Happiness Comes From Suffering

Chapter 6

More years passed, bringing them to a day thick with anticipation. The air inside their cozy home was warm and still, heavy with nervous energy. It was the day university acceptance letters were due. Mae paced the floor, her hands fluttering restlessly, unable to focus on any chore. "What if she didn't get in? What if all her hard work...?" Her voice trailed off, choked with worry.

Ferdinand, sitting calmly at the table, watched her with a steady affection. Though his own stomach was knotted with anxiety, his voice was a pillar of strength. "She is our daughter, Mae. She is smart and strong. Whatever the result, we will be proud of her. And remember," he added with a gentle smile, "she has her mother's determination."

Just then, the sound of running footsteps approached. The door burst open, and Yuette stood there, breathless. "Yuette!" Mae cried out, her heart leaping into her throat.

At the sound of her mother's voice, Yuette's composure broke. Her eyes instantly filled with tears. Seeing her daughter's emotional state, Mae felt a confusing mix of joy and dread. "Did you get in?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. When Yuette didn't immediately answer, just looked down, Mae's fear surged. "You... you didn't get accepted?"

Yuette took a moment, letting the suspense build, before a brilliant, tearful smile spread across her face. "Mom," she said, her voice shaking with excitement. "If I didn't get in, then who could possibly have?" With a triumphant flourish, she held out the official letter. "Look! Right there, it has my name. Yuette."

With trembling hands, Mae took the precious document. She smoothed the paper, her eyes carefully tracing every word, every character, until they rested on her daughter's name. The sight was so beautiful it blurred behind the tears that now freely fell.

"Are you happy?" Yuette asked, her own eyes searching her mother's.

"Happy?" Mae choked out, a sob and a laugh escaping at once. "I'm so happy I can't even find the words to describe it. I am so, so happy."

Yuette didn't need any more words. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around her mother, holding her close in a embrace that contained all their shared struggles, their hopes, and this magnificent, hard-won triumph. Ferdinand watched them, his own heart too full for speech, the "iron heart" of the family finally allowing itself a moment of pure, unguarded joy.

The university campus was a world of its own, buzzing with intellectual energy and ambitious dreams. For Yuette, it was both a sanctuary and a source of constant anxiety. The towering libraries and lecture halls fueled her aspirations, while the costs—both spoken and unspoken—weighed heavily on her heart. A new dream had taken root: studying abroad for a year. Her professor, impressed by her sharp mind and dedication, had personally recommended her for the program. But the moment the glossy brochure landed in her hands, Yuette’s excitement was immediately shadowed by a familiar, grim calculation. She pictured her parents, their backs bent by years of labor, and the small, cherished house they had built with such sacrifice. The thought of them selling it all, of her father pushing his body even further for her dream, made her feel sick with guilt.

Consequently, she threw herself into a relentless cycle of work and study. She took on two part-time jobs—one in a campus library, another tutoring high school students—juggling them between her demanding classes. Days blurred into exhausting weeks. She existed on cheap instant noodles and stolen hours of sleep, her face growing pale, shadows deepening under her determined eyes.

One particularly harsh evening, a bitter wind whipped across the campus, cutting through her thin coat as she finally finished her tutoring shift. Her body ached with a deep, bone-weary fatigue. Before heading back, she stumbled into a dimly lit phone booth, the metal cold against her skin. She needed to hear her mother’s voice.

The line crackled to life. "Yuette? Is everything alright?" Mae's voice, laced with instant worry, came through the receiver.

"Everything's fine, Mom," Yuette said, forcing a brightness into her tone that she didn't feel. "My classes are great. I just had a light review session." She wrapped the phone cord around her finger, her eyes closing as she conjured a smile to mask her exhaustion. "How is Papa? Is his back any better?"

"He's fine, we're both fine. Don't worry about us," Mae insisted, though her own voice held a tremor. "Are you eating properly? You sound tired. It's so cold there, you need to dress warmly."

"I am, I promise. I had a big, hot dinner just now," Yuette lied, her stomach growling in protest. "I have to go, Mom. My... my study group is waiting. I love you."

Hanging up, she leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the booth, allowing herself a single, weary sigh before stepping back out into the freezing night.

The bus ride back to her dorm was a haze of jarring lights and numb exhaustion. As the bus pulled away from her stop, she glanced mechanically towards her dormitory building. Her breath caught in her throat.

There, on a cold concrete bench under the pale glow of a streetlamp, sat a figure she would recognize anywhere. It was her father, Ferdinand, huddled in his old work jacket, his shoulders hunched against the cold.

Tears instantly flooded Yuette's eyes, hot against her cold cheeks. She scrambled off the bus at the next stop and ran back.

"Papa!" she cried out, her voice a mix of anger and overwhelming.

Seeing her, Ferdinand's face lit up with pure, unguarded joy. He stood up quickly, a slight stiffness in his movements. "Yuette! You're back."

"You are unbelievable!" she scolded, her voice trembling as she reached him. "You have no idea when I'd be back! You could have frozen!"

He simply took her heavy backpack from her shoulder, his own rough, calloused hands brushing against hers. "It's cold outside. It gets colder the later it gets," he said, as if that explained everything.

Tears welled up again as she looked at his red-tipped nose and ears. "How long have you been waiting? What time did you even get here?"

Ferdinand just shook his head, dismissing her questions. "Let's go. You need hot food."

He took her to a small, warm noodle shop nearby. Steam fogged the windows, creating a cozy pocket against the harsh night. Over bowls of steaming soup, the truth, long held back, finally spilled out.

"I didn't get the scholarship this year," Yuette confessed, her eyes fixed on her bowl. "And... and I've been asked to move out of the dorm because of the overdue fees."

Ferdinand listened quietly, his expression calm. "It's okay," he said, his voice a low, steady rumble. "Everyone at this university is the best from their hometown. You can't expect to be first every time."

Emboldened by his lack of judgment, Yuette took a deep breath. "Actually... my professor recommended me for a study abroad program. But I'm not going to go."

This news struck Ferdinand differently. He saw the flicker of longing in his daughter's eyes, the dream she was forcing herself to abandon. His heart ached for her.

"If you want to do, then do it," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Your father is still here." As he spoke, he used his chopsticks to pick all the tender pieces of squid from his own bowl and deposited them gently into hers.

The simple, familiar gesture unleashed a flood of memories. She was a little girl again, sitting at their old table, her father always giving her the best pieces of food, building a fortress of security around her with these small, silent acts of love. Tears welled up once more, but this time they were warm with gratitude.

Before he left to catch the last bus home, Ferdinand stood with her outside the dorm. He pressed a thick envelope of cash into her hand. "Find a safe place to rent. Don't worry about the money," he said, his gaze steady and sure. "The sea is full of fish. Your father will always find a way to catch them..."

His voice was choked with emotion, but his meaning was clear. He would drain the ocean for her if he had to. Yuette's tears finally fell freely, rolling down her cheeks like broken strings from a kite, each one a testament to the immense, unyielding weight of her father's love. She watched him walk away until he was swallowed by the night, the envelope feeling not like paper, but like a piece of his steadfast heart in her hand.

The dream of studying abroad, a brilliant but distant star, continued to orbit Yuette’s mind. Finally, steeling herself, she went to her professor’s office, a room smelling of old books and fresh coffee. Sunlight streamed through the large window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

“Professor,” Yuette began, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve decided not to pursue the study abroad program. Thank you for your recommendation.”

Her professor, a kind-eyed woman, put down her pen. “Yuette, I know your family’s situation. Let me help you. I can sponsor your trip.”

Yuette’s eyes widened in shock and immediate refusal. “Oh, no! I couldn’t possibly accept that. It’s too much.”

“Think of it not as a gift, but as an investment,” the professor insisted gently. “A loan. You can pay me back once you have a successful career. A mind like yours deserves this opportunity.”

Touched beyond words, Yuette felt a powerful pull of temptation. Yet, the thought of being indebted, even to someone so generous, felt like another heavy chain. She shook her head, a sad but resolute smile on her face. “Thank you, truly. But this is my path to walk. I cannot.”

Later, during a weekly phone call with her mother, Yuette, in a moment of vulnerable exhaustion, let the dream slip out. “My professor recommended me for a program overseas… but of course, I’m not going,” she quickly added, trying to sound dismissive.

But Mae, on the other end of the line, heard the unspoken longing. That night, she sat with Ferdinand in their small living room, the silence between them heavy.

“She wants to go abroad,” Mae whispered, her voice tight.

Ferdinand looked around the room, his gaze resting on the window that framed their view of the sea. This was the home they had built from nothing. “We can sell the house,” he said, the words simple and final.

Mae’s breath hitched. “Our home?”

“It’s just a house,” he replied, taking her hand. His rough, calloused fingers wrapped around hers. “Yuette is our future.”

The following weeks were a whirlwind of bittersweet activity. As they packed, memories assaulted Mae at every turn. She folded blankets in Yuette’s sunlit room, remembering her daughter’s laughter echoing there. She ran a hand over the worn kitchen counter where she had taught Yuette the names of vegetables. Each corner held a piece of their lives. A profound sadness clung to her, but it was overshadowed by a fierce, unwavering love. It was worth it. All of it was worth it for Yuette.

On the airplane, seated by the window, Yuette clutched the envelope containing the money from the sale of her home. As the plane ascended, pushing through the clouds, she looked down at the shrinking landscape below. The weight of the envelope in her hands was not just the weight of money; it was the weight of her parents' entire world, their sweat, their security, their love. They had given her the very roof over their heads. Tears, hot and relentless, streamed down her face, not of sadness, but of an overwhelming, heart-shattering gratitude that sealed her resolve to make their sacrifice mean something.

Yuette’s graduation was a proud moment, a shimmering peak after years of struggle. She secured a coveted position at a prestigious multinational company, her sharp mind and tireless work ethic quickly earning her recognition. For a few years, life was a whirlwind of success and sleek city high-rises. She sent money home regularly, a small repayment for the immense debt she felt she owed.

Then, the economic crisis hit like a tidal wave. The once-bustling office grew quiet, then empty. One grim afternoon, Yuette was called into a sterile meeting room and handed a termination letter. The world seemed to tilt on its axis. She packed her desk, her movements slow and mechanical, the confident young professional replaced by a shell-shocked woman. After everything they sacrificed for me, the thought echoed in the silence of her empty apartment, a relentless drum of failure and shame. I’ve let them down.

Months of futile job hunting followed, each rejection chipping away at her resolve. Finally, with her savings dwindling and her spirit broken, she made the difficult journey home.

The familiar sight of her parents’ small house, now more weathered but still standing strong, brought a fresh wave of guilt. But when Mae opened the door, her face didn’t show an ounce of disappointment. Instead, it lit up with pure, unadulterated joy. “Yuette! You’re home!” she exclaimed, pulling her daughter into a tight embrace. Ferdinand, his hair now more silver than black and his face a roadmap of sun and sea, stood behind her, his usual quietness filled with a palpable happiness.

Their enthusiasm was genuine. The house, which had felt too large with just the two of them, suddenly felt alive again. Yet, their very happiness made Yuette’s failure feel heavier. She sank into a deep depression. For days, she stayed in her old bed, the curtains drawn, unable to face the dawn.

Mae, however, would have none of it. Every morning, she would enter the room, her movements gentle but firm. She would open the curtains, letting the golden morning light flood the room. “Come, my pearl,” she would say, her voice as soft as it was when Yuette was a child afraid of nightmares. “The sun is out. I’ve made your favorite abalone porridge.” She would sit on the edge of the bed, stroking Yuette’s hair until the young woman finally, reluctantly, rose.

Watching her parents became a slow, agonizing awakening. She saw Ferdinand return from the sea each evening, his movements stiffer, his fatigue deeper. She saw Mae’s hands, once eager to teach her the names of vegetables, now rough and chapped from cleaning fish and mending nets. They never complained. Their love was a silent, constant reproach to her self-pity.

One afternoon, while sorting through her old university boxes, she found a stack of borrowed notes. The memory flooded back: being too poor to buy textbooks, having to humble herself to borrow from classmates, the burning shame of it. In that moment, an idea sparked—a clear, brilliant light in the fog of her despair. What if there was an app, a platform where students could easily access and share learning resources for free?

The idea was solid, but the path was daunting. “I have no funding,” she confessed to her parents over a simple dinner.

Mae and Ferdinand exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. The next day, Ferdinand came to her, his expression serious. “The boat,” he said simply. “We will sell the boat.”

Yuette was horrified. “No! Absolutely not! That’s your livelihood. It’s everything!”

“It is just a boat,” Ferdinand said, his voice steady, echoing his words from years ago about their house. “You are our everything. Your dream is our dream now.”

With the money from the sold boat—the very vessel that had carried their family from poverty to hope—Yuette poured her heart and soul into her project. The work was grueling, but this time, it was fueled by a different kind of determination: not just for herself, but for them.

Years later, the success of her app, “EduShare,” was beyond her wildest dreams. It led to an invitation for a national television interview. Under the bright studio lights, the host asked about her inspiration.

Yuette, now a confident CEO, smiled, her eyes glistening. She spoke of her parents, the sea, and the sacrifices that stretched across generations. “They gave me everything,” she said, her voice clear and strong. “They sold our home, they sold their boat, all for an education I was too proud to let them fund alone.” She looked directly into the camera, as if speaking to every struggling parent and dream-filled child. “There’s a saying that fits my journey. I swallowed their dreams and grew wings to fly. And now, I strive to nurture my mother’s dreams as tenderly as one would nurture a precious seed.”

In their small living room, Mae and Ferdinand watched, their hands tightly clasped, tears streaming freely down their faces. The seed they had planted with so much sacrifice had not only grown wings; it had learned how to make the whole garden bloom.