Still Waiting In Doha

Dear Lord, the silence in this labor camp dormitory is louder than the construction noise outside. I am looking at my phone, staring at the screen, wondering why my daughter stopped replying to my messages again. It has been three years since I left my family in Bacolod, and the money I send seems to just vanish into house repairs and debts I never signed up for. Is this really all there is to sacrifice? Am I just a bank account to them, or am I still a father?

I find myself walking past the malls here, seeing the families walking together, and I feel a sharp, cold ache in my chest. I worked so hard to provide a better life, but I am losing the very life I was trying to save. Why does the distance have to feel like an ocean of ice? Do You even see me here in this tiny bunk bed, surrounded by the smell of stale coffee and industrial dust, praying that I don't break down before the next shift starts?

Have You forgotten me, Lord? I keep reading the Bible my Nanay gave me, but the words feel like dry paper today. I am tired of being 'strong' for everyone. I am tired of the loneliness that bites at night. What do I do when the reason for my sacrifice is drifting further away from me? I am just a man who is running out of strength to keep smiling on video calls.

Your son who is fading, Jayson