CHAPTER 1: Buckets and Dreams

I am Aiden Dela Vega, twenty-two years old, born and raised in Bataan. Whenever the rainy season hits our province, there is a running family joke that is as painful as it is true: there are more buckets scattered across our living room floor than there are people living inside. The rhythmic dripping from our leaky roof sounds like a never-ending symphony of poverty.

To keep our heads above water, my mother, Rosa, works herself to the bone as a Domestic Helper in Hong Kong. Meanwhile, my father, Noel, braves the harsh realities of being a construction worker here in the Philippines. My only weapon every single day is the burning dream to lift them out of this hardship.

At ten o'clock in the morning, while I was sipping coffee for breakfast, the gentle vibration of my phone suddenly woke the quiet kitchen. A message from Kiko Torres, my best friend, popped up on the screen.

"Bro, how are you? Do you want to work abroad? They are hiring here in Canada right now."

My heart instantly pounded hard against my chest. Could this be the chance? My fingers quickly flew across the keyboard.

"Sure bro, but I need to talk to my mom and dad first. I'll see if they'll give me permission."

After sending the text, I didn't waste any time. I immediately dialed my mother’s number in Hong Kong to ask for her blessing.

"Son, why did you call?" the familiar, exhausted, yet loving voice of my mother greeted me from the other end of the line.

"There's just something I want to let you know, Mom. Please tell Dad too," I began, feeling a bit nervous.

"Sure, what is it, son?"

"Kiko texted me earlier. He's asking if I want to go abroad... to Canada."

A momentary silence filled the other end of the line. I could feel the heavy weight of my mother's thoughts before she took a deep breath and answered. "Do you really want this? If that is your dream, then go ahead, son. Your father and I support you. Just be very careful out there and never forget to call us, okay? I love you, son."

"I love you too, Mom," I replied, fighting the lump forming in my throat. "I will work hard in Canada to fulfill my dreams. One day, the three of us will be together there. Take care of yourself always, you and Dad."

With my parents' blessing, it felt like my feet grew wings. I quickly processed my papers for Canada. Once I completed all the necessary documents, I immediately informed Kiko so he could prepare for my arrival.

The day of my departure finally came. Around two o'clock in the afternoon, I was already at the Manila airport. Carrying my luggage and an overflowing sense of hope, I faced the long queue for my boarding pass. Goodbye, Philippines.

[EDMONTON AIRPORT]

The moment I stepped off the plane at the Edmonton airport, it felt like a wall of ice slammed into me. The temperature was playing around -25°C—a kind of cold that my skin had never felt back in Bataan.

"Bro, welcome to Canada!" A cheerful voice broke through my daze. It was Kiko, heavily bundled up in a thick jacket, approaching me with a wide smile.

"Th-thanks, bro," I stuttered, smoke visibly dancing from my mouth as my entire body shivered uncontrollably.

"You're welcome, bro! Are you okay? Aren't you freezing too much? It's the peak of winter and snowfall right now, you know. Do you want to grab some coffee first? There's a Tim Hortons here. Come on."

"Sure, bro. Just to lessen this shaking. Wow, it really is freezing here! I thought I'd only encounter light snow, but winter here is intense."

After Kiko picked me up from the airport, we drove straight to the house where he was staying.

"Bro, there's a room here in the basement. You can leave your things there for now and get some rest. Goodnight!" Kiko said, pointing at the door of my new room.

"Thanks, bro. Goodnight."

I entered the room and quickly left a message for Mom and Dad to let them know I had landed safely in the promised land.

Early Morning in the Kitchen

The entire house was dark, with only the thin stream of light from the open refrigerator door breathing life into the kitchen. I sat on a wooden chair, a thick blanket wrapped around my shoulders as I stared at a steaming cup of hot coffee. I coughed softly, trying to find warmth in the dead of the night.

The adjacent door opened and Kiko walked out in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes, clearly half-awake.

"Bro? Aiden? Why are you still awake?" he asked in a sleepy voice, looking at me. "It's three o'clock in the morning. Do you still have jetlag?"

I smiled bitterly and slightly looked away from him. "Not anymore, bro. I just really can't sleep. I've been thinking."

Kiko walked over to the sink, grabbed a glass, and poured some water to drink. "Thinking about what? Is it about work tomorrow? Don't worry, like I told you, you'll get a job at the place we visited. Just have faith, bro."

"It's not just that, bro..." I liquefied a hollow laugh. "Earlier, before I went to bed, I called Dad in the Philippines. He said it rained again back home, and the rows of buckets are back in our living room because of the leaks. It made me remember Mom in Hong Kong, working herself to exhaustion all alone out there. And here I am now, sitting in a quiet, nice, and warm house in Canada, but... my heart just feels so heavy."

Kiko stopped drinking. He slowly set his glass down on the table and walked over to me. He gently patted my shoulder, a gesture of understanding that only a fellow migrant worker could truly comprehend.

"That's completely normal, bro. We all go through that. When I first arrived here, I secretly cried in the bathroom because of severe homesickness. People back home think it's easy once you're abroad—that just because you earn dollars, you have no problems. They don't know that the price of the dream is a daily battle with loneliness."

I looked up at him, and for the first time since landing in Edmonton, the expression on my face softened. "Thanks, bro. If you weren't here to catch me during my first few days, I honestly wouldn't know how I'd survive the minus twenty-five-degree cold of this place."

Kiko laughed softly and tightened his grip on my shoulder. "It's nothing, bro! What else are we Filipinos supposed to do abroad but help each other? Come on, finish up your coffee. We need to wake up early for your orientation at the coffee shop later."

I nodded and took another sip of my coffee. "Yeah, bro. I'll make sure I won't disappoint you. For Mom and Dad... and for our buckets in the Philippines. I will definitely get rid of those leaks one day."

"There you go! That's what I want to hear!" Kiko said with a broad smile. "Alright, I'm heading back to sleep. Go to bed too once you finish that, okay?"

"Sure, bro. Thanks again."

Kiko walked back to his room. I was left alone in the kitchen, staring out the window where a thick blanket of snow was slowly covering the outside world. As I finished the last drop of my coffee, the anxiety in my eyes slowly drifted away.

During my first week in Edmonton, I couldn't help but be amazed every single day. The scenery was beautiful, the surroundings were clean, and the traffic system was incredibly organized. It made me realize even more how massive the difference is between life in the Philippines and this new world.

After a week of resting and adjusting to the climate, I decided to start preparing to apply for a job, even at fast-food chains like McDonald's or local coffee shops just to get a headstart.

One night, Kiko and I came home exhausted after a whole day of walking around to drop off applications. As we sat on the living room floor sharing a bowl of hot instant noodles, we found ourselves talking again.

"Bro, have you noticed?" Kiko began, sipping his broth.

"Notice what, bro?"

"The beauty and orderliness of Canada compared to back home in the Philippines."

"Yeah, bro. It's so quiet here, and there aren't many neighborhood gossips or 'marites' hanging around outside the houses," I replied with a laugh.

But the serious tone in my voice gradually returned as I remembered my purpose. "By the way, bro, can I ask you for a favor?"

"Sure, what is it?"

"Could you guide me and help me look for other jobs here? Something more long-term."

"Sure, no problem, bro! I've got your back while you're starting out. Anyway, finish that up so we can get some sleep. Goodnight!"

"Goodnight, bro. Thanks a lot."

Before I finally closed my eyes under the thick blanket, I dialed Mom and Dad's number back in the Philippines once more. I wanted them to hear my voice, and I wanted to reassure them that I was doing well and sleeping safely here on the other side of the world.

CHAPTER 2: The First Step in the Snow

Waking up at five o'clock in the morning in Edmonton is never easy. Outside the window, darkness still blankets the surroundings, and the entire city seems to be fast asleep under a heavy sheet of snow. But for someone like me, carrying a dream all the way from Bataan, there is absolutely no room for laziness.

"Bro, wear this thermal underwear underneath your pants," Kiko ordered while hurriedly mixing instant coffee in the kitchen. He tossed a pair of thick leggings toward me. "And don't you dare forget your gloves and beanie. It's brutal out there today—minus twenty-eight with the windchill. It’s like stepping inside a walk-in freezer."

I followed every single piece of Kiko’s advice. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I could barely recognize the person staring back. Wrapped in three layers of clothing, a massive winter jacket, and a fully covered face, I looked less like a barista and more like an astronaut ready for a moon mission. But in reality, I was just heading out for my very first job orientation.

The moment we stepped outside the house, my muscles shivered even harder. Every breath I exhaled turned into a thick cloud of smoke. We piled into Kiko's old car, but before we could even leave, we had to scrape off the thick layer of ice accumulated on the windshield using a plastic scraper.

"This is what life is like here, bro. Before you even drive, you have to shovel snow and scrape the windshield," Kiko said with a laugh as he navigated the slippery, white roads of Edmonton. "But don't worry, you’ll get used to it."

After about twenty minutes, we pulled up in front of a popular local coffee shop. The mere scent of freshly ground coffee beans and warm pastries wafting from the door instantly began to calm my racing heart.

"Good morning, you must be Aiden!" A cheerful voice welcomed me. It was Sarah, the store manager—a Canadian woman with a beautiful smile, holding a clipboard. "Welcome to the team. Let's get you started with your orientation."

I turned to Kiko, who gave me a solid thumbs-up before heading out to his own job. "You can do this, bro. I’ll pick you up this afternoon," he whispered.

The first three hours of my orientation were an absolute blur of information. Sarah taught me how to use the punch card, the strict hygiene policies, and how to read the digital screen for customer orders. Even though I struggled a bit with their fast English accent, I forced myself to understand every single word, nodding continuously and scribbling notes in my tiny notebook.

"You're doing great, Aiden. Very attentive," Sarah praised as she showed me how to organize the cups beside the espresso machine. "Next week, your training will focus on the point-of-sale system and cash handling."

When I heard the words cash handling, my chest tightened. I glanced over at the cash register, watching the drawer pop open with the crisp sound of dollar bills and clinking coins.

Suddenly, my mind drifted away, traveling back to my chaotic, rushed departure from the Philippines.

I remembered those frantic weeks, running around Manila like a whirlwind because I only had a one-month deadline to complete all my requirements. We were deeply struggling with money back then. I could still clearly picture my father, Noel, staring blankly into his worn-out wallet, meticulously counting every single remaining coin just to make sure we had enough bus fare to reach the government agencies. Meanwhile, I stood beside him, completely terrified that our documents wouldn't be enough to get my visa approved.

My departure had been so incredibly fast, almost pushed by a sudden twist of fate. But looking at the register now, I realized that every single dollar I would handle next week carried the weight of my family’s sacrifices and debts back in Bataan—debts I was determined to pay off.

When lunch break arrived, Sarah kindly handed me a warm cup of hot chocolate and a fresh donut. I took a seat in a quiet corner of the breakroom, right by the window where I could watch the cars driving through the heavy snow.

I pulled out my phone and immediately checked the current currency exchange rate online.

1 Canadian Dollar \= 41 Pesos.

I quickly calculated the math in my head. If I worked eight hours a day at a minimum wage of over fifteen dollars an hour... in just a single day, I would earn an amount almost equal to my father’s entire weekly salary from construction work back home.

My eyes suddenly welled up with tears—not from the freezing Canadian cold, but from a tidal wave of mixed emotions. Every dollar I would earn in this place meant actual cement for our roof, new medication for my dad, and a real chance to finally bring my mother home from Hong Kong for good.

"For the buckets," I whispered softly to myself, tightly gripping the warm cup in my hands. "Just a little more sacrifice, Mom, Dad. You won't have to watch it rain inside our own living room ever again."

After the orientation finished, I enthusiastically thanked Sarah. Right on cue, Kiko’s car horn honked from the driveway outside. The moment I hopped into the passenger seat, my friend immediately bombarded me with questions.

"So, how was the first day for my top writer and barista?" Kiko teased.

"The manager is incredibly nice, bro. She speaks a bit fast, but I understood everything," I replied with a wide, genuine smile. "Thank you so much, bro. I truly feel like this is the beginning of a massive change for my family."

"I told you, just have faith," he said, warmly patting my shoulder. "Come on, let's celebrate. We'll stop by the grocery store first. I'm going to cook sinigang to fight off this freezing cold!"

As the car moved through the towering buildings and the snow-white streets of Canada, I gradually began to feel that every single snowflake falling from the sky was no longer an enemy—but a silent witness to the official start of my brand-new chapter.

**

"Every single dollar earned in this frozen land carries the weight of a leaking roof and a family's sacrifice back home."

** The First Storm **

Monday came—my first official day of real work. If I thought things would be easy after last week's smooth orientation, I was dead wrong. Theory is completely different from actual warfare. The moment I walked through the coffee shop doors at six in the morning, I stepped into a rushing world where slowness was a crime.

"Aiden, you'll be on cash and drive-thru order today. I'm right here if you need backup," Sarah said with a smile as she adjusted her headset.

I nodded, desperately trying to hide my trembling hands. I put on my apron and name tag, then took my place in front of the cashier monitor. At first, everything went fine. I was a bit slow pressing the screen, but because the early customers were patient, they just gave small smiles while waiting for me.

But when eight in the morning hit, the real nightmare began. This was what they called the 'morning rush'—the hour when office workers rushed to get their caffeine fix before work. The line inside stretched out the door, and the honking in the drive-thru was endless. Fast-talking customers with all kinds of accents started jumbling together in my head.

"I need a large double-double, a breakfast wrap with no bacon, and an apple fritter, warmed up," a tall man in a suit rattled off.

"Pardon me, sir? Can you repeat the... the wrap part?" I asked politely, sweat already soaking my back despite the freezing air conditioning.

"Breakfast wrap. No. Bacon. Is that hard to understand?" the man said with irritation, glancing down at his expensive watch.

"Sorry, sir," I quickly tapped the screen. But in my panic and hurry, instead of removing the bacon, I double-clicked the add-on. I also failed to notice that I gave him the wrong change—I was completely confused by Canadian coins, unable to tell a loonie from a toonie without staring at them.

Five minutes later, the man stormed back to the counter. His face was beet red as he slammed the wrap and receipt onto the counter.

"Hey! Are you deaf or just stupid?!" he shouted, shattering the quiet chatter of the entire shop. Every single customer turned to look at us. "I said NO bacon, and you charged me extra! Plus, you gave me the wrong change! Where did they even hire you? Do you even speak proper English?!"

My world crumbled right then and there. All eyes were locked on me. My face burned with intense shame, and my tongue felt completely frozen. I wanted to explain, I wanted to tell him I was new, but nothing came out of my mouth except, "I... I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry..."

Sarah quickly rushed over from the back upon hearing the shouting. "Is there a problem here, sir?" she asked, putting a calming hand on my shoulder.

"This guy is incompetent! He messed up my breakfast and my change. You shouldn't let people who can't even understand basic English work at the front counter!" the man snapped before snatching his correct change and food, which Sarah had swiftly fixed. He slammed the door behind him as he left.

Once the customer was gone, Sarah called me into the breakroom. My shoulders slouched, and I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eye. I braced myself for the lecture. I was ready to be blamed—maybe even fired on my very first day.

"Aiden, look at me," Sarah’s voice was gentle. I raised my head. There was no anger in her face, only understanding. "It's okay. First days are always tough. The morning rush here in Edmonton is brutal. But you need to slow down and listen carefully. Don't let rude customers get to you, okay? Take a five-minute breather, and then you can help out in the kitchen instead."

"Thank you, Sarah... and I'm really sorry," I whispered.

Even though Sarah was kind, the heavy pit in my stomach wouldn't go away. For the rest of my shift, I was assigned to the back to scrub massive pots, trays, and blenders. I preferred it back there because no customers were screaming at me, but the physical strain was brutal. My arms ached from continuous scrubbing, and my shoes were soaked in soapy water, leaving my feet freezing cold.

By four in the afternoon, my shift finally ended. As I stepped out of the shop, strong winds packed with snow hit my face. I climbed into Kiko's car with soaking wet socks and an exhausted body.

"So, how was the first official day? Why do you look like the sky collapsed on you?" Kiko asked, cranking up the car heater.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. From the overwhelming fatigue, shame, and homesickness built up all day, tears spilled over. I sobbed in the passenger seat, burying my face in both hands.

"Bro... it's so hard," I wept. "A customer yelled at me in front of everyone. Called me deaf and stupid just because I messed up my English and the change. I just want to go home to Bataan, man. I don't think I can make it here."

As the words left my mouth, a sudden wave of bittersweet memory hit me, transporting my mind back to the heat of the Philippines. I remembered how frantically I had rushed just to leave Bataan a few months ago. The sleepless nights completing my visa, the blurred, stressful days of borrowing money for the plane ticket, and the desperate, breathless hurry to pack my entire life into two oversized suitcases. I had pushed and forced the timeline so hard, running away from the stagnant life back home, absolutely convinced that Canada would be my instant salvation. I had been in such a reckless rush to escape. And now, sitting in a freezing car in Edmonton with wet socks and a shattered ego, the cruel irony stung—I was dying to run right back.

Kiko pulled the car over to the side of the road. Outside, thick snow fell steadily, as if sharing the weight of my pain. He let me cry for a few minutes before letting out a sigh.

"Let it all out, Aiden. It's normal. Like I told you the other night, we all go through this. My first week, I spilled hot coffee all over my own manager," Kiko joked, trying to lighten the mood. "Some people here can be really harsh, especially when they're in a rush in the morning. But don't you dare think you're stupid because of that. You're new. Your brain is still adjusting to a whole new culture and environment."

I wiped my tears with my damp gloves. "It just hurts so much, bro. Back in the Philippines, even though we were poor, no one ever humiliated me like that in public."

"Things are different abroad, man. Out here, your grit will really be tested," Kiko said seriously, shifting the car back into drive. "But remember why you're here and who you're doing this for. Think of your mom in Hong Kong, who might be enduring far worse yelling from her employer just to send money home. Think of your dad pouring concrete under the scorching sun. If you give up now over one rude customer, what happens to your roof in Bataan? What about the buckets?"

The word 'buckets' snapped me right out of my spiral. My tears dried up. Kiko was right. If I quit now, I'd go back to the Philippines as a failure. I'd go back to a home with a leaking roof every time it rained, and nothing in our lives would change.

When we got home, I immediately dialed my dad's number. When he answered, I forced my voice to sound cheerful despite the raspy tone from crying.

"Hey, Aiden, son! How was your first day at work?" my dad greeted, clearly excited to hear news from Canada. In the background, I could hear the faint pitter-patter of rain back home.

I took a deep breath, swallowing all the sadness and shame. "It went great, Dad! It was a bit crowded and tiring, but my manager is really nice. I can handle it. Just need a bit more practice with my English, and I'll be a master barista here."

"Aba, that's great to hear, son! Your mother and I are so proud of you. Take care of yourself out there, okay? Don't let the cold get to you," my dad replied, genuine joy in his voice.

"I will, Dad. Take care of yourselves too. I'll hang up now to get some rest," I said before ending the call.

Once my phone screen locked, I leaned back against my basement bedroom wall. My body still ached, and I was still terrified of going back tomorrow, but this time, my resolve was firmer. I will face tomorrow. I'll push through—for them.

But as I stared at the dark ceiling, my phone suddenly chimed. An e-mail notification from the coffee shop. Unexpectedly, I opened it—and my entire body instantly went cold at what I read.

Is this the end of my dream before it even truly began?