On every Labor Day, we celebrate workers—the backbone of our nation. We post tributes, we rest, we recognize. But beyond the headlines, the real heroes are already on the streets before sunrise, hands rough, bodies tired, and hearts still fighting.
Behind every peso we spend and every vegetable we cook, there is a story of blood, sweat, and silent sacrifice.
This is one of those stories. This is my father’s story.
In the busy streets of Balintawak, Quezon City, where trucks arrive before dawn and the market never truly sleeps, my father lives a life many will never fully understand. He is a vegetable carrier—a kargador. He is a man who lifts sacks heavier than comfort, heavier than rest, and heavier than dreams. He runs a small vegetable business on the side, not because it is easy, but because it is necessary. For him, survival is never enough; he must provide. He is the living image of "kayod kalabaw."
He once told himself: "Habang lumalaki ang mga anak, tumataas ang gastos." And so, he worked harder. And harder still. For ten long years, he did not come home to the province.
Ten years.
Ten years of missed birthdays. Ten years of empty seats during celebrations. Ten years of choosing work over rest, distance over presence, and sacrifice over comfort. While we were growing up, he was carrying the weight of our future—one sack of vegetables at a time.
His day begins when most people are heading home to sleep. At five in the evening—alas singko ng gabi—he wakes up not to rest, but to prepare. He steps once again into a cycle of labor that demands everything from his body. He pushes heavy carts. He lifts sacks that strain his shoulders. He trudges under the scorching sun and endures the piercing cold of the night.
Paulit-ulit. Walang reklamo. Walang pahinga.
Every peso he sends home is not just money. It is the price of sleepless nights. It is the cost of aching muscles. It is the proof of love that chooses to endure pain in silence.
Now, every time I walk through a market in our province, I see things differently.
Hindi na lang ito basta gulay. Each vegetable carries a story. Each sack carries a sacrifice. I finally understand the weight. The weight of every tomato, every cabbage, and every bundle of greens is the same weight my father carried for us: the weight of responsibility and the weight of love.
But perhaps the heaviest part of it all is this: for ten years, he missed watching us grow. He was not there for our small victories and achievements. He did not see how we slowly became who we are today. Not because he didn’t want to, but because he had to choose us in a different way—by working, by enduring, and by sacrificing.
"Mahirap ang maging mahirap," he once said. And he knew that truth too well. There were nights when his voice would crack over the phone—moments when his legendary strength would finally give way to the truth of his exhaustion.
He once told me, "Mag-aral ka ng mabuti para ikaw ang tutulong sa akin kapag ako ang nanghina na."
And another time, he spoke words that broke me completely: "Pagod na 'ko anak... Pagod na ang katawan at balikat ko sa kakabuhat ng gulay dito."
Those words were heavy, but they became my fuel. They became my reason to keep going.
Because of his sacrifices, here we are today. I am now a first-year college student. My sibling is in high school, and our youngest is in Grade 6. We are living the future he carried on his shoulders.
Today, on the 124th Labor Day of the Philippines, my father's story is not his alone. It belongs to every farmer who tills the land under the sun, every vendor who wakes before dawn, and every driver and porter who keeps this nation moving.
Sila ang tunay na haligi ng bayan.
Labor Day is more than a holiday; it is a reminder. A reminder of calloused hands and sacrifices that often go unseen—but are never unfelt. My father may not wear a suit. He may not sit in an office. He may not be known by many. But to us, he is everything.
His burden became our wings. His sweat became our future. And in every weight he carried, he lifted us closer to our dreams.
Written by Dave Lauren Gumarang
Dave Lauren Gumarang is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
