Romy dela Cruz had been behind the wheel since he was sixteen. Back in Pangasinan, his father owned a secondhand jeepney that barely ran on rainy days. It was in that rickety vehicle that Romy learned the basics of driving not from a manual, but from muscle memory, instinct, and the need to survive.
Fast forward twenty years, and Romy found himself sitting behind the wheel of an 18 wheeler, hauling cargo across the rugged roads of Saudi Arabia.
Becoming a truck driver abroad was never Romy’s dream. But dreams changed when life demanded more. With three children to feed, a diabetic mother, and a crumbling house that shook every time it rained, Romy realized that his local driving gigs wouldn’t cut it. After months of paperwork, seminars, and saving for his placement, he signed a two year contract to work as a heavy truck driver in the middle East.
His first impression of Saudi Arabia was the heat intense, dry, and unrelenting. But it wasn’t just the weather that tested him. The highways stretched endlessly through the desert, and sometimes he’d drive for ten hours straight without seeing a town. His truck became his second home, his dashboard the only company during long hauls.
Romy was responsible for transporting everything from construction materials to grocery supplies. Precision was key delays, meant penalties, and mistakes meant termination. But he was diligent. He kept logs, followed safety checks, and always made sure cargo was secure.
His employers noticed his discipline. Even when sandstorms clouded the road, Romy stayed calm. Even when a tire blew in the middle of the night, he didn’t panic. He just got out, fixed it under the moonlight, and continued the route.
Despite the isolation, Romy found ways to stay connected. He mounted a small picture of his family on the dashboard his wife, Analyn, and their three kids. Every break, he would video call them, no matter where he was. He would joke. “Anak, Papa is delivering rice for giants here! or “Mama, I saw a camel today. Parang kabayo sa init.”
Romy missed the smell of sinigang, the sound of his youngest daughter’s laughter, the comfort of his own bed. But he reminded himself every kilometer he drove brought his family closer to a better life.
After two years, Romy returned home with savings that allowed them to rebuild their house. They installed a proper roof, tiled the floor, and even bought a secondhand tricycle that his wife could use for a small business. His children went back to school with new uniforms and shoes. But Romy wasn’t done.
He returned to Saudi for another contract this time more confident, more skilled. He started mentoring younger OFWs, sharing tips like where to buy cheap food, how to avoid heatstroke, and how to read Arabic traffic signs.
He became known among fellow drivers as “Kap Romy” the dependable kuya with a calm voice and solid advice.
One night, while parked at a gas station miles from the nearest city, Romy looked at the stars and whispered to himself, “This road is long, but it’s taking me somewhere worth going. Because for Romy, being a truck driver wasn’t just about cargo it was about carrying the weight of love, sacrifice, and hope.
