Money earned, years lost

I grew up in a little barrio in Makati, where I saw the “orphaned” children of OFWs. They had food, clothes and schooling, yet many seemed like lost souls, growing up with everything money could buy except their parents’ presence.

This is a familiar story, told and retold for half a century. Yet the pain remains, if anything, even greater.

After 50 years of overseas employment and millions of personal sacrifices, we must ask our government when it will make it possible for our OFWs to come home and stay home.

For generations, Filipino parents have left their children behind in pursuit of a better future for them abroad. At the airport, a mother embraces her children before boarding her flight. Her youngest clings to her waist, pleading, “Mommy, please don’t go.” The older child struggles to hold back tears.

“I’m doing this for you,” she whispers. “I promise I’ll come home soon.”

Then she turns away, clutching a worn-out suitcase and her broken heart, afraid that one last look might make leaving impossible.

This is how countless OFW stories begin. Not with adventure, but with sacrifice.

Abroad, she cares for another family’s children while her salary pays for her own children’s tuition, food and medicine back home. Going home is a luxury she can scarcely afford, nor is it something her employment contract allows.

During video calls, she smiles and asks about school. But when the screen goes dark, she cries alone. She has crossed oceans to give her children a better life, yet she cannot be there to share their childhood.

Back home, the children wait. One year becomes two, and two become 10.

They grow taller, graduate and experience their first heartbreaks. Their mother watches through a cellphone screen. She can send money for a school uniform but cannot straighten its collar, pay for a birthday cake but not sing beside it.

Then come the questions no remittance can answer.

“Why does Mommy have to work so far away?” “Why can’t Daddy come home for my birthday?”

And the most heartbreaking question of all: “If they love me, why won’t they stay?”

The parents suffer, too. A father aboard a ship studies photographs of his children growing taller with each passing month. A mother caring for another family’s elderly parent longs to hold her own child.

It is a cruel irony to care for other people’s loved ones while being unable to care for your own.

Our OFWs endure loneliness, exhausting work and, at times, exploitation and abuse. News of family emergencies reaches them from thousands of miles away, leaving them helpless, with nothing to offer but prayers and whatever money they can send.

When they finally return, the child who once ran into their arms may have become a distant teenager. The love remains, but the bedtime stories, shared laughter and comforting embraces belong to the past. They must learn to get to know one another all over again.

Money can build a house and finance an education but cannot restore missed birthdays, a child’s first words or a parent’s embrace when it was needed most.

We call our OFWs modern-day heroes. Their remittances sustain families and support our economy. But honoring their sacrifices must never become an excuse for tolerating a system that forces parents to leave their children simply to survive.

The money is counted, but not the tears. The billions are recorded, but not the lonely nights, missed birthdays or children growing up without a mother’s kiss or a father’s comforting hand.

Why must Filipinos have to leave their country and their children simply to earn a decent living? Working abroad should be a choice, not a necessity imposed by inadequate wages and limited opportunities at home.

This is the challenge to our government. Where is the concrete, adequately funded and measurable plan to help our OFWs come home and stay home?

We need more than speeches and ceremonial welcomes. We need decent jobs, competitive wages, stronger industries and practical support for returning workers. Government and business must work together, guided by clear targets and measurable results.

Success must be measured not only by the number of workers deployed abroad and the billions they remit, but by how many Filipinos can return, earn a decent living and raise their children without having to leave again.

Imagine a mother watching her daughter graduate from the front row, not through a cellphone screen. A father cheering at his son’s basketball game. A family gathered around the dinner table, sharing stories instead of counting the days until the next video call.

These may seem like ordinary moments, but they are priceless to families forced to live apart.

Our OFW parents do not leave because they love their children less. They leave because they love them enough to endure loneliness and heartbreak. Yet in trying to secure their children’s future, they may lose the very years they can never recover.

After 50 years, our OFWs have sacrificed enough. The greatest tribute our government can offer is a country where parents can earn a decent living without surrendering the privilege of raising their own children.

Let us build a Philippines where going abroad is an opportunity, not a necessity, and where no parent must choose between feeding their child and being there to hold them.

A house can be built with money, but a home is built with love and presence. Children may eventually understand why their parents left, but understanding cannot erase the ache of having grown up without them.

When the parents finally come home, the money may be waiting and the house may be standing. But the childhood will have passed, birthdays will have become sad memories, and the years spent apart will never return.