Kabanata 1

Kabanata 1

It’s been five years since I left home to pursue my dreams here in a foreign country, and so far, it was the best decision I’ve ever made for myself.

As an only child, the weight of expectations was always heavy on my shoulders. My parents wanted me to be the successor of our family business. My father, CEO of Rosales Group of Company, a well-known construction empire in the Philippines, had always envisioned me sitting in his chair someday, holding blueprints and leading projects that would bear our family name.

Pero hindi iyon ang gusto ko.

When I was still a student, Papa insisted I should take up Civil Engineering. “Dapat practical, anak. Dapat may future. Wag mong sayangin ang pagkakataon,” he used to say. But I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life building bridges and towers when what I wanted was to build something else which is my own name. My own path.

Kaya kahit mabigat sa loob niya, I chose a different road. I took up Fashion Entrepreneurship. I still remember the look on his face when I told him, disappointment mixed with disbelief. Parang sinaksak ko siya. Pero kahit na ganoon, I stood firm.

I refused to become a shadow of my father’s ambitions.

Now, here I am, in Spain. My second home.

Thanks to my Spanish blood from Mama’s side, citizenship wasn’t too difficult to obtain. And once I became a Spanish citizen, I poured everything I had into, starting my own clothing business. No safety net, no help from my father’s fortune, only my own savings from part-time jobs, internships, and eventually, my first real work here.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. Establishing a business in a country where my surname carried no weight was both terrifying and liberating. Walang Rosales name na pwedeng sandalan, only me. But maybe that was the point.

“Thaliya, I sent you my new draft for the fashion magazine that will be published next week. Would you mind double-checking it before I send it to the editorial team?”

It was Martina one of my earliest designers, and now one of my most trusted people. She had been with me since the beginning, when I was nothing but a dreamer with a few sketches and a stubborn heart.

I looked up from the stack of fabric swatches on my desk, catching the hopeful tone in her voice.

“Okay. After I finish this,” I answered, giving her a small smile before returning to the notes in front of me.

The studio smelled faintly of coffee and fresh cloth, two scents that had become my everyday comfort.

Around me, racks of garments lined the walls, some still pinned with notes for adjustments, others waiting to be photographed for the next collection.

Outside the window, the late afternoon sunlight painted the Spanish streets gold. It was moments like this, ordinary yet fulfilling, that reminded me why I chose this life.

I was bent over a series of design drafts when my phone buzzed on the table. A notification from Messenger. At first, I ignored it, but the name flashing on the screen made my chest tighten.

Mama.

I swallowed hard and pressed the lock button, as if shutting off the screen could erase the emotions swelling inside me. But another ping followed, and before I could stop myself, I accidentally opened the message.

“Thaliya, anak? When will you come home? Your dad is in critical condition right now, please, come home. We need you.”

My breath hitched. For a moment, the room felt too quiet, as though everything around me had paused. The letters on the screen blurred as my vision burned, but I blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall.

I gripped my phone tightly, my knuckles turning white. No. Hindi ako pwede magpatalo ngayon. I had built walls around myself for years, convincing my heart that I didn’t need to go back. That I didn’t need to face him.

But Mama’s words critical condition… please, come home echoed inside me like a plea I couldn’t ignore.

I bit my lip, torn between pride and fear. Between the life I had chosen… and the family I had left behind.

I set my phone down on the desk as if it had burned me. My hands were trembling, and I hated it.

For years, I told myself I was done, done with the expectations, done with being pushed into a mold that was never mine. Spain had become my refuge, a place where no one knew me as Rosales’ only daughter, only as Thaliya, the woman who built something from nothing.

And yet… isang mensahe lang mula kay Mama, and everything I worked so hard to bury started clawing its way back.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling as if the answer was written there. Pero wala. Ang tanging bumabalik lang sa isip ko ay ang boses ni Papa.

“Anak, hindi ito laruan. Construction is our legacy. You can’t waste your time on silly dreams. Fashion? That’s just a hobby, not a future.”

That memory cut sharper than any blade. I still remember the sting of those words, the night I told him about my course. I had cried quietly in my room, muffling the sound against my pillow so Mama wouldn’t hear. From that night on, I promised myself that I will prove him wrong.

And I did. Or at least, I thought I did.

Now, with one message, that promise suddenly felt… childish. What good was pride if it meant not seeing him again?

I stood up and walked toward the glass window of my studio. Below, the Madrid streets glowed with evening lights. People were laughing, couples holding hands, friends chatting over t***s at a nearby café. Life went on as usual for everyone else, while mine felt like it was hanging in midair.

I pressed my forehead against the cool glass.

Critical condition.

My chest ached. I wanted to tell myself that he deserved this distance, that he pushed me away first. Pero bakit ganito? Bakit parang ako ang naiwan?

Behind me, I heard Martina call, “Thaliya, are you okay?”

I quickly straightened and forced a smile when I turned to face her. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just tired.”

She gave me a small nod but didn’t pry. I was grateful. Hindi ko kayang ipaliwanag ngayon ang bigat ng dinadala ko.

When she left the studio, silence wrapped around me again. I sat on the couch, clutching my phone. My thumb hovered over Mama’s message. A part of me wanted to reply, to say I’m on my way.

Another part screamed at me to stay, to protect the life I built away from their world.

I closed my eyes, and suddenly, I remembered the softer side of Papa the rare moments he allowed me to see it.

Like the time he taught me how to ride a bike. He held the back of the seat, running alongside me until I gained balance. I fell, scraped my knee, but instead of scolding me, he knelt down and said, “Laban ulit, anak. Kaya mo ‘yan.”

Or the night of my high school graduation, when I caught him watching me from afar, pride flickering in his eyes even though he stayed silent during dinner.

Those were the memories I hated remembering. Because they made it harder to stay angry.

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them. I quickly wiped them away, shaking my head. No. I can’t be weak now. I chose this life. I can’t go back.

And yet… deep inside, I knew the truth. I could ignore my father all I want, but I could never ignore my mother’s plea.

I curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow tightly to my chest, staring blankly at the ceiling. The clock ticked softly in the background, each second heavier than the last.

How do you choose between the life you fought so hard to build… and the family you tried so hard to leave behind?

For the first time in five years, I felt lost again.