The Love I Never Expected

I used to believe that having a complete family was enough to make a person happy. I was wrong. My family was simple. There were only four of us—my father, my mother, my younger sibling, and me. We were not rich, but we had each other. My father worked as a taxi driver. My mother sold fish in España, Manila. They both worked hard every day, not because life was easy, but because they wanted to give their children a better future. I was the eldest. And being the eldest came with expectations. My parents expected me to become responsible. They wanted me to finish college, find a good job, and eventually build a stable life. But I was never the kind of daughter they imagined. I loved going out with friends. I loved having fun. Sometimes, I was careless with my studies. My grades were mostly just enough to pass, and compared with my younger sibling, I often felt like I was the disappointment in our family. My sibling was intelligent. I was not. At least, that was how I saw myself back then. But there was one thing I had that my grades could never measure. I had a dream. I wanted to study Psychology. I had always been interested in understanding people—their emotions, their thoughts, and the reasons behind their actions. I wanted to become a psychologist someday. Unfortunately, my dream did not matter as much as my grades. When I was preparing for college, my father had already made a decision for me. "You're going to take Commerce," he told me. I looked at him. "Commerce, Pa?" He nodded. "Yes. Major in Management." I was quiet for a moment. "Pa..." "What?" "What if I take Psychology instead?" My father looked at me seriously. "Psychology?" I nodded. "That's what I really want." He sighed. "With your grades?" I lowered my eyes. "Pa, I really want to study it." He shook his head. "Be realistic." I didn't say anything. "What school do you think will accept you with those grades?" he continued. "Most of your grades are only passing." His words hurt. But I couldn't argue with him. I knew my grades weren't good. I knew I had not been the most hardworking student. And perhaps, deep inside, I believed him too. Maybe my dream really was too big for me. So I gave up. I enrolled in a private school and took Commerce, major in Management, just as my father wanted. My younger sibling studied in a public school and took Mass Communication. As time passed, I began to understand how difficult it was for my parents to support our education. My father drove a taxi for long hours. My mother sold fish just to help provide for the family. They were already doing everything they could. And because I was studying in a private school, the expenses continued to grow. I tried to continue. I really did. But eventually, I reached my second year of college. That was as far as I got. I had to stop. My younger sibling continued studying. Eventually, my sibling graduated. I didn't. For a long time, I felt ashamed of myself. I was the eldest daughter, but I couldn't even finish college. I felt like I had failed my parents. But I also knew that feeling sorry for myself would not change anything. One day, I finally made a decision. If I couldn't continue studying, then I would work. I wanted to help my family. I wanted to contribute, even if it was only a little. And that's how I found a job at a cinema. I became a ticket seller and cashier. At first, I wasn't sure whether I would like the job. But after a while, I realized something. I was happy. I loved having my own income. There was something satisfying about receiving a salary that I had earned through my own hard work. But what made me happier was being able to give some of it to my parents. One day, I handed my mother part of my salary. "Ma, this is my salary." She looked at the money, then looked at me. "You don't have to give me everything." I smiled. "I know, Ma. But I want to help." She smiled back. "Just save some for yourself." "I will." But I wanted to help them. My father was still driving a taxi. My mother was still selling fish. They had spent years working for us. Now that I was earning, I wanted to do something for them too. For the first time, I started believing that maybe not finishing college didn't mean my life was over. I had a job. I was earning. I was helping my family. And I was happy. Then something unexpected happened. I started getting attention from men at work. People often told me that I was beautiful. I was slim, attractive, and always tried to look presentable at work. There were men who showed interest in me. But I wasn't looking for love. Not then. At least, that's what I thought. Until I met him. His name was Jason. He also worked at the cinema. His job was to put up posters and advertisements for the movies. He wasn't handsome. He was tall and thin, and one of his eyes had a noticeable disability. When I first saw him, I wasn't attracted to him at all. Honestly, I barely noticed him. He was simply another person working at the same cinema. But sometimes, love doesn't arrive the way you expect. Sometimes, it begins with something so ordinary that you don't even realize it is the beginning of something important. For me, it started with food. Jason often brought us breakfast. Sometimes lunch. Sometimes snacks in the afternoon. One day, he handed me something to eat. "Here. Eat." I looked at him and smiled. "Again? Why do you keep giving me food?" He simply shrugged. "Because I want to." I laughed softly. At first, I thought he was just being friendly. But he kept doing it. Day after day. He would talk to me while I was working. Sometimes he would give me money. Sometimes he would invite me to go out with his friends. Little by little, I became comfortable around him. I began enjoying our conversations. I began noticing when he wasn't around. And eventually, something changed inside me. I started waiting for him. Waiting for his messages. Waiting for him to come to work. Waiting for him to ask me to go somewhere with him. I didn't know when it happened. One day, I simply realized the truth. I liked him. The man I had never noticed before had somehow found a place in my heart. I started spending more time with him. I joined him and his friends whenever they went out. The more time I spent with him, the more I believed I was getting to know the real Jason. I thought he was kind. Generous. Caring. And perhaps that was why I fell for him. But love has a strange way of making people overlook things. The first signs were small. Jason was jealous. Very jealous. Whenever another man talked to me, I could feel his mood change. "Why were you talking to him?" I would look at him. "He's just my co-worker." "You were talking to him for a long time." I would laugh, thinking he was only being playful. "Are you jealous?" He would look at me seriously. "I'm just protecting you." I wanted to believe him. I thought jealousy meant he cared. He also liked drinking. And as time passed, I began to see another side of him. He became quick to anger. Small things could turn into arguments. His voice would become louder. Sometimes, when he was angry, he would pull me. Those moments confused me. This wasn't the same man who used to bring me food. This wasn't the man who made me feel special. I began asking myself questions I didn't want to answer. How could someone who made me feel so cared for also make me feel afraid and confused? But I was already in love. And when you're in love, you don't always see the warning signs clearly. Sometimes, you see the person you want them to be instead of the person they really are. I didn't know it then... but the man I thought had entered my life to make me happy was about to become the reason I would experience some of the most painful moments of my life. And this... was only the beginning.