LOVE IN A POOR LITTLE HOME

At six o’clock in the evening, the office slowly began to empty.

One by one, my coworkers packed their things and headed home. I was still sitting at my desk, finishing a few things before I left.

Then I saw the photograph.

It was an old picture of my grandmother.

Granny NingNing.

I stopped what I was doing and stared at her face.

For a moment, everything around me seemed to disappear.

I could hear the quiet hum of the office, the clicking of keyboards, and the sound of people leaving. But all I could see was her.

My eyes slowly filled with tears.

“If only you were still here, Granny…”

I whispered the words, even though I knew she could never hear me.

It had been five years since she was gone.

Five years.

But somehow, the pain still felt fresh.

There were so many things I wished I could do for her now.

If she were still here, I would give her the things she never had when I was growing up. I would buy her nice clothes. I would take her somewhere beautiful. I would make sure she had enough of everything.

I wanted to give something back to the woman who had given me so much.

But how do you repay someone who raised you when she had almost nothing?

How do you thank someone who gave you a childhood filled with love, even when life gave her very little to work with?

When I was a child, I never understood how difficult life was.

I didn't understand why we had so little.

I didn't understand the sacrifices Granny made every single day.

I only knew that she was there.

She was there when I woke up.

She was there when I came home from school.

She was there when I was hungry, when I was tired, when I was afraid, and when I simply wanted someone beside me.

She was my home.

And now, years after she was gone, I finally understood the things I had been too young to see.

The little things she did were never little.

Every meal she prepared.

Every piece of clothing she washed.

Every glass of water she carried.

Every night she stayed beside me until I fell asleep.

Every time she called my name.

Every time she scolded me because she was afraid something might happen to me.

Back then, I thought those things were simply part of being a child.

Now I know they were love.

A kind of love I could never repay.

I wiped my tears and looked at the photograph again.

“If only you were still here, Granny…”

I smiled through my tears.

Then I looked at the clock.

It was already past six.

I slowly packed my things, closed my computer, and stood up.

I had a home to go back to.

A husband waiting for me.

A dinner to prepare.

But as I walked out of the office and headed home, my mind was already somewhere else.

It was back in the little home where I grew up.

Back in the Philippines.

Back to the days when I was a little girl and didn't yet understand what poverty meant.

Back to Granny.

Back to the woman whose love would become one of the greatest parts of my life.

And this is where my story begins.