I was learning that strength doesn’t come from easy days—it comes from surviving the hard ones. And as I held onto the thought of my children, I knew this was only the beginning of my journey.

Chapter 2: Finding My Strength Abroad

      The years passed—2018, then 2019—and slowly, I began to adjust. I became stronger, tougher, and more patient. I learned how to control my emotions, how to understand the tone of a client, and how to ignore the shouting that used to make me cry. Their anger became something I got used to, not because it was easy, but because I had no choice. I needed to survive. I needed to keep going for my children. 

      But 2019 was also one of the hardest years of my life.

      That was the year I found out that the father of my kids had cheated on me again.

The pain was different—it wasn’t like a strict client shouting or a long day at work. This one cut deep into my heart. Overnight, everything I believed in felt shattered. We ended our relationship, and even if I tried to be strong, the truth was… I broke down.

I fell into depression.

I could barely sleep.

  I lost weight.

  I lost myself.

     The sadness didn’t stop just because I was abroad. In fact, it was even harder because I was far from home, far from my kids, and far from anyone who could truly understand what I was going through. I reached a point where I had to see a specialist doctor because my health was getting worse. I was sick—emotionally, mentally, physically.

   But life didn’t pause for me.

I had no choice but to continue working.

Every morning, I had to wake up, go to clients, and pretend I was okay even when my heart felt heavy.

      If not for my sisters abroad, I don’t know how I would have survived.

       Noona Daisy, Noona Jessa, Ate Babe (Cory), and all my other ates became my lifeline.

They comforted me when I cried.

They cooked for me when I had no appetite.

They encouraged me when I felt like giving up.

They stayed by my side when my world was falling apart.

      They became my strength at a time when I felt completely weak.

      By the time 2020 came, I had already formed deep bonds with them. We weren’t just co-workers—we became a family. We laughed together, complained together, comforted each other after a hard client visit. We fought sometimes, like real sisters, but in the end, 

we always found our way back to each other. They were the ones who helped me stand when everything in my life tried to take me down.

     But in 2020, everything changed.

      Our company branch announced that it needed to close.

All of us had to separate and transfer to different branches.

For me, it was heartbreaking.

I had already grown so attached to them. They were the people who held me together when I was broken. Leaving them felt like losing a part of myself.

      We all moved first to Dammam, and for a while, we stayed together.

We cooked together, shared stories, and tried to enjoy the last moments as one group.

But after some weeks, the final decision came—we had to split and go to different branches across Saudi Arabia.

      One by one, we were assigned to new locations.

My ates went to Al Kharj, Khobar, Al Qassim, and other places.

And me? I was sent to Riyadh.

     I remember the day we parted ways. We hugged each other tightly, hiding our tears because we wanted to be strong. But inside, all of us felt the same pain. We entered that company as strangers, but we were leaving as sisters.

      Moving to Riyadh felt like starting all over again.

New clients.

New rules.

New faces.

And another cycle of adjusting.

      But deep down, I carried all the lessons and love my ates gave me.

Their voices, their jokes, their comfort—their strength stayed with me, reminding me that even when life breaks you, you can still rise again.

End of Chapter 2

Looking back, those years taught me more than I ever expected.

2018 was the year I left home.

2019 was the year life tested my heart.

2020 was the year everything changed.

I went through heartbreak, sickness, and separation.

I lost people I loved and found strength I never knew I had.

I faced shouting clients, long nights, and silent battles that no one could see.

But I also found family in a foreign land.

I met sisters who held me together when I was falling apart.

I learned a new language.

I learned how to survive.

And most importantly, I learned how strong a mother can be when her children are her reason to fight.

Even when the world was shutting down…

Even when our work stopped and our savings slowly disappeared…

Even when fear surrounded us during the pandemic…

I chose to stay.

Not because it was easy, but because my dreams—and the dreams of my children—were worth every sacrifice.

This chapter of my life was painful, heavy, and unforgettable.

But it was also the chapter that shaped me, strengthened me, and prepared me for everything that was waiting ahead.

And as I write this now—remembering every moment, every heartbreak, every sacrifice—I can’t help it.

My tears fall on their own.

Because these were not just memories…

They were battles I survived.

Little did I know…

My journey was far from over.

Chapter 3: When the World Stood Still

      Months passed, and just when I thought I had finally adjusted to my new life in Riyadh, another challenge came—something none of us were prepared for.

      News spread quickly across the Kingdom:

A virus called COVID-19 had entered Saudi Arabia.

      At first, we didn’t understand how serious it was. But day by day, the fear grew.

Streets became quiet.

People stayed inside.

And then came the announcement we feared the most:

Our company had to stop operating.

No clients.

No cleaning services.

No work.

And for us, “no work” meant something heavier—

No salary. No food allowance. No money to send home.

For months, we were stuck in our accommodation, waiting, hoping, praying for updates.

But nothing changed.

Our savings slowly disappeared.

The money we worked so hard for—slowly running out.

We tried to ask for help, but our company didn’t want us reaching out to outsiders.

It felt like our hands were tied.

We weren’t allowed to work, and we weren’t allowed to seek help.

      Every day became a cycle of fear and uncertainty.

We cooked simple meals to stretch what little we had left.

Sometimes, two or three of us would share one pack of noodles just to survive.

At night, we cried quietly, thinking of our families back home.

How would we send money?

What if our children needed something?

What if our parents got sick?

What if… we couldn’t survive this lockdown?

      But even in the darkest times, God sent angels in disguise.

      One of our clients secretly gave us food and relief goods.

They weren’t allowed to, but they still did it—quietly, carefully, out of kindness.

That small act of love carried us for days.

We will never forget it.

      Another Transfer...

      After a couple of months, our company finally declared that operations could resume—but only partially.

Before that, they asked if we wanted to go back home to the Philippines or stay.

      Many of our co-workers chose to go home.

Me? I stayed.

      Not because I didn’t miss home…

But because I was afraid of returning with no job waiting for me.

The Philippines was still in lockdown, and I needed to save money again—for my kids, for my dreams.

     Soon after, me, Ate Sue (Dona), Ate Mida, and Ate Neth were assigned to transfer once again—this time to Al Kharj.

A new branch.

A new start.

Another adjustment.

When we arrived there, something unexpected happened—

I got promoted to Supervisor (Coordinator) of our branch.

It should have been a proud moment.

A blessing after everything I had been through.

But sadly… not everyone accepted it.

Some of the sisters from Indonesia didn’t want me as their supervisor.

Some were angry.

Some questioned my capability.

The tension became too heavy for me to carry, so I told our manager:

“Ma'am, I want to be demoted. I don’t want to cause conflict.”

They granted my request.

For one week, I returned to being a regular worker.

But after that week, they promoted me again—because despite the issues, they believed in me.

They saw my effort, my dedication, my leadership.

COVID Strikes Again

     Just when things were starting to settle, another problem hit.

      COVID cases were rising again.

And then…

One by one, my colleagues tested positive—including my manager.

      Suddenly, almost everyone in our branch was affected.

Everyone… except me.

I was the only one who didn’t get infected.

So I had no choice but to take over everything.

I disinfected the whole accommodation by myself.

Room by room.

Bathroom, kitchen, hallway—every corner.

I wiped every surface, cleaned every area, and made sure the virus wouldn’t spread further.

      While they were sick and quarantined, I handled all the paperwork that my manager used to do.

I processed schedules, forms, reports—everything.

      I was also the one who bought groceries, carrying heavy bags on my own, making sure everyone had food and medicine.

I checked on them daily, made sure they were okay, and gave updates to the company.

It was hard.

It was exhausting.

It was lonely.

But I did it anyway—

For the sake of my sisters.

For the sake of my co-workers.

For the sake of the people who once protected me during my darkest times. 

      Those months during COVID were some of the hardest days of my journey abroad.

But they also taught me something important

—

      Even in the hardest times, even when the world shuts down,

an OFW’s courage does not break

.

We bend.

We cry.

We suffer.

But we never give up.

And as I write this chapter—reliving every memory, every fear, every sleepless night—

I can feel my heart tightening.

My tears fall without permission, because these were not just stories…

These were moments that changed 

me.

      But what I didn’t expect was that in the middle of all these challenges…

my own body would also start to fail me.

      During those months, I started to get sick.

The stress, the pressure, the fear—it all took a toll on me.

I found myself going in and out of the hospital.

Sometimes I hid my pain because I didn’t want to worry my family.

Sometimes I kept quiet because I didn’t want to trouble my co-workers.

But one day, the pain was too strong to ignore.

      I went to the hospital alone—

no family, no friend with me—

just me, trying to be strong when inside I felt scared.

The doctors told me I needed to undergo a colonoscopy.

     I remember lying there, cold and trembling, praying silently.

After the procedure, they told me I needed to be confined for 7 days so they could observe me.

      During that time, I thought I might need surgery.

I cried quietly at night, thinking of my kids, thinking of my family.

But thank God…

the surgery didn’t happen.

I was released after days of monitoring, weak but grateful.

      But even in that difficult moment, God still sent someone to remind me I wasn’t alone.

My friend and cousin, Bon Reniel, came to visit me in the hospital.

He spoke to me gently, telling me,

“Kaya mo ’yan. This is just a challenge. You can do it.”

His presence gave me comfort.

His words gave me strength.

And in that lonely hospital room, I felt a little less scared, a little less alone.

      I survived another battle—

one I never expected to face abroad.

Chapter 4: The Virus, the Distance, and the Unexpected Family

 Months passed again, and then came another change I wasn’t prepared for.

Our company decided to transfer me to another branch, far from the city—

a place called Al Qassim.

I didn’t know it then

but that transfer would lead me into one of the darkest battles of my life abroad.

 Because there?

The worst thing happened to me.

I got COVID-19.

Not once…

but twice.

It was a fear I never thought I would face alone in another country.

And when I tested positive, it felt like I had a curse.

Everyone in the accommodation was scared of me—

afraid to come near me,

afraid to talk to me,

afraid I might pass the virus to them.

    They quarantined me on the first floor of our accommodation.

And for the first time in a long time…

I felt truly isolated.

     But God still sent me angels.

Ate Eden — the only one who wasn’t scared.

She couldn’t come close, but she took care of me the best way she could.

She left food at my door, checking on me quietly.

Just knowing someone cared… it meant so much.

      And my aunt —

my mom’s sister whom I lovingly call Mommy.

She was the one who sent me allowance,

money for my medicine,

money for my needs…

because our company didn’t pay for anything.

Her support kept me breathing,

kept me fighting,

kept me reminding myself that I wasn’t completely alone.

 But the truth?

What really saved my heart during that time…

was Kumu.

I wasn’t sad because I found a world where I didn’t feel isolated.

A world where people laughed with me,

talked to me,

I met so many beautiful souls online—

and soon, we built a family.

      They called themselves Panda Babies,

and they called me Mommy.

      Because of them, I forgot—

even just for a moment—

that I was battling a virus.

      They distracted me in the best way possible.

Their jokes, their company, their love…

gave me strength that medicine never could.

And it wasn’t only them.

     Through Kumu, I also became part of Kberkxs United,

our team that felt like a true home online,

and our Fearless Warrior alliance—

a group that lifted each other up,

supported one another,

and stood strong together no matter 

what.

From there, I met so many people

who later became my friends…

friends who stayed,

who cared,

who reminded me that even far from home,

I still belonged somewhere.

Special thanks to the people who stood by me during those dark days:

Momshie Darwin, Momshie Teroy, Lemuel, Poy, Bunso Vincent, Daddy Mar

my Panda Babies,

my Kberkxs United family,

and our Fearless Warrior alliance.

To my bestfriends Maan and Vergie,

thank you for comforting me even from afar.

Your messages, your reminders, your love—

they reached me when I needed them the most.

To all my relatives who prayed for me,

and to my whole family who never stopped worrying,

never stopped checking on me,

and never stopped believing I would recover—

your love became my quiet strength.

I may have been battling COVID…

but because of all of you,

my heart wasn’t sick.

My spirit wasn’t alone.

And slowly…

I realized that maybe this was God’s way

of pushing me toward the end

of my 3-year journey in Saudi Arabia.

A painful way, yes—

but a turning point I needed

to finally go back home.

Year 2021.

After everything I had been through—the sickness, the fear, the loneliness, the battles I fought quietly in my heart—I finally made a decision.

I decided to go back home to the Philippines.

I didn’t know what job would be waiting for me.

I didn’t know where I would apply next,

or how I would start again.

I had no promises, no guarantees,

no clear plan for what would happen after I landed.

But none of that mattered anymore.

What mattered was finally going home.

What mattered was finally seeing my family,

hugging my children,

and feeling the warmth I had missed for three long years.

After everything, all I wanted was to go back to where my heart truly belonged.

After everything I survived,

I realized one simple truth:

I may have been tired, broken, or scared…

but I was never defeated—

because God was with me in every battle.

CHAPTER 5 — A Second Life, A Second Chance.

      Year 2021–2022 became another turning point in my journey.

After returning home to the Philippines, I worked as a nanny.

At first, everything was good. My employers were kind to me.

I did my job with dedication, and for a while, life felt peaceful again.

Months passed, and something unexpected happened—

I got sick.

One day, my employers rushed me to the hospital.

There, the doctors said I needed an operation.

They removed my appendix, and just like that…

I was given a second life.

Despite everything that happened later,

I will always be thankful to them—

and to my Auntie(Mommy T)

who helped me financially during those difficult times—

because without their help,

I might not be here today writing this chapter.

      After I recovered, we began an unforgettable adventure.

We traveled abroad—

Paris, Germany, Toscana in Italy, South France,

and I even got to visit my auntie, uncle, and cousins in Austria.

It was fun.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience I never imagined an OFW like me would have.

We rode a private jet plane going to Europe

and the same jet brought us back to the Philippines.

Everything felt like a dream.

But suddenly… the dream ended.

In September, everything changed.

They told me they could no longer trust me—

just because of my excess baggage and the extra things I brought home,

including the gifts my cousin gave me when we met in Paris.

Something so simple…

yet it became the reason they asked me to leave.

I remember my last night with them.

I was crying silently, feeling lost and confused.

I didn’t know what to do or where to go.

And to make things worse…

It was raining that night.

I was alone.

My heart was heavy.

But once again,

God sent me angels.

Mam C and Ate B came into the picture.

Mam C’s condo was in the same building as my employer’s,

so when I called her—crying, scared, and confused—

she told me to come up to their unit.

I remember standing there, crying as I explained everything to her and to Ate B.

They listened.

They comforted me.

They didn’t judge me.

And when they saw how lost I was,

Mam C made a decision.

She said she would bring me home.

Even though it was raining hard,

even though it was late,

she drove her car and brought me safely to our house.

She also let me borrow money so I could go home peacefully.

That night, I realized how blessed I truly was.

I had no choice but to accept their help—

and I was so deeply grateful,

especially to her.

And that night, when I finally reached home, I realized something:

Even when people turn their backs on you,

God never does.

He always sends the right people

at the right moment.

Chapter 5 – Ending Message

Sometimes, the people you expect to stay will leave.

Sometimes, the ones you trust will break your heart.

But God… God will never fail you.

Chapter 5 taught me that even in the most painful moments—

when I was lost, betrayed, and standing in the rain with nowhere to go—

God still sent angels to lift me up.

I realized that being left behind is not the end of the story.

Sometimes it is the beginning of a better chapter.

And in the moments I thought I had nothing,

God reminded me that I was never alone.

CHAPTER 6 — A New Country, A New Beginning

After everything that happened,

October 2022 became another crossroad in my life.

I made a brave decision—

to go abroad again.

This time, not to Saudi Arabia…

but to Kuwait.

A new country.

A new home.

A new battle.

I applied as a DH

something completely different from what I was used to.

My previous jobs were housekeeping and cleaning—

in companies, in hotels—

but never inside a private home as a cook. As a Nanny, As a Helper. 

I was scared.

I didn’t know if I could do it.

I didn’t know if I was strong enough.

But I had no choice…

I needed to work.

I needed to survive.

I needed to provide for my children.

And like before,

God sent someone to help me—

my cousin, Ate Joana.

She assisted me with the agency.

She guided me, supported me, and made everything easier.

And when she earned a commission for helping me,

she didn’t keep it.

She gave it to me.

She said it was her way of helping me start again.

Her kindness, her generosity…

I will never forget.

Everything happened so fast.

In less than a month,

I got hired.

Then the date came—

November 11, 2022.

My flight.

My new journey.

My next chapter.

As I boarded that plane,

I felt the familiar mix of fear and hope.

The Middle East once again…

but this time, Kuwait.

New people.

New rules.

New challenges.

New sacrifices.

But one thing stayed the same—

my purpose.

My strength.

My love for my children.

This was the beginning of another story…

one I would never forget.

Arrival in Kuwait...

When I arrived at Kuwait International Airport, a man was waiting for us.

I wasn’t alone—there were other helpers with me, from different countries and different cultures.

From the airport, we were brought to our respective agencies in Kuwait.

Each of us was dropped off one by one, depending on where we were assigned.

When I finally arrived at my agency, my employer came to see me.

My heart was beating fast.

This was the moment I had been waiting for.

But instead of taking me with them…

they refused.

They said I was too small,

and that they didn’t like that I wore glasses.

They also said they didn’t want someone who looked “weak.”

That moment broke my heart.

I felt embarrassed.

Rejected.

I felt like I wasn’t good enough—

even before I could prove myself.

I was sad, but I tried to stay strong.

The agent noticed my tears and told me not to worry.

They said they would find me a new employer.

I held on to that small hope—

reminding myself that rejection does not mean the end.

Sometimes, it simply means that God is redirecting you to something better.

After one day, I was given a new employer.

The agent told me that there were many Filipinas in that house,

but each of us had different employers.

We were staying in the same place,

but we worked for different families.

When I met my employer, I learned that two of us would be assigned to their home,

because they had a six-month-old baby.

Knowing that I wouldn’t be alone gave me a little comfort.

Taking care of a baby is not easy,

and having someone to work with made the responsibility feel lighter.

Once again, I reminded myself:

this is a new beginning.

I didn’t know what kind of family they were.

I didn’t know how my days would look.

But I knew one thing—

I had been given another chance.

And this time, I was determined to prove that I was more than enough.

When we arrived at my employer’s house, I met Ate Kath, Ate Leny, Ate Maria, and Ate Analyn.

We were all living in one large house, but inside that house were separate rooms, like small apartments, where each of our employers lived.

My employer was the child of the employers of Ate Kath and Ate Leny.

I worked together with Ate Maria—

she took care of Omar,

while I was assigned to cooking and cleaning.

As time passed, my work became lighter and more manageable.

I slowly adjusted to the routine.

Every Friday, there was always a family gathering at the house.

The whole family of my employer’s parents would come together to eat.

During these gatherings, I also met the helpers of the siblings—

Ate Joy and Ate Elsa.

Just like in any family, misunderstandings were sometimes unavoidable.

There were moments of disagreement,

but we always talked things through and made peace again.

We were like sisters.

In 2023, I faced a personal struggle.

My fiancé cheated on me, and we separated.

It was painful, but maybe it was destiny.

Maybe we were meant to part ways

so I could later meet someone who would truly accept me—

and my children—completely.

Someone who would make me feel that I deserved to be loved.

That person is Christian, whom I lovingly call Dhie.

We first met online back in 2020, during the pandemic,

when the app Kumu became popular.

When I returned to the Philippines in 2022,

we lost contact for almost a year.

And then, unexpectedly…

he reached out again.

From there, our story began.

But my journey did not stop there.

As time passed, Ate Maria left to go on vacation,

and sadly, she never returned.

Because of that, her responsibilities became mine as well.

It wasn’t easy.

The work became heavier.

But I faced it.

I endured it.

And I survived.

By November, I was about to complete two years of my contract.