Amidst construction shake-ups and supernatural scares along mountain roads, the complexities of romance take center stage. What begins as a joyous island party quickly spirals into jealousy, injury, and an unforgettable trip to Davao that ends in absurd hilarity.
Meanwhile, I began to see some light at the end of the tunnel regarding the project's deeply serious financial concerns. I was told the police had been looking for Brainy (not his real name), the contractor who had caused us so much trouble. It was reportedly because of something he allegedly said about a person — a petty crime, if indeed it happened — making the police response rather intriguing. Venus and the Singing Mayor were "close friends," and the possibility that he had used his influence to get him out of the province was entirely imaginable.
But I did nothing to escalate the matter. The contractor did not return to the province, and it was then that I began to restructure the project. I retained only one engineer to manage the construction. Because he was also the municipal engineer and lived just a few kilometers away, visiting the site was never an issue. Later on, I abolished the subcontracting practice entirely and began directly hiring workers according to our budget.
A few days before my birthday, DJ Pol *(not his real name)* and I were talking on the phone while he was driving home late at night. The only road leading to his house was zigzagged, bordered by steep cliffs on both sides. Suddenly, he panicked.
He claimed a massive black dog with terrifying, sharp eyes had appeared directly in front of his jeep. It paced his vehicle perfectly, refusing to leave no matter how much he tried to accelerate. I could hear the sheer terror in his voice. Stories of witches or people shapeshifting into animals at night were common in the Philippines — particularly in our province — and we both suspected this was one of them.
Before that encounter, we had simply been discussing my upcoming birthday. I had invited him for a small gathering at my farm. However, because of the incident, I decided to expand the celebration and invite the town's less fortunate families. It was our way of thanking God for keeping him safe that night. We agreed he would attend and serve as the program's host after the town's Catholic Priest celebrated Mass in our chapel.
Despite the short notice, my family, friends, workers, and the engineer pulled together something remarkable. We decorated our truck with balloons and placed benches in the back to pick up guests from surrounding villages. The Singing Mayor, the municipal engineer, and my friends all helped prepare the food for our visitors.
A stage was set up behind the chapel, surrounded by canopies, chairs, and a long buffet. A live band and a rented karaoke machine entertained the crowd. My father even dressed up to perform, wearing jeans, a polo shirt, a baseball cap, and sunglasses.
My mother, who had not fully recovered since her hospitalization in Manila for diabetes, was given one simple task: hold a cellphone and answer my calls so I could monitor the event from Japan.
DJ Pol arrived just as the Mass began, standing out of sight by one of the chapel windows. Eager to share the moment, I listened to the entire service through his phone. Afterward, Abe handed him the microphone, and he took over the program.
Listening from across the ocean, I found myself crying. He spoke passionately about my mission to help the poor, framing them as my true inspiration for working abroad. He sounded as though he had known me a lifetime. His undeniable charisma was a core reason the event felt historic. The only thing that frustrated him, he admitted later, was that he couldn't publicly tell the crowd that this massive thanksgiving party had been thrown because of his survival. But we both knew God was watching, and that was enough.
Our relationship, however, was far from peaceful. DJ Pol was married, and my friendship with his wife revealed the depths of his deception. Through her, I learned about Dr. Becka *(not her real name)*, a veterinary swine specialist who had been involved with him long before I arrived.
Dr. Becka pampered him and his family with expensive gifts, channeling her money through a mutual friend at the town office. She, too, was married and older than DJ Pol. Initially, I hadn't seen her as serious competition. I was wrong.
The jealousy fueled constant fights. I hated that he lied to both his wife and me to protect her. When his uncle died — an uncle who lived near Dr. Becka — he claimed his wife had accompanied him to the wake. She hadn't.
During the town fiesta in July, Dr. Becka came to visit. DJ Pol's phone was suddenly "out of reach," answered by strangers, or he was too irritable to hold a conversation. By nightfall, I was too emotionally exhausted to even call my friends and ask where the two of them were.
But I wasn't going to surrender easily. I believed I had the upper hand: I lived in his hometown, I knew of her while she remained ignorant of me, and I was aggressively exercising every day to look younger and thinner before I saw him again.
Despite our promises, I repeatedly cancelled my plans to visit the Philippines. Understandably, DJ Pol grew frustrated, wondering why I could easily find time to visit old boyfriends in the past but couldn't seem to finalize a trip for him.
Eventually, I committed. A government conference for elected officials was scheduled in Davao for November. We agreed I would accompany him — on the absolute condition that he keep his phone turned off for the entire trip so Dr. Becka couldn't reach him.
But fate intervened again. By late September, Michael, the young sailor, suffered a devastating injury while competing in a Judo tournament. He shattered his left elbow and had to be rushed to a larger hospital for emergency surgery.Just when she is ready to commit fully to John, Michael requires her care. She is constantly pulled between those who need her provisions and those who demand her affection.
Watching him under deep anesthesia terrified me. In my prayers, I bargained with God, asking if Michael’s suffering was a punishment for my changing partners and moving forward with an unacceptable relationship. I asked Him to let me try just one last time — promising to surrender fully to whatever mission He had prepared for me afterward.
When Michael finally emerged successfully from surgery, Mitch’s family came to visit. Caught off-guard by the relief on my face, Mitch simply told me, "You can relax now." For weeks, I stayed beside Michael, massaging his arm through the intense pain as his muscles slowly began to heal.
With Michael stabilizing and Mr. Wakamatsu briefly returning to Japan, I finally booked my flight. True to form, the days leading up to it were chaotic. I changed the pickup plan multiple times, eventually telling DJ Pol I wanted my family to meet me at the airport and that he should just wait in Marinduque.
Furious at the sudden change, he turned his phone off completely, telling our friends he refused to give me an opportunity to change my mind again. It was the sweetest stubbornness I had ever witnessed.
We eventually rendezvoused at the seaport, meeting him near the ship's entrance. He wore black jeans and a black jacket, greeting me as if we hadn't just been warring over the phone. When my friend asked him to join us, he excused himself to retrieve his luggage. He returned holding nothing but a single plastic bag filled with pinag-ong — a hard, rounded local bread traditionally brought as a family souvenir.
During the drive to Torrijos, we stopped at the monastery, where he noticed me speaking pleasantly to a School Principal who happened to be visiting. The Principal had been my suitor in college, and DJ Pol made no effort to hide his jealousy. He didn't like the way I looked at him or how I said goodbye. I secretly found his jealousy endearing.
In November, we finally boarded his first-ever airplane flight to Davao. The weather was fair, though his fear of flying was delightfully obvious throughout the short journey.
We arrived days before the conference to explore the pristine, well-maintained streets governed by Mayor Rodrigo Duterte. Arriving too early for dinner, we retreated to our hotel room. It had been a long time since we were in absolute privacy, far from the eyes of Marinduque.
I bought new lingerie specifically for this moment. When he stepped out of the shower, I was waiting. Initially, he was aggressive and passionate, but suddenly, he froze. He stayed completely still.
"Why?" I asked.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
I checked, and my worst fear was confirmed. His lower half was entirely unresponsive. I got up, wrapped myself tightly in the bedsheet, and began to cry uncontrollably. I refused to let him touch me. What had been on his mind while he kissed me? Wait — who had been on his mind? Had all the exercise and dieting been wasted? Did he find me completely unattractive in the flesh?
He sat down in front of me, wearing nothing but an old pair of loose knit trunks, pleading for my forgiveness. The pain in my heart was cutting me to pieces. I couldn't stop crying — until he did the one thing that broke my brain.
He stood back up, planted his feet, and began to hum the song Pearly Shells. Then, dressed only in his sad little trunks, he started performing a fully committed Hawaiian hula dance right in the middle of our hotel room.
I collapsed back onto the bed, wrapped like a burrito in the blanket, trying desperately not to laugh. It was impossible. His ridiculous, vulnerable performance shattered the tension completely. Soon enough, he returned to the bed. And this time, we had absolutely no problems.
As I drifted to sleep in his arms, I wondered if there was something about laughter that turned him on. We faced the same physiological roadblock during our next resort stay, and he employed the same tactic: altering the mood by telling funny stories and aggressively tickling me until the tension vanished entirely.
When I woke up, the spell was slightly broken. He was sitting at the mirror, rubbing something off his face, with his phone sitting suspiciously close. I had a gut feeling he had turned it on while I was asleep — breaking our one rule for the trip. But I chose to say nothing. I refused to let paranoia ruin our first dinner date.
The absurdity of the Davao hotel room perfectly encapsulates the tragicomedy of romance under intense pressure. For someone carrying the overwhelming expectation of being a competent provider for an entire village ecosystem in the Philippines, finding solace meant seeking out people who could still make her laugh. Her willingness to forgive infidelity and physical misfires reveals how deeply she craved normal, messy, imperfect human connection — far removed from the sterile role of the untouchable benefactor.