SYMBIOSE

THE BEGINNING

I am Kirsten Zaldua.

I stood in front of the towering Rockwell Corporation building, feeling small and out of place. My reflection stared back at me from the glass doors—tired, determined, but undeniably weary. Hugging the insulated delivery bag tightly against my chest, I braced myself for what lay ahead.

This wasn’t my first delivery to this company, but somehow, the nerves always got to me. The polished marble floors, the sharp suits of the employees walking briskly inside, the hum of luxury and power that seemed to fill the air—it always reminded me of a world I desperately wanted to be part of but knew I didn’t belong in.

Tightening my grip on the bag, I took a deep breath and tried to push away the thoughts clawing at the back of my mind. But they always found a way to resurface. Life wasn’t always like this for me.

When I was younger, we had a simple but happy life. My mom, Olivia Zaldua, was an accountant for a small company, while my dad, Elias, worked as a construction foreman. I remember how he used to talk about starting his own business someday. We weren’t wealthy, but we had enough. Most importantly, we had each other.

I still think about those nights when we’d sit together as a family. Mom would teach me to read and do math while Dad would always remind me that with hard work, nothing was impossible.

But life has a cruel way of changing things in an instant.

A workplace accident changed everything. A steel beam fell on Dad while he was working at the site. He survived, but he could no longer work. Our savings were drained by hospital bills and medications. Mom worked longer hours to try to make ends meet, but then her company shut down, leaving her jobless too. We were drowning in debt, forced to sell our home and move into a cramped apartment in Manila.

I thought that was rock bottom. But I was wrong.

Mom started getting sick. What seemed like a persistent cough turned into something far worse. When we finally went to the doctor, they told us the devastating news—lung cancer. Her chemotherapy and medications cost more than what we could ever afford. From that point on, survival was all we could focus on.

I became the breadwinner. I was a student by day, an employee by night, juggling jobs wherever I could find them—cashier, waitress, tutor, anything that paid.

As for Dad? He left us. One day, he walked out the door and never came back. No explanation, no goodbye. It hurt, but I didn’t have time to dwell on the pain. I promised Mom I would take care of her, no matter what it took.

Now, it’s just the two of us. I’m keeping us afloat the best I can. I study on a scholarship, but most of my financial aid goes straight to Mom’s hospital bills and medicine. Whatever’s left is barely enough for food and the basics. I’m always tired—exhausted, really—but stopping isn’t an option.

And so, here I am, standing in front of the Rockwell Corporation building, delivering food to people whose lives seem impossibly far from mine. Even so, I cling to this small, impossible dream: that one day, I won’t just be a delivery girl walking through these doors—I’ll be an employee, someone who belongs here.

I force a smile and step inside, the blast of air-conditioning making me shiver. At the reception desk, the friendly receptionist greets me like she always does when I bring their orders.

“Good afternoon,” I say, trying to sound cheerful as I place the delivery bag on the counter. Carefully, I pull out the packages and arrange them neatly.

I hesitate for a moment before taking out one small package I prepared myself. My fingers linger on it, reluctant to let go, but I finally set it on top of the trays.

“Can you make sure this goes directly to the CEO?” I ask quietly, my voice almost trembling. “I made this especially for him.”

The receptionist gives me a curious look. I can’t tell if she’s amused or confused, but she nods and smiles. “Sure, I’ll make sure he gets it,” she replies.

I exhale softly as I turn to leave, clutching the empty bag. I don’t even know why I bother doing this—it’s ridiculous, really. The CEO of a company this big would never notice someone like me. But for some reason, preparing that small gift feels like my way of holding on to hope, my way of reminding myself that even in the middle of all this struggle, I haven’t given up on my dreams.

As I step out of the building, the weight on my shoulders settles back in. But I shake it off. For Mom, I have to keep going. I have to be strong.

I don’t know what tomorrow holds, but I know one thing: I won’t give up. Not now. Not ever.

“Good evening, Ms. Grace,” I greeted quietly, my voice barely audible in the vastness of the room.

Grace looked up from her screen, her warm eyes lighting up when she saw me. “Kirsten, right on time, as usual. What do you have for us tonight?”

I set the delivery bag on the counter, carefully unpacking the neatly wrapped boxes of food. “The usual orders,” I replied, arranging them with practiced precision. Then, almost reluctantly, I pulled out a smaller package, my fingers trembling slightly. “And… this one’s for the CEO. If it’s not too much trouble, could you please make sure he gets it?”

Grace raised an amused eyebrow, leaning on the desk. “Still hoping he’ll notice, huh?”

I felt my cheeks flush, and I quickly lowered my gaze, embarrassed. “I know it’s silly. But it’s the least I can do—to show my gratitude for… well, everything this company represents.”