OFW

Ever since I can remember, I've never questioned why my dad chose to be an overseas worker. It's something I was born into, something I got used to as I grew up. And although other "normal" kids around me with "normal" families had both parents around them in the same house, my situation never seemed unusual. Sure, I missed my dad. Sure, I cried myself to sleep from time to time wishing he was with us. But that was normal too.

Being an only child, and having born after 10 long years of my parents' marriage, I always felt more special, more cherished. It didn't matter that my dad wasn't always around. I knew how he felt about my existence and I never doubted it.

I never fully realized how hard it's been for my mother all these years until she came to me with tears in her eyes, pouring her heart out. Now, I'm used to these moments. Been there, done that. But it was different this time. I don't know why, but the things she said made me question a lot of things about my life and our life as a family. We were never picture perfect, we never had picket fences or Sunday lunches, but I always thought we were. Living in high rises with all the luxury we can afford never seemed so bad all these years.

But now I wonder. Why did my father choose to work abroad? I used to know all the reasons- a better life, a great education for me, all the luxury my mother and I could indulge in, and all that jazz. But were those enough? Could there have been something else? Could we have lived differently?