Chapter 5
Aya
Days have past by.
Two days.
That was all the time left between me and everything I'd ever known.
My house smelled like dust and detergent, a strange mix of cleaning and endings. Suitcases leaned against the wall, half-zipped, bulging with clothes I wasn't even sure I'd wear. I'd packed and repacked three times already, but each time I opened them, something in me panicked like I was packing wrong, like I was leaving wrong.
I was still rolling a sweater when a knock shook the gate.
I didn't bother to look. "Marco," I called, a little too flat.
Sure enough, the hinges squealed, and in walked Marco, carrying a thick brown envelope. His face looked like he hadn't slept. Tired but determined, the kind of face that said he'd been crossing off a never-ending checklist in his head.
"Good morning," he said, like it was any other day. He dropped the envelope on my table. "Got the updated paperwork. We'll need these for immigration."
I arched an eyebrow. "Don't you get tired of paperwork?"
He smirked. "I get tired of people who don't read paperwork."
I made a face but pulled the envelope closer. "I've read it. Twice."
"Knowing you, you probably highlighted the whole thing in three colors." He crouched by my suitcase, eyes darting over the mountain of sweaters, jackets, and toiletries. "Wow. Moving or opening a department store?"
"It's called preparation," I muttered.
"It's called paranoia," he shot back, lifting a folded coat with two fingers. "Aya, you know Toronto has malls, right?"
I snatched it back, trying not to smile. "You don't get it. I like being ready."
He leaned back on his heels, studying me. "No. I get it. But you can't carry your whole life with you. Some things you leave here. That's the point."
The words stung more than I wanted them to. I zipped the coat into a packing cube and pushed it down, like burying something I didn't want to face. "Easy for you to say."
His voice softened. "It's not easy for me either."
That made me look up. For the first time all morning, I really looked at Marco. His tired eyes, the crease on his forehead, the way he rubbed his thumb over the edge of his phone like he needed something to hold onto. He wasn't just dropping off papers. He was leaving too.
And suddenly, the air in my living room felt heavier.
"We're really doing this," I whispered.
"Yeah," he said. No bravado this time, just quiet honesty. "Two days. Then goodbye Philippines, hello freezing mornings and Timmy's."
I laughed, but it broke halfway. "I don't know if I'm ready."
"You're not supposed to be," Marco said, standing now, brushing dust off his jeans. "If you were ready, it wouldn't change you. And isn't that why you're going?"
His words lingered, sharp but steady.
I sank into the couch, hugging a throw pillow. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm running away."
"Maybe you are," he said simply. "But maybe that's okay. Sometimes you have to run away to find out where you're supposed to stay."
I hated when Marco said things like that, like he saw through the layers I'd carefully built for everyone else. I pressed my cheek against the pillow, suddenly tired. "I'm going to miss this house. The silence. The mess I can control. My family's chaos being… at arm's length."
Marco gave me a small smile. "Then miss it. No rule says you can't."
Silence stretched again, but more comfortable this time. The fan hummed overhead, my neighbor's radio buzzed faintly through the wall, and outside, a tricycle honked. Ordinary sounds of an ordinary morning, and soon, I'd be oceans away from them.
Marco cleared his throat, picking up the envelope again. "Keep these in your hand-carry. Immigration loves making people sweat at the counter."
"Noted."
"And Aya?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't forget...this isn't an accident. You worked for this. You're allowed to want more."
My throat tightened. For a second, I couldn't trust my voice, so I only nodded.
He gave me that almost-grin again, the one that never fully committed. "Okay then. See you at the airport."
He left as casually as he'd arrived, gate creaking shut behind him.
And just like that, I was alone again, surrounded by half-packed bags and the steady drum of my own heartbeat reminding me, in two days, everything changes.\
-----
I glanced at the open suitcase in the corner of the living room, half-packed with clothes folded neatly on one side and random things tossed haphazardly on the other. My passport peeked out from a folder on the coffee table, the corner of a boarding pass confirmation sticking out as if to remind me.
This isn't a dream anymore.
My stomach twisted, but not in regret. More like… anticipation. A roller coaster before the first drop.
I set my mug down and walked slowly across the living room, dragging my fingertips along the edge of the couch. The fabric was a little worn from years of use, but I remembered buying it fresh, lugging it in with delivery men who looked at me like, you sure you can live alone here, Miss?
Yes. I was sure then. And I'm sure now.
I touched the corner of the dining table, where faint scratches marked the wood from nights I'd worked late with my laptop spread out, half-finished projects and cold coffee at my side. This house had seen me exhausted and triumphant, laughing over takeout with friends, crying after an argument with Mom, pacing during exam prep when I doubted if I'd ever measure up.
And I had.
I stopped by the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to watch the street outside. Familiar and predictable. The neighbor's kid running after a stray cat, the tricycle drivers yelling over passengers, the faint honk of jeepneys on the main road. The same view I'd had for years, and yet tonight it felt like a memory already.
A grin tugged at my lips, surprising even me.
"This is really happening," I whispered into the quiet.
Excitement flared in my chest, drowning out the nerves for a moment.
Canada.
A place I'd only seen on travel vlogs or in the random brochures Dr. Santos once showed me. A clinic with advanced equipment, patients whose stories would challenge me, techniques that would stretch me beyond what I already knew.
I imagined walking through hallways where no one knew my name, introducing myself in that polite but confident way: Hi, I'm Aya. Audiologist. From the Philippines. The thought made my heart race—terrifying, yes, but in the kind of way that pulled me forward.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the chaos of things I hadn't decided to pack yet. My hands itched to do something, so I picked up the small notebook I kept on the nightstand. Not to write but just to hold. Its weight reminded me of all the years I'd spent planning, organizing, documenting every step. But for once, I didn't need to plan.
This time, I just needed to leap.
Leaning back against the pillows, I let the notebook rest on my chest. My heart was racing, but I wasn't scared of it.
Not anymore.
I thought of Marco, steady and reassuring as always, telling me earlier, We'll manage it together. He wasn't wrong. But deep down, I knew this was still my leap. Mine to claim, mine to grow into.
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. The faint scent of laundry detergent clung to the clothes I'd packed, mixing with the smell of coffee still drifting from the kitchen. Ordinary scents, ordinary walls and ordinary life.
In two days, I'd trade it all for the extraordinary.
And I couldn't wait.
-------
The clinic pantry wasn't fancy, but today it felt different. The long table had been pushed to the center, covered with mismatched but colorful dishes. Someone had brought trays of noodles and lumpia, another brought grilled chicken, and Dr. Santos herself had ordered a cake with "Good Luck Aya & Marco" written across it in bright blue icing.
When Marco and I walked in, the chatter paused for a second before the room filled with applause. I wasn't expecting that. For a moment, I froze at the door, clutching my bag tighter.
"You didn't have to do this," I murmured, cheeks warm.
Dr. Santos smiled, motioning for us to sit. "Of course, we had to. You and Marco have been the backbone of this clinic. This place won't be the same without you."
I sat down slowly as my heart tightening. I had never really thought of myself that way, important, necessary, but hearing it out loud made something stir inside me.
We started eating, the room alive with the clinking of utensils and overlapping conversations. For a while, it felt just like any other lunch break. Until Dr. Santos stood, raising her glass of juice.
"Everyone, listen for a moment." Her voice carried the authority that always made us stop. The room fell quiet.
"Today, we're not just saying goodbye to two colleagues. We're celebrating Aya and Marco for their hard work, their dedication, and the lives they've touched here. Aya, you came in so young, fresh out of training, and yet you carried yourself with such skill and compassion. Patients trust you and families trust you. And Marco—steady, reliable, always calm even when the rest of us were panicking. You both raised the standard of what audiology should look like in this city."
My throat tightened. I looked down at my plate, blinking quickly. I hadn't expected this weight in her words. I thought it would just be food, laughter, and quick goodbyes.
Dr. Santos went on, softer now. "It's hard for me, personally, to see you go. But I also know this: the world outside needs what you have. Don't hold back. Take your courage, your kindness, and your brilliance with you. Make a difference wherever you land. That's all I ask."
There was a moment of silence after she finished.
A silence heavy with respect, pride, and the unspoken ache of farewell.
I swallowed hard, forcing a small smile. "Thank you, Doc. I—I don't even know what to say."
"Say you'll come back one day," she replied warmly.
The room erupted into soft laughter, breaking the tension. And with that, the mood shifted. Someone clapped their hands together.
"All right," one of the nurses said, grinning at Marco, "now we've said the serious stuff. Time for the fun part."
Marco raised an eyebrow. "Fun part?"
"Yes," another audiologist leaned forward, smirking. "Like the fact that Aya and Marco are leaving together. Very suitable, don't you think?"
My head snapped up. "Oh no. Don't start."
But they already had.
"Canadian honeymoon!" someone shouted from the back.
I almost choked on my drink. "Excuse me? No!"
"Oh, come on," another teased. "Aya, you and Marco—same flight, same destination, both single? It's destiny."
Marco, cool as ever, leaned back in his chair. "If that's destiny, then fate has a terrible sense of humor."
The room exploded with laughter. Even Dr. Santos was chuckling, shaking her head.
"You two might not see it now," one of the older staff said knowingly, "but don't be surprised if Canada changes things."
I groaned, covering my face with both hands. "You're all impossible."
Marco smirked. "Relax, Aya. We'll let them believe their little fantasy."
"Fantasy?" one nurse gasped dramatically. "So you admit there's potential!"
That sent the room roaring again.
I dropped my hands, glaring at him. "Thanks a lot, Marco."
He only shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching. "What? I'm just playing along."
"Playing along too well," I muttered, which only made them laugh harder.
The teasing didn't stop for the rest of lunch. Some joked we'd come back married. Others warned Marco to guard me from Canadian men. A few even started taking bets.
And yet, beneath my embarrassment, I felt something else—something warm. They weren't just teasing us. They were sending us off with laughter instead of tears, with joy instead of goodbyes. It wasn't heavy, it wasn't sad. It was love, disguised as jokes and playful banter.
When it was finally time to leave, Dr. Santos hugged me tightly. "Go with courage, Aya. And remember, you carry a part of this family with you."
For the first time since deciding to leave, I didn't feel nervous but I felt somehow… ready.