After her long, soul-searching talk with her parents , the kind where hope clings to every breath , they finally agreed on what came next: get a job. Not a forever kind of job, just something to get her started. The plan felt uncertain, like stepping into fog, but she was willing.
She sent letter after letter — clean résumés, polished words, everything a hiring manager could ask for. Days turned to weeks, inbox still empty. Every unanswered application felt like a quiet "no" to her dreams. She kept going, but the silence got heavier. And they couldn't depend on her dad's little income he made from farming not to think of her mom's little revenue she makes from her 'God knows what' counselling service.
Then came a flicker of luck.
Her father's brother — the one who always knew someone who knew someone, mentioned a new food joint that had just opened up across the street from a busy plaza. Not far from the overpass where street musicians played every evening and jeepneys rattled past with neon lights and loud radios. "They're hiring," he told her. "You should go."
What sounded like just a mete conversation turned into a game changer.
She did and guess what ?
The dream? A managerial role. After all, she'd studied business administration. She had the brains, the charm, the drive. She became much more excited again and was very willing to start her real life time practice.
But when she got there, the position was already filled — snapped up by someone with "more experience." They claimed.
So, she smiled through the sting and took what was left: waitress. It wasn't the dream, but it was something. A start. A crack in the door she'd wedge herself into if she had to.
Her first day was a blur of steam, orders, and the sharp tang of peperoni sauces in the air. But between balancing trays and memorizing menus, she met two girls.
Carolyn , sharp-tongued, loud, with eyes that scanned you like you were a suspect. She didn't bother softening her words. Her version of "hello" felt more like a challenge.
And then there was Shelly — soft-spoken, curious, with a smile that made even the ugliest apron feel like a uniform. Shelly helped her navigate the chaos, pointed out the grumpy customers, and whispered kitchen gossip like they were sacred secrets.
They were day and night, but somehow… it worked.
The three of them grew into a rhythm. By the end of the week, they were laughing behind the counter, syncing up their breaks, and walking home together under the soft glow of neighbouring store lights. Their neighborhood was tight-knit — the kind of place where everyone knew who danced at night, who was dating the delivery guy, and who never paid full price for rice.
The food joint became more than just a job. It was a community. It was stories exchanged between orders, silent eye-rolls when difficult customers showed up, and comfort in the chaos. For the first time in a long while, she felt a tiny seed of belonging. Not what she planned, but maybe — just maybe — it was where she was meant to be. "A week already pasted "
She sighed.⁹