The first time Arman Cruz saw snow, he couldn’t believe how quiet it was. The white flakes fell gently on the vast Canadian fields, blanketing everything in stillness. It was beautiful, but also strange and cold a far cry from the warm mornings back home in Batangas, where the sound of roosters and laughter filled the air.
Arman never thought he’d end up working as a dairy farmer in Canada. He used to help his father take care of a few carabaos and chickens in their small barangay. Life was simple but hard. When his father got sick and hospital bills piled up, Arman knew he had to find a way to help his family.
So when an agency offered him a chance to work on a dairy farm in Alberta, Canada, he took the risk. The thought of leaving his wife and two daughters was painful, but he reminded himself this is for them.
On his first day at the dairy farm, the biting wind cut through his jacket like a blade. The temperature was below zero, and he could barely feel his fingers. “Welcome to Canada, Arman! his supervisor, Mr. Thompson, said cheerfully. ” The cows don’t care about the weather they still need to be milked.
The farm had over 200 cows, all large and gentle-eyed. Arman’s job was to feed them, clean their stalls, and operate the milking machines twice a day once before dawn and once before dusk. He learned quickly that dairy farming in Canada was not like raising animals in the Philippines. Here, everything was automated and precise from the feeding schedules to the temperature of the milk storage tanks.
At first, Arman struggled. His back ached, his hands cracked from the cold, and his English wasn’t perfect. But the other workers, a mix of Canadians and fellow Filipinos, helped him adjust. Slowly, he learned the rhythm of farm life: early mornings, long hours, and the satisfaction of seeing rows of healthy cows and gallons of fresh milk ready for delivery.
Every night after work, Arman would video call his family. His wife, Lorna, always smiled even though he could see the tiredness in her eyes. His daughters would show him their drawings and tell him stories about school.
“Papa, when are you coming home?” his youngest, May, always asked. “Soon, anak,” he’d say softly. “I’m just finishing work so you can have your own house someday.”
What he didn’t tell them was how lonely it felt. After hanging up, his small rented room would fall silent. The only sounds were the wind outside and the occasional moo from a nearby barn. Sometimes, he would close his eyes and imagine the smell of freshly cooked rice, the warmth of his wife’s hug, and the sound of tricycles passing by their street.
He missed home but he knew why he was there. Every paycheck he sent home paid for his father’s medicines, his daughter’s tuition, and the little sari-sari store his wife started. Slowly, life back home began to change.
One winter morning, a heavy snowstorm hit Alberta. Roads were closed, schools were canceled, and everything froze except the cows. Arman woke up at 4 am, bundled up in layers of clothing, and trudged through knee-deep snow to the barn. The path was slippery, and the air was so cold it hurt to breath.
When he reached the barn, he saw the cows shivering slightly. He worked fast, checking heaters and feeding them hay. “You girls are tougher than me,” he joked softly as he patted one of the cows.
Mr. Thompson arrived later and smiled. “You Filipinos are some of the hardest workers I’ve ever seen, ” he said. “never complaining, always smiling.”
Arman simply nodded. He wasn’t working for praise – he was working for love.
Months later, his dedication earned him a promotion as assistant farm manager. he now oversaw other workers, maintained equipment, and ensured the cows were healthy and well-fed. His boss trusted him completely. “Arman,” Mr. Thompson once said, “this farm runs smoother with you here.”
For the first time, Arman felt truly proud.
Despite the progress, there were still hard days. There were times when Arman felt the weight of distance too deeply like when his eldest daughter graduated from elementary school, and he could only watch through a video call. He tried to smile, but tears blurred his eyes. “I wish I was there,” he whispered.
But every sacrifice bore fruit. The money he sent home helped them build a small concrete house their very first real home. Lorna would send him pictures of their progress: a fresh coat of paint, a new roof, a small garden. “This is all because of you,” she said one evening.
“No,” Arman replied, smiling through the screen. “It’s because of us.”
After five long years in Canada, Arman finally decided it was time to go home. His contract had ended, and his savings were enough to start something new. On his last day at the farm, he stood quietly by the barn, listening to the familiar sounds the hum of machinery, the lowing of cows, the crunch of snow beneath his boots.
“Goodbye, girls,” he said softly to the cows. “Thank you for helping me feed my family.”
When he landed in the Philippines, the warm air greeted him like an embrace. His wife and daughters were waiting at the airport, holding a sign that read, “Welcome home, Papa!” He dropped his bags and ran to them, laughing and crying all at once.
Back in Batangas, Arman used his savings to start a small dairy business raising a few cows and selling fresh milk in the community. The skills he learned in Canada became his greatest advantage. Soon, his small operation grew, and he even began employing young locals who wanted to learn.
“Canada taught me how to be a good worker,” he said proudly. “But the Philippines reminded me why I worked in the first place.
Today, Arman wakes up before dawn just like he used to – but now, when he steps outside, it’s the scent of home that greets him. He still wears the same old jacket he wore in Canada, a reminder of the journey that changed his life.
When his neighbors ask him about his experience abroad, he smiles and says, “It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.”
He tells them that being an OFW isn’t just about earning money, it’s about discipline, faith, and the love that pushes you to endure.
At sunset, as he watches his cows graze peacefully under the orange sky, Arman feels content. He didn’t just build a career abroad he built a future for his family, one bucket of milk at a time.
And in his heart, he knows that no matter how far life takes him, every Filipino dream begins and ends in the same place home.
