Freedom always sounded beautiful—until it finally knocked on my door.
It is already summer when my mom, Erielle, decided I should live independently in the province—her hometown. The place she rarely talked about, and the place my grandmother avoided mentioning unless necessary. According to her, it is for my growth. According to Mamita and Daddy, it's a terrible idea.
They didn't want me exploring. They didn't want me leaving the house. They wanted me safe.
Too safe.
I stared at the two suitcases standing on the floor like silent guards. My fingers fidgeted with the zipper of my backpack. I had packed and unpacked three times already, throwing clothes in, taking them out, and putting them back again. Each time, a pang of guilt twisted in my chest.
After finishing packing, I went downstairs with my luggage.
I gripped the handle tightly until it creaked. "Is this really your plan, Mom?"
It's only for one month. Maybe it won't be boring there. At least I'd finally be able to breathe without permission. I could go places. I could move. I could exist—without bodyguards trailing behind me like shadows.
"Yes, Eurielle," Mommy said, her voice gentle but firm. "I want you to have freedom. I don't want you to be stuck in this house, living the life everyone else wants for you."
Her eyes held hope. I swallowed hard. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to feel brave. But part of me wanted to run back to my room and lock the door. To stay under the familiar weight of Mamita's disapproval, Daddy's silent worry, and Mommy's quiet fear.
Before I could even step out of the house, I heard footsteps on the stairs. Mamita and Daddy were already there. I saw the worry in their eyes as they looked at me—as if I were leaving and never coming back.
"Oh, my poor Suvi," Mamita said, holding both my arms. "Are you sure you want to go to the province? Just tell me if you don't want to. If you want to explore, we can go to Hong Kong. Anywhere. You'll have bodyguards."
I clenched my fists inside my pockets, imagining myself trapped in first class like a bird wearing diamond chains.
"Mamita, I want to do things alone. I want to learn how to live on my own."
The atmosphere shifted. Mamita turned sharply to Mommy.
"If anything happens to my granddaughter, Erielle, you'll be dead! Everyone knows we have the means—people might take advantage of her, and I fear that. I've been there!" she shouted.
My chest tightened. I saw Mommy's shoulders slump under her mother's fury. I was the only one standing by her side.
"Please," I whispered. "If anything happens to me, don't blame her. This is my choice. Nothing bad is going to happen. I'll be careful."
I hugged Mommy tightly, feeling her tremble. "Call me anytime. Whatever happens. Anytime."
"I will," she replied, forcing a smile.
I hugged Daddy next. "Be safe," he whispered before kissing my forehead.
Finally, I embraced Mamita. "Take care," she said softly. "You're still my baby girl. When you come back, we'll go out—just like you wanted when you were little. Alright?"
I simply smiled in response.
When I stepped out of the house, I got into the van with my two suitcases and one bag. The trip took two hours. I didn't even realize I had fallen asleep.
I woke up to the driver's voice. "We're here, ma'am."
I blinked against the sunlight pouring through the window and saw green everywhere—rice fields, fruit trees swaying gently, small houses with tin roofs. The air smelled of earth, sun-warmed wood, and something floral I couldn't name. There were no buses, no horns, no shouting. Just the hum of insects and the distant bleating of goats. My heart lifted in disbelief.
"You may step out now."
I nodded and checked my phone. No signal. No internet. For the first time in my life, I was completely unreachable.
Panic squeezed my chest. "How am I supposed to survive here for one month without internet?" I muttered.
I stepped out of the van. That is when I saw a woman standing on the porch, wearing a simple t-shirt and pajamas, a scarf around her neck. But there is warmth in her smile.
"Is this Erielle's daughter?" she asked.
A chill ran down my spine. "H-how do you know my mom's name?"
She walked closer and held my hand. "I've been her friend for a long time. She called me last night and told me to take care of you. Just call me Tita Anna."
At that moment, warmth spread through my chest. It felt like a shield forming around me. I am safe.
"Come," she said. "I'll show you where you'll be staying."
As we walked, I felt the grass beneath my shoes, the breeze brushing against my face, the scent of flowers drifting in the air. The houses were far apart—there were strawberry fields, cornfields, fruit trees, and more.
"Did you know," she suddenly said, "this farm belongs to your father? To Ezekiel Delos Angeles."
My world seemed to stop.
"He inherited it from your grandmother," she added. "This is where your family's roots began."
No one had ever told me that. Not even once.
"We're here," Tita Anna said, opening the door of a small house. It smelled like wood, new curtains, and fresh furniture. Everything was new.
I walked into the bedroom and stood by the window, feeling the cool, fresh air against my skin. The sunlight shone brightly over the crops and plants. I could feel the silence.
For the first time, I wasn't trapped. I felt safe, warm, and finally free.
It's now 5:40 in the afternoon. The sun began to dip behind the distant hills, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. I slipped on my sneakers and stepped out of the little house, the door creaking behind me. The air was cooler now, carrying the scent of damp earth and ripe fruit.
Every breath felt like inhaling freedom itself.