The Leavers: Life of an OFW*

07 January 2026

It is now almost five years since I came home to the Philippines. I was due for my annual holiday in 2019, but decided to stay so I could save up for my pasalubongs (presents). Then the pandemic struck, and I was unable to return to Manila until late 2022.

I remember that as my departure drew near, I began to feel apprehensive. Would my parents and my daughter Sofia welcome my new wife, Trina?  Sofia was just six when I left her under my mother's care.  I was not sure she would accept a step-mum.  But I was excited to see my father again, a seaman on a luxury cruise liner where he had worked since before I was born.  Like many seamen, though, he was now stranded at home because of the lockdown.

It was my father who supported me after I ran away from home.  My mother took a long time to forgive me for quitting school, but finally allowed me back into our house.  A jobless dropout, I was hanging out with my then-girlfriend, promptly getting her pregnant.  Again, my parents took us in, but two months after she gave birth, my girlfriend left our daughter and me.  So, we raised Sofia on our own.  Even without a mother, Sofia knew she was with a loving family.

By the time she was four, I was a pizza delivery boy.  When it was time for her to enter nursery school, I realised my meagre earnings couldn't contribute fairly to her expenses. That was when I decided to go abroad to work as an OFW, like my dad.

My family wasn’t poor, as my father regularly sent us money.  As a child, I even believed we were wealthy because our house was nicer than those of my friends, and I had more expensive toys and more fashionable shoes.  

My parents probably wouldn’t have minded fully supporting Sofia, but like my father, I was proud. Instead of going back to school, I left for Saudi Arabia, worked as a mechanic, and later as a crew member on a cargo ship.  Like him, I thought I knew enough to get me through any job.  Of course, I regret this, especially now that I can't help Sofia with her homework.

After coming home from Saudi, I left for Kuwait in 2016.  Sofia, then six years old, bawled her eyes out, but I told her I was leaving for her future.  Thank God for the internet. I called her every day.  But it was tough during the first few months. I couldn’t sleep or eat.  I felt homesick every time I finished calling my family.  Nonetheless, time got me adjusted. The food tasted okay.  I got to know more Pinoys besides the thirteen with whom I shared a three-bedroom apartment.  We were crowded, but we made do in order to save money for the family back home.

Shortly before my two-year contract ended, I applied to a local restaurant in Kuwait as a waiter.  Local hires earned significantly higher wages: my pay was almost double, and it kept me committed to Kuwait. This also gave me an opportunity come home for a couple of months.  I convinced myself that my regular holidays were sufficient for my family’s emotional needs.

I remembered back in 2018, how Sofia jumped up and down when she saw me.  My mother was misty-eyed, and my father gave me a look that left me proud.  The next months went by fast.  We would take our siestas together -- Sofia’s head would rest in my arms until I felt pins and needles.  She would snore softly, her breath like an angel’s. This memory was something I would cry over after I returned to Kuwait.  I would feel homesick again until the lonely days faded into my daily routine.

It was at my new job where I met Trina.  She was also waiting on tables.  Meek and soft-spoken, I thought she was the most beautiful Filipina in Kuwait.  After close to a year of dating, we married at the Philippine Embassy.  Around the same time, I was promoted to shift supervisor, which was another reason we stayed rather than fly home in early 2020.  Then, the travel ban happened, and it was too late.

If there was one thing to be thankful for, it was that my father was on holiday when the lockdown happened.  He narrowly missed being on the cruise ship that was left floating at sea when its crew and passengers contracted COVID.  He was unemployed for two years, and his savings ran dry.  He earned a bit from delivery services, though my mother complained it was hardly enough, a result of my father “living too big” instead of investing, or so she claimed. This led to constant quarrels — she accused him of spending too much, and he insisted she was mismanaging the household budget.

Then, one day, he got a surprise call from his boss that the company was looking for crew members again.  By then, he was 64, but it was an opportunity he couldn’t miss.  It was his destiny to live abroad, he said.  I agreed, I was beginning to think just like him.

Sofia was again at the airport when, in 2022, Trina and I landed. I didn’t recognise her.  She had grown! I tried to hug her, but she seemed awkward.  I wanted to carry her again, but she was already past my shoulders.  Four years I lost!

I woke up early the next day to prepare breakfast; my dad was awake, making coffee.  We sat down. He asked me about my plans.  Only he knew that Trina and I were laid off when the restaurant closed. I told him I might stay in the Philippines and start a business.  We were good cooks and knew how restaurants ran.  Perhaps we could open a coffee shop.

We were also considering moving to New Zealand.  Trina was one year shy of finishing a degree in preschool education.  She could do online courses.  Armed with a degree, she could apply to immigrate as a preschool teacher.  The most important perk was that she could take her family with her.

After listening, my father presented me with a third option: become a seaman like him.  I could come home after ten months and stay for a couple of months.  The pay was good, and I could travel the world for free!  He said he would introduce me to his boss and kumpadres (special friends).  I just had to say the word.  It sounded nice, and if I were without a family, I would have readily agreed.  But now, I have Sofia and Trina, and my mother is getting old.  I told him I needed time to think.

By this time, the household had awoken. When my mum sat down, my dad stood up—he had to wash the delivery van.  Sofia whispered that I shouldn’t mind her Lolo and Lola not talking—they had been that way since her Lolo returned.  I thought maybe it was due to their financial differences, or maybe my mother was used to being by herself.

I cleared my throat and made an announcement: Trina and I would like to stay in the country indefinitely. My mum was tearful with glee, Trina smiled, and Sofia hugged me tightly!

I then followed my dad outside and told him we might, after all, push through with New Zealand.  I wanted my family to have a different experience, I said.  I knew how hard it was to have an absentee father, so now I just wanted a situation where nobody left for a long time.  It wouldn’t be healthy for Sofia, so if I left again, I would take my whole family with me.  I also missed everything here.

My father kept washing the van, and for a long time, I didn’t know what he was thinking.  He finally offered to let me take over his delivery service whilst I made my plans.  But if I changed my mind, I could always call him.  At that moment, I knew he had my back.

After just a few days, we were back at the airport.  This time, to see him off for his departure to Australia.  Another 10-month contract as a seaman.  Even at my age, I felt the same way I had felt every time my father left.  As we said our goodbyes, I could see his eyes were full of excitement, and perhaps a glint of guilt.

In all the 30 years my dad worked as an OFW, saying goodbye was the most painful part for me.  I could now see an old man who yet again had to leave because he needed—what? More money? Or the right to tell himself that all those 30 years were worthwhile?  I fully understand him. That is why, with my own family, I would like a do-over.  I don’t want to be like my father!

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*Overseas Filipino Workers:  a Filipino citizen who lives and works abroad on a temporary or contract basis, usually to earn income for their family in the Philippines

Commentary:

The Philippines is currently experiencing a colossal diaspora: between 12 and 14 million Filipinos are dispersed worldwide, mostly as migrant workers. This is approximately 10% of its total population of 115 million, or 16% of its working-age population (77 million individuals aged 15-64). On any given day, approximately 5,000 Filipinos leave the country —about 2 million annually—mostly on short-term, renewable contracts. 

These migrant workers are scattered in more than 190 countries and territories, with the largest concentrations in the Middle East. They constitute 25% of the world’s seafarers and are likewise heavily represented in health care—nurses, caregivers, physiotherapists—as well as in hospitality, domestic work, construction, and entertainment. Of these, 10% are professionals, an overrepresentation relative to the 6% of stayers registered in professional occupations.

The country is among the largest sources of voluntary labour migration in the world!  These migrants, commonly known as OFWs (Overseas Filipino Workers), are seeking livelihood opportunities that are not generally available in their home country.

Image from the Manila Times

Other countries, such as India, China, and Mexico, also have large numbers of labour migrants, but whereas these countries allow their citizens to migrate, the Philippines is unique in the sense that it has encouraged, institutionalised, and state-managed programmes that support the export of labour.

The reason, of course, is that these OFWs contribute 10% to the country’s GDP —remittances fuel consumer spending and provide much-needed foreign exchange. In recognition of this vital role, the government has officially designated them as bagong-bayani (new heroes), or officially “modern-day heroes”. Accordingly, various government bodies are tasked with providing extensive support services. The head of the Department of Migrant Workers (DMW) is a member of the President’s cabinet, a top-level position in the government’s executive branch. DMW provides licensing, supervision, monitoring, and coordination for all recruitment and deployment activities related to overseas workers.

As needed, it may investigate illegal recruitment and human trafficking, protect OFWs from contract violations, including non-payment of wages, illegal dismissal, and other abusive behaviours of foreign employers. Additionally, with its attached agencies and in cooperation with other government departments, it is responsible for specific recurring services:

1. The Overseas Workers Welfare Administration (OWWA) provides health insurance, death benefits, repatriation assistance, and other social welfare services.
2. The Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA) negotiates bilateral labour agreements (BLAs) with host countries through government-to-government hiring schemes
3. The Department of Labour (DOLE) regulates the private recruitment agencies by requiring permits from them, asking for escrow bonds to protect workers, controlling placement fees, and standardising contracts
4. The Technical Education and Skills Development Authority (TESDA) trains workers in the skills necessary for many overseas jobs
5. The Commission on Filipinos Overseas (CFO) runs Pre-departure Orientation (PDO) seminars
6. The National Reintegration Center for OFWs (NRCO) helps returning workers start livelihoods or businesses.

These services are complemented by the members of the Philippine diaspora themselves, who initiate activities to preserve their shared identity and ensure their psycho-social survival whilst in unfamiliar foreign lands. They maintain familial ties through social media and home visits; economic ties through remittances; and cultural and emotional ties through various organised group activities in the host country. For example, there are schoolmate associations, hometown clubs, church groups, nurses’ groups, community newsletters, and even beauty pageants. Filipino products and eating places abound in big cities across the world – from Jollibee Hamburgers to Goldilocks Cakes. These survival mechanisms ameliorate the isolation and loneliness of living abroad.

Philippine government interventions in support of OFWs are so comprehensive that other countries are starting to adopt them as a model – this, despite the fact that policies are not always successfully implemented. For example, it is not unusual to read news articles that describe how, in some of these countries, many OFWs employed as domestics are forced to work as indentured servants.

Whilst acknowledging the economic contributions of OFWs, their human cost is left largely unaddressed. As illustrated in the short story above, separation within households jeopardises marriages and parent-child relationships. Migrant workers often leave their small children under the care of relatives, many of whom are elderly grandparents. Their physical and financial needs may be met, but these children are often bereft of guidance and a sense of intimacy with their absentee parents, resulting in psychological and societal problems. Although hard figures are difficult to come by, documented behavioural issues include juvenile delinquency, drug addiction, and teenage pregnancy**.

Indeed, what happens to those “left behind”? In 2022, a bill in Congress proposed direct government interventions for OFW families, similar to the support provided to those who leave. Specifically, the bill suggested establishing Migrant Workers Family Centers in catchment areas with a high proportion of OFW families. Among others, its purpose was to help family members maintain harmony in their relationships with the absentee parent(s) and to prepare them for the OFW’s eventual return. Unfortunately, the bill has been tabled and remains pending.

On the other hand, Congress just approved a much more recent bill proposing Balikbayan Centers nationwide, yet another platform, a one-stop shop, assisting in the repatriation needs of OFWs. Their families are merely acknowledged in cursory phrases. As our interviewee opined, “It is not sufficient to simply be referred to as ‘and their dependents’. My own story begins and ends at home. I don’t want to grow old like my father, alienated from his own family.”

Conceivably, these Migrant Workers Family Centers could assume manifold functions that directly cater to the needs of the family. For instance, they could provide one-on-one counselling services to vulnerable children, train guardians in proper child-rearing practices, and encourage private partnerships with NGOs to organise learning camps where OFW families could meet and exchange coping strategies. There are many ways the country can support the proper socialisation of OFW families so they, too, can contribute to national development.

A new frontier has emerged. “Virtual migration” in the form of the BPO sector is rapidly getting traction, but it needs digitally literate employees with access to technology; sadly, a requirement that many OFWs cannot yet meet. At the same time, the world of foreign work is undergoing a transformation. Automation and artificial intelligence are expected to displace many low-and mid-skilled jobs where OFWs are concentrated, even as ageing populations in East Asia and Western Europe continue to drive demand for care work. Consequently, as opportunities in male-dominated sectors such as construction and machine operation decline, demand for caregivers is likely to grow, attracting more women – especially nurses and health professionals. Women already account for 58% of OFWs.

What happens when even more women leave to provide care abroad? Who will provide care at home? Because of traditional gender norms, husbands rarely replace wives entirely; instead, care is redistributed to other family members or outsourced to paid helpers. What will the emerging female-breadwinner model mean to the structure of the family? The societal implications of this remain largely unexamined.

Ultimately, what is needed, more than any patchwork, is structural reforms and inclusive government policies that create decent, stable jobs within the country. Without reforms that would expand opportunities for the working class, the dream of going abroad will remain the default path for many Filipinos seeking a better life.

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**To learn more about juvenile delinquency among children of OFWs, visit http://www.drsubida.com/2016/09/ofws-and-their-left-behind-kids.html.