Giving to Gain: The Oasis of Migrant Women

"We are here, but our hearts are elsewhere. Our footsteps echo on foreign ground, but our souls remain rooted in the islands we once called home. And still—we walk."

Oases in the Desert: The Silent Lives of Migrant Women

On International Women's Day, the world celebrates women’s strength and struggle. But there is a kind of strength that does not stand on stages, does not receive applause, does not even speak its name.

It lives quietly— in the lives of migrant women.

Walking in Two Worlds

While walking one evening, as the sun slowly disappeared behind unfamiliar streets, I reflected on my life as an immigrant. I thought of my daughter, who will graduate soon—and I cannot go home. I thought of a friend whose father passed away, yet he could not return to see him for the last time. And I thought of the many Filipino women and men in the United States and around the world walking the same path—physically present in one country, yet emotionally anchored in another.

We are here, but our hearts are elsewhere. Our footsteps echo on foreign ground, but our souls remain rooted in the islands we once called home . And still—we walk.

Because somewhere, across oceans: A child dreams of education ; A parent waits for medicine; A household depends on the next remittance .And so, we become what they need us to be.

We become oases in the desert.

In the vast, unforgiving landscape of poverty and survival, Filipino migrant women become sources of life— sending nourishment from afar, sustaining families who would otherwise go thirsty.

"Even an oasis can run dry. Migrant women give and give—until nothing is left for themselves."

Living the Struggle

I once wrote about Overseas Filipino Workers—the so-called modern heroes of my beloved country. I stood beside them as an advocate, fighting for their rights, amplifying their voices, believing I understood their struggles.

But now, I am here. Now, I am one of them. And I have come to learn—there is a difference between witnessing pain and living inside it. Homesickness is no longer just a word. It is a quiet storm that visits without warning. It is the absence of familiar voices, the ache of missed embraces, the weight of distance that no strength can erase.

Isolation becomes a companion. You move through crowds unseen. You smile when expected.

You function. But inside, there are nights when silence becomes too heavy— and you cry alone. Not because you are weak, but because there is no safe place to fall. And still, you say nothing. Because back home, they believe you are strong.

They believe you have made it. So you protect them from your truth. You swallow your loneliness. You carry your burdens quietly. You become strength—even when you are breaking.

I have met women who have spent years raising other people’s children while their own grow up without them. My sister is one of them.

Women who measure love not in time, but in money sent.

Women who deny themselves— skipping meals, postponing care, silencing their own needs— just to give more to those they love.

Back home, they are called heroes. But here, their heroism often feels like invisibility.

When the World Trembles: The Disappearing Oases

And when conflict rises in distant lands, these same women are uprooted once again . In the Middle East, where many Filipino workers have built fragile stability, conflict forces them to leave—not by choice, but by necessity. This is not just a geopolitical issue. It is a human story.

Thousands of Filipinos—caregivers, domestic workers, nurses, laborers—are caught in uncertainty, fear, and forced displacement. Some return home—not because they are ready, but because they have no choice. But what happens when they return? After years of sacrifice—sending remittances, supporting children’s education, keeping families afloat—many come back to a country that has changed little.

Jobs are scarce. Opportunities are limited. Safety nets are fragile. It is as if the oasis, once sustaining life from afar, has vanished upon return, leaving families and communities once again to face the harsh desert.

This is not just a personal struggle. It is a systemic one.

The government, through policies, programs, and support systems, has the power—and the responsibility—to restore the oasis for all.

To ensure that families of returning migrants are not left vulnerable. To provide livelihoods, access to healthcare, education, and mental health support. To honor the sacrifices made by women and men whose labor has nourished not only their households, but the national economy.

Restoring the oasis of the nation requires more than temporary aid. It requires long-term, structural solutions that address poverty, inequality, and the disproportionate burden carried by women

When these systems exist, the cycle of giving and replenishing can continue:

Restoring the Oases—Personal Journey

Throughout my life, I have tried to be an oasis. As an advocate for migrant women, I listened, guided, and amplified voices—offering care and support where needed most. Then I found my own oasis through World Pulse in one of my most challenging times of my activism work finding my own sanctuary due to political persecution . Citizen journalist training; International conferences ; mentorship & article writings inspired me more to continue my human rights advocacies. World Pulse bridge my local women advocacy to global advocacy .

Battling with cancer and migration alone in the desert of foreign land is beyond my imagination. But, I found oases in the desert of Antelope Valley. I got my scholarship in Applied Positive Psychology , the science of wellbeing and human flourishing with classmates that give me breath to endure my chemo treatment. I found friends helping with transportation, accommodation and companionship; nurses and doctors providing care and mental health therapist who shared with me my emotional turbulence. I have mentors inspiring me to write my article who is now under editorial review of UC Berkeley Greater Good Magazine . They showed me the way in pursuing my long dream of writing my book introducing me to a book mentor.

And as I regained my nourishment, I found ways to pour it back into the world. Writing articles that illuminate the struggles of migrant women. Speaking on podcasts to give them a platform. Embarking on the journey of writing a book whose ripples will reach beyond border

On this International Women’s Day, I write not only as an advocate, but as a woman who has become part of the story she once told.

"On this International Women’s Day, may we see migrant women not only as heroes, but as human And may we honor not only their strength, but their sacrifices."

Even an oasis deserves to be replenished. Even the strongest women deserve rest.

In every act of giving—to our families, our communities, each other—we create ripples that travel farther than we can see. And when one woman rises, she does not rise alone.

She brings others with her.

This is how an oasis restores itself. Support flows in, nurtures growth, and then flows out again—touching lives we may never see.

Migrant women are not only survivors. They are changemakers. They are the ones who restore oases—not just for themselves or their families, but for a world that desperately needs them to thrive.

As the moon gradually appears over the desert night, I pause to reflect. Its gentle light reminds me that even in darkness, there is guidance, calm, and hope. The oases we nurture—through giving, supporting, and lifting each other—shine quietly across the vast landscapes of struggle. Though we may be far from home, though the deserts are long, the ripples of care we send outward always return, illuminating paths for others—and for ourselves.

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