It’s 1991 in the modest town of Moncada, Tarlac. Her husband just died. Her father followed shortly after. She’s 30 years old, a mother of two — the youngest just 6 months old.
And up until that moment, she has not worked a day in her life.
She could take over the family business — a small news stand at the town market. She could make good of her Communication degree. She could become a teacher like her older sisters. Maybe she could go to Manila to find her fate. Or she could fly overseas to clean bathrooms and sweep floors.
She chose to do the last, as many Filipinos would from 1991, beyond that, and the years after.
That year there were 615,019 Overseas Filipino Workers or OFWs.
My mother, Lorina, became one of them.