My name is Ruben, and I come from a quiet fishing town in Leyte. Life by the sea taught me discipline and patience, but it also exposed me to the harsh reality of poverty. My father was a fisherman, and my mother sold dried fish in the market. We lived humbly, and while we were never truly hungry, there was never anything extra.
From a young age, I dreamed of a better life. Every time I saw ships pass by the horizon, I wondered what lay beyond it. At 24, I decided to pursue a career as a seafarer, inspired by my cousin who had already been working onboard for years. I trained at a maritime school in Cebu and finally got my first assignment aboard a cargo vessel headed for Europe.
Leaving the Philippines was one of the hardest things I had ever done. My mother cried silently as she handed me a rosary. My father didn’t say much, but his hand on my shoulder said everything. I promised them I would return with stories, savings, and something to show for the sacrifices we all made.
Life onboard wasn’t what I expected. Days were long, tasks were repetitive, and the sea was both beautiful and terrifying. There were nights when I couldn’t sleep from homesickness. Christmas came, and we celebrated on deck with canned food and stories from home. I missed my mother’s cooking, my father’s jokes, and the laughter of my younger siblings.
But as the months went by, I learned more than just navigation and cargo handling. I learned resilience. I saved every dollar I could, sending money back home to support my sibling’s education. One of the proudest moments of my life was when my youngest sister messaged me, saying she had passed her nursing board exam. I knew then that every drop of sweat and every lonely night had been worth it.
During my third contract, something unexpected happened. Our ship was docked in Germany, and I collapsed from exhaustion. I woke up in a hospital, and the doctor said I had developed a heart condition from overwork and stress, I was forced to resign early and return home.
At first, I felt like a failure. But my family welcomed me back with open arms. My siblings were all working, thanks to my help, and they told me it was now their turn to take care of me. I began teaching at a maritime training center in Tacloban, sharing my experiences and preparing future seafarers for the life I once had.
Looking back, I don’t regret anything. Being an OFW is not just a job it’s a sacrifice, a journey, and a story of love for one’s family. I may not have reached the horizon I once dreamed of, but I helped my family rise above theirs.
