Marcelo “Mar” Javier never imagined that at 36 years old , he’d be standing inside a high-tech auto parts factory in Nagoya, Japan, wearing a clean blue jumpsuit with his name embroidered on the chest. Back in Cavite, he worked as a jeepney mechanic, scraping by on repairs, secondhand repairs and tools, and long hours. Business was unstable, and the pandemic had nearly wiped out what little income he made.
With three kids, aging parents, and rising prices back home, Mar made a tough choice: he applied for the TITP (Technical Intern Training Program) and got accepted to work as a factory technician in Japan. He didn’t know a word of Japanese when he started the process, only that it paid better and offered hope for his family.
The first few months were a blur. Mar struggled with the language, the speed of the work, and the cultural barriers. Everything was automated, precise, fast. He had to assemble small car engine components each piece timed to the second. Mistakes weren’t tolerated, and instructions were often barked in Japanese terms he barely understood. He wanted to quit.
But every time he looked at his children’s photos taped inside his locker, he remembered why he was there. Back home, his wife was juggling two jobs. His eldest son had to stop schooling temporarily. This was their lifeline.
So Mar studied at night memorizing Japanese terms, learning workplace etiquette, and practicing conversations with fellow interns. A senior Japanese Supervisor, Mr. Kondo, noticed his effort. Unlike others, Mr. Kondo didn’t just give orders he taught. He even brought Mar a beginner Japanese workbook. Ganbatte kudasai, he told him. Keep trying.
By his second year, Mar had improved. He could communicate confidently, even cracked jokes with his team. He became the big brother among other Filipino workers and helped new arrivals adjust to life in Japan teaching them how to sort their trash, use the train system, and order ramen without getting lost in translation.
But even with a growing sense of belonging, Mar felt the sting of distance. He missed birthdays, anniversaries, school recognitions. There were nights he cried quietly in his dorm room, the neon lights of Nagoya casting shadows across his small bed.
Then one December, his factory announced bonuses for top-performing workers. To his shock, Mar’s name was on the list. His discipline, work ethic, and team leadership had stood out. He used the money to surprise his family: a new fridge, tuition for his son, and a full grocery package for Noche Buena.
He also started saving for something bigger his own auto repair shop in Cavite. Someday he told his wife on a video call, I’ll build it for us. Hindi habang buhay nasa abroad.
On his last year as an intern, Mar trained a younger Japanese employee on one of the machines a rare moment of role reversal. Mr. Kondo smiled at him and said, You’ve changed. Now, you teach others.
When Mar finally returned to the Philippines, he wasn’t the same man who had left. He carried with him more than savings he brought back discipline, confidence, and a broader vision for life. And when he opened his humble repair shop with a sign that read Javier Motors: Trusted. Trained. Tried. it wasn’t just about fixing engines anymore.
It was about rebuilding the life he almost gave up on and shifting gears toward a future he once thought was out of reach.
