Rey Andrada, 29, had always been good with his hands. Back in Davao, he started as a helper at a small metal shop, working with rusted pipes and broken fences. Over time, he learned to weld no formal training, just observation, practice, and a few burns. His boss used to say, You’ve got fire in your hands, Rey, and he took pride in that.
But pride doesn’t pay tuition fees or buy medicine. With a younger brother in college and his mother’s health deteriorating, Rey felt the pressure. He applied for several local jobs but the pay was never enough. Then one day, a friend from TESDA told him about welding jobs in South Korea through the EPS (Employment Permit System).
Rey trained hard, passed the skill and language tests, and six months later, he boarded a plane to Busan his first time leaving the Philippines.
The welding factory was unlike anything Rey had ever seen. Massive cranes, ship parts the size of houses, and strict safety protocols. The air smelled of steel and grease. He worked in a shipbuilding yard, fusing metal plates together for oil tankers and cargo ships. The hours were long, and the winters were brutal. His hands, once toughened by tropical heat, cracked and bled in the cold.
The Korean workers didn’t talk much, and the language barrier was heavy at first. Mistakes weren’t just frowned upon they were dangerous. But Rey listened, watched, and learned. He memorized Korean welding terms, took extra hours to get his technique right, and followed every safety step by heart.
After three months, his team leader a stern man named Mr. Jang nodded at his weld and simply said, Choaya (Good). It was the first compliment Rey received, and he held onto it like a medal.
Rey sent money home regularly. His brother was able to continue school, and his mother received proper treatment. They even renovated their tiny kitchen and installed indoor plumbing luxuries they never dreamed of before.
Still, life in Korea wasn’t easy. Loneliness crept in during the holidays. The nights were quiet, and homesickness echoed in the dorm walls. On Sundays, Rey would cook sinigang from scratch, play OPM songs on his phone, and video call his family pretending he wasn’t too tired to smile.
After a year, Rey became known for his clean welds and calm under pressure. He was assigned to higher sections of the ship more difficult, but better pay. One time, during an emergency, Rey helped seal a crack in a massive tank section under tight time pressure. His quick thinking saved the company millions. He didn’t get a trophy, but Mr. Jang patted his back and called him Ajussi Rey , a term of respect.
On his third contract, Rey had saved enough to buy a small property in Davao. He dreamt of opening his own metalworks shop Andrada Steel Solutions. It wouldn’t be as high-tech as in Korea, but it would be his.
When his time in Korea ended, Rey left not just as a welder, but as a provider, a silent hero forged by hardship and hardened by sacrifice. He brought home more than just money he carried with him skills, discipline, and a heart welded together by duty and love.
