Alona dela Cruz stood in the quiet, dimly lit spa room in a luxury hotel in Dubai. The calming scent of lavender oil filled the air, and soft instrumental music played in the background. She wore her crisp white uniform like armor composed, polished, and professional. But beneath her calm exterior was a woman who had carried the weight of the world with every she gave.
Back in her hometown of Calapan, Oriental Mindoro, Alona had always been known for her soft, steady hands. As a child, she used to give her grandmother hilot for her arthritis. When she finished high school, she studied massage therapy through a government skills program. With certifications in hand, she worked in a small spa in the city, but the income was barely enough. Her father was diabetic, her younger brother had dropped out of college, and their house made mostly of wood was falling apart.
So when a recruitment agency posted jobs for spa therapists in the UAE, Alona applied, though she had never stepped foot outside the Philippines.
Her first few weeks in Dubai were overwhelming. The spa was luxurious, the clientele demanding, and the expectations sky-high. She was trained to work with all kinds of clients stressed professionals, tourists, even celebrities. The schedule was exhausting. Somedays she massaged eight to ten clients in a single shift. Her hands ached, her feet swelled, and she cried quietly in the staff locker room after her first scolding from a supervisor.
But Alona was resilient. She practiced her English in front of the mirror, learned aromatherapy techniques, and memorized every client preference. Slowly, the five-star reviews started coming in. One client wrote, She has a magic in her hands. Another requested only her by name. Management took notice. She began receiving tips in dollars and was eventually promoted to senior therapist.
Every payday, she sent most of her salary back home. With her remittances, her brother re-enrolled in college. Her father was finally able to afford insulin regularly. Their house was renovated with a sturdier roof, proper flooring, and even a small bathroom. Still, she carried on.
After four years, Alona was able to go home for a one month vacation. When she stepped off the plane, she was greeted by her family holding a small tarpaulin that read, Welcome home, Ate Lona our hands of gold. They hugged her tightly, as if trying to absorb all the years they had missed.
Now back in Dubai, Alona continues to work, but with a clearer plan. She’s saving to open her own spa in Mindoro someday Alona’s Touch, she’ll call it. She already has sketches, scent ideas, and a dream. Because for Alona, every muscle she eased, every knot she untangled, was not just a job it was a step closer to coming home, for good.
