My Voice in the Silence

Dear Lord,

It’s Eliza here. Another late night in this small room, staring at the same four walls. My heart feels like it’s cracking, and I don’t know who else to talk to. I know I promised Nanay and Tatay I’d be strong, that I’d send money home for my sister’s tuition and for the roof that leaks every time it rains back in our province in Bicol. I am trying, Lord. I really am. I work double shifts, I skip meals, I don’t complain about the crowded bus or the endless chores. I thought this would be easier, that earning enough to help my family would make me feel… fulfilled. But all I feel is this hollow ache, this loneliness that no amount of video calls can fill.

Why does it feel like I’m drowning here, God? I see other Filipinos laughing, sharing stories, sending pasalubong back home. Am I doing something wrong? Is my faith not strong enough? I pray the Rosary every night, I go to Mass when I can, but the quiet moments are the hardest. That’s when the doubts creep in. Where are You in these moments? Are You watching me struggle? Have You forgotten this little girl from Legazpi who just wants to provide for her family?

I miss the smell of my mother’s sinigang, the sound of my father’s laughter, the feeling of the warm Philippine sun. Here, it’s all air conditioning and artificial lights. I feel so far away, not just geographically, but spiritually. Please, Lord, give me a sign. Give me strength to keep going, or tell me what else I need to do. Is this sacrifice worth it? Am I making my family proud, or am I just losing myself piece by piece in this desert land?

A daughter who is tired, Eliza