With her marriage annulled and her name restored, she began to build something no one could take from her — not a husband, not a daughter's jealousy, not a shapeless relationship. She bought land. She built a chapel. And she acquired the farm she once worked as a child with her father.
With my new status, there was no more fear of having a property taken by my ex-husband. The first thing I bought was a secondhand van. It was not part of my plan, but Vilma suggested it — private vans for hire were booming in Manila, and her brother-in-law would drive it. Mitch contributed a portion of the cost as his way of supporting the business.
But after the van was bought, Vilma's brother-in-law failed to get the necessary franchise. We even paid a fixer to speed up the process at the Transportation Office, but the person they trusted turned out to be fake. In the end, the van just became their private vehicle.
Not long after that, Ramir told me about a lot by the beach for sale in Torrijos, two towns away from our village. It was owned by his friend who used to work for a foreigner in our neighborhood. The lot had been purchased by a Japanese man, but because foreigners were not legally allowed to own land in the Philippines, it was transferred to the friend's name instead. When the Japanese reportedly died in Manila — from what authorities confirmed as suicide — the friend became convinced that he now had the right to sell it.
I had never been to Torrijos before, but I decided to buy the lot with Mitch's consent. It was the first time we were purchasing property, and neither of us was familiar with the proper procedure. I sent the money and had Junjun handle the documentation. The owner provided the deed of sale and a photocopy of the title. Because I was not there to sign, the lot was transferred to my father's name.
In the process, we realized the owner did not have the original copy of the land title. We had to go through court proceedings to get one and finally have the lot properly transferred. The lot sat at the corner of the sea and a river. A portion of it had mangroves, and big trees lined the riverbank toward the adjacent property. Upon Ramir's suggestion, we built a dike to protect it from erosion caused by raging waves and flooding. He hired workers from the area — some from our own village, going home only once a week. My parents and siblings would sometimes visit the place for a picnic.
The original lot owner heard about the development and wanted to sell the remaining portion. It was full of bushes with sharp thorns and barely passable, but if cleaned, it would extend the property all the way to the main road. I asked Ramir to negotiate the price and promised him a jeepney if he could get it cheaper. Instead of talking to the seller himself, he gave me his contact number.
The seller — an engineer for the Department of Public Works — sounded kind and reassuring, claiming the lot had no problems. He quickly had it cleaned when I complained about how unpleasant it looked in the video, and he promised to have the old woman living on the property move out after he received the payment.
When we finally agreed on the price, Mitch and I set out for the Philippines with Mr. Sugawara. My family picked us up from the airport with the van. We went straight to buy a truck — Ramir said it was better to have our own for hauling sand and construction materials. Because Vilma was the one carrying an acceptable identification card, the truck was named to her. We then went to a hardware store in a mall and bought quality construction equipment, including a cement mixer. With Vilma's vehicle, the van, and the truck, we headed to Marinduque in convoy.
Mitch and I were both taken by the place. Although it needed a lot of improvement, the location was extraordinary. It had a view of Mt. Malindig — the highest mountain in the province, an inactive volcano — on its right. The sea water was clear and abundant in beauty below. A sandbar stretched about fifty meters toward the ocean. The shallow section where the sea and the river met was frequented by fishermen casting their nets on foot, catching fish of every size.
The deed of sale was made, and we met outside the bank for the cash payment. The seller came with his half-brother — the elected leader of the village where the lot was located — who served as witness. The lot had no title of ownership yet, but the seller promised his full cooperation.
Weeks after the payment, the old woman had not moved. She filed a complaint at the public office. I called the seller, who claimed he had asked his brother to handle it and had given him the money. The old woman, however, said she received nothing. My phone call prompted them to act — they offered her a lot across the road below the mountain. She refused, wanting money for construction. Eventually, the village leader offered help, and I promised to have her new house fitted with electricity and running water. She withdrew her complaint, and the transfer was completed.She resolves the land dispute not by force or legal threats but by improving the old woman's life — electricity, running water, things the woman never had. This is her pattern: she solves problems by making everyone's situation better.
The titling of the land brought a new battle. The village leader would not give me the full lot. He was setting a boundary one landmark short of what the public record indicated, claiming the adjacent land was his aunt's and he was her rightful heir. The previous owner admitted he had the same problem before. I hired a private geodetic engineer, but he faced the same obstruction. The village leader was well connected — relatives and friends in politics and public offices. A public official even dared to suggest that we change the deed of sale and he would "take care of the rest." I refused. I had the documents on my side, and I was not willing to give in.
My focus shifted when the first project I thought proper was begun. I wanted a chapel to be the first structure to stand on the lot that God had entrusted to me. Mitch and I bought magazines for design ideas. I came up with a hexagon shape made of concrete and marble, with a vine-motif stained glass window behind the altar that Mitch and I chose from the internet. I hired an architect to draw the plans and make proper specifications; the town engineer required them for a building permit.
Ramir was again in charge of the construction, which turned out to be far more costly than expected. Venus and her husband Nick helped — Nick driving the truck and doing labor work, Venus cooking for the workers and cleaning the site. One day, the architect told them about a lot for sale by the domestic airport in the province and asked them to tell me about it.
It was a lot I used to farm with my father when I was a child. My father had stopped farming it but still looked after the other ancestral lots of the family. I personally knew the registered owners — I used to be their children's private tutor in Manila, going to their house in the evenings or on weekends, especially before exams. The wife was very kind. One day she told me that with my talent, I should be doing something other than teaching. Her advice was understandable. Teaching was one of the most tiring but least financially rewarding jobs in the country.
When I learned the selling price, I asked my siblings to visit the place and take a video. They brought a map from the provincial assessor's office. It was fenced with barbed wire and surrounded by mahogany trees. Inside the perimeter: mango trees, fruit trees of every kind. It was divided into four areas totalling more than twelve hectares.
Mitch asked me to choose between building in Torrijos and buying the farm. Before I decided, I negotiated. When the price turned out favorable, the answer was clear. More than anything, it was the fact that I used to farm that place with my father that thrilled me.
We had a problem. The owners wanted cash, and we did not have enough. Mitch said he would borrow from the bank — we would pay it for years. He said my family's future would be safer if I also had a farm, and I could not agree more. The loan meant more hard work, but that was not new to me. It was Mitch who should be more concerned — he was not getting any younger to carry such a responsibility.This is the first time she openly acknowledges what Mitch does for her without immediately qualifying it with his rudeness. A man she is not married to takes a bank loan for her family's future. The "shapeless" relationship, it turns out, has weight.
I found it deeply touching when he agreed to buy the farm despite the challenge. He was a man I was not married to, yet he had been supporting me and my family more than most men would do for their wives. I closed the deal with the owners and set a timeframe for payment.
We began to imagine how it would be — farming and fishing when we vacationed, and when we retired and stayed in the Philippines. Mitch shared the vision with others and quickly found people interested in joining. A group of his friends, including our district representative, planned to visit Marinduque in time for the blessing of the chapel.
Mr. and Mrs. Wakamatsu — my host family — were also in the group, to see if the place was good for Otosan to stay. The stroke he had recently suffered had affected half his body, and everyone thought walking by the beach each morning might improve his condition. Mr. Sugawara was going for the second time. Mitch's former college professor was interested in bee farming. A retired teacher brought three used personal computers purchased by alumni donations. Another friend came to see the place's business potential.
In all, there were eight Japanese travelling with me — and on top of the enormous challenge of keeping them safe and the trip meaningful, I was also bringing my two children. Michael was now attending a Japanese school and had no difficulty making friends, thanks to his first homeroom teacher, Mrs. Michiko Horiuchi, who carried him on her back the day they met and coordinated with the assistant teacher provided by the Department of Education — a kind woman, Ms. Komatsu, who spoke English well. Unice was in an international school and had friends from every culture. Language was never a hindrance.
Before the trip, Venus went to Manila with her husband and the girl she had adopted from Ramir. She had been married for more than ten years without children of her own, while Ramir now had six — including Venus's adopted daughter. I had agreed to her suggestion to open a business she would manage. She found a place in a busy area. I provided all the capital — from rent to every single need.
It had almost everything a neighborhood shop could have: groceries, rice, beverages, a mini-restaurant, a barber shop, cooking gas, new motorcycles for delivery, cellphone prepaid loading, karaoke, and rooms for rent. Goods were ordered in bulk. Beer and soft drinks arrived by truck. A hundred sacks of rice from the province were there within days. Venus hired people to assist, and she had full control once my role of providing capital was over. Thanks to Mitch, it did not take long — though the cost was far more than what I expected when I agreed.
Meanwhile, my family extended the charity work to Torrijos. They would give packs of groceries to selected families in nearby and remote places. They would also distribute the supplies that Michael's elementary school in Japan collected for poor Filipino children. The chapel had been used as a distribution center even during its construction.
During every distribution, my family would take videos and send them to me for viewing. Watching the happy faces of the beneficiaries was the most reassuring and fulfilling thing I knew. It gave me emotional strength to handle my problems and served as confirmation that the deal I made with God was indeed good.
It was not difficult to find unmarried couples living together and children who needed to be baptized by a Catholic priest. With the support of the town office staff, there was going to be a mass wedding and baptismal on the day of the chapel's blessing — with plenty of food and gifts for the participants. My former college classmate, then teaching at the nearby college, would take charge of preparation with the help of her co-workers and students. The town mayor was in full support. To my surprise, even an invitation from the provincial government came.
She had spent years earning money in someone else's school, sleeping in someone else's house, living under someone else's name. Now, with her annulment settled and her father's name restored, she began to build in her own name — literally. Land by the sea. Land by the airport. A hexagonal chapel with a stained-glass vine. A store in Manila. Pigs for the poor. Groceries for strangers. She was not just investing. She was constructing proof — proof that the deal she had made with God, whispered in a room in Sendai, was being kept. And the man who called their relationship "shapeless" was the one signing the bank loan.