When the defense ended, Professor Santos approached to shake our hands kindly, yet he suddenly paused before my father, studying his face carefully as recognition dawned across his surprised expression unexpectedly.
I grew up within an incomplete family where early memories carried absence, hardship, and my mother’s determined resilience guiding us through countryside poverty shaped by rice fields, gossip, blazing sunlight, and persistent uncertainty.
My biological father disappeared before I understood love, leaving shadows where affection should exist, and my childhood unfolded without stability or warmth, teaching me silence long before teaching me hope.
When I turned four years old, my mother remarried a construction worker carrying nothing except calloused hands, tired eyes, and a steadfast willingness to rebuild a life beside someone struggling courageously.
At first I disliked him because he was unfamiliar, always exhausted, constantly smelling of cement and sweat, yet quietly repairing broken things that mattered to me without expecting appreciation or acknowledgment.
He never scolded me for mistakes but quietly fixed problems, showing care through action rather than words, gradually softening the guarded heart of a child unsure how to trust again.
When I was bullied at school, he rode his old bicycle to fetch me, saying gently that he would stand behind me always, even without being called father explicitly.
From that moment, the word “Tatay” slowly settled into my voice, shaping a bond built through consistent kindness rather than shared blood or grand declarations of affection.
Throughout childhood, I associated him with dusty uniforms, weary footsteps, late-night arrivals, and gentle inquiries about school despite exhaustion dragging heavily across his aching body daily.
He lacked formal education yet insisted that knowledge shaped dignity, reminding me continually that effort and integrity created opportunities unavailable to those who neglect learning entirely.
Our family survived with difficulty, supported by my mother’s farm work and his construction labor, teaching me restraint in my ambitions despite quietly yearning for something greater.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
