Fabricated Stories and Endless Worry: An OFW’s Journey to Closure
Yet, deep inside, they failed to provide the closure I desperately needed. The lack of resolution left a hollow feeling, a lingering desire for accountability and truth that remained unfulfilled.
The incident that started this turmoil took root during one unassuming night. Before diving into my story, I recommend reading this article for context:
After leaving the police precinct in the dead of night, close to 2:00 AM, I headed straight home. By the time I arrived, it was nearly 3:00 AM, and fatigue was weighing heavily on me. Despite my exhaustion, an unsettling anxiety lingered at the back of my mind. I couldn’t shake off the thought of how the case against me might unfold and the toll it would take on the days ahead. The uncertainty gnawed at me, threatening to overshadow the little rest I could hope for.
Knowing I had an afternoon shift to report to later that day, I longed for sleep to recharge, though my mind was far from at ease. As soon as I entered the apartment, I bypassed my designated room in the four-bedroom government-provided lodging and headed straight for my favorite spot—the old, familiar sofa. It was where I felt most at ease, a small sanctuary amidst the chaos. Exhaustion finally overcame my racing thoughts as I sank into its worn cushions and drifted into a restless slumber.
The Weight of an Accusation
The case filed against me—a charge of physical assault—loomed like a dark cloud. The seriousness of such an accusation weighed heavily on my mind. Under the Penal Code of the country I was serving, penalties for physical assault vary by severity. Minor incidents might only lead to fines, but cases involving bodily harm could result in imprisonment.
What unnerved me further was the accuser’s ability to manipulate his narrative, painting a story that suited his agenda.
For nine years, I had served as a healthcare professional in this country, dedicated to providing care and navigating the challenges that came with my role. Over time, I had witnessed the complexities of law enforcement and the justice system through the patients brought to the hospital under police custody for physical examinations before preliminary questioning.
These encounters gave me a window into how circumstances could sometimes be misinterpreted or blown out of proportion, leaving individuals vulnerable to accusations that didn’t reflect their intent.
One particular case remains vivid in my memory—a young man brought into my clinic under the strict requirements of police protocol, restrained at all four points. His alleged “crime”? Picking up a wallet that had fallen to the ground and attempting to return it to its rightful owner.
Despite his intentions, he was treated as a suspect, bound and brought in for questioning. His wrists were bound with handcuffs, and his ankles were secured with legcuffs, their unyielding grip restricting his stride and making every step deliberate and strained. The sound of the chains clinking with each movement reverberated through the sterile clinic, a haunting reminder of the heavy accusations weighing on him.
The sight was deeply unsettling. Seeing someone so thoroughly bound brought into sharp focus the tension between ensuring security and preserving human dignity. What struck me even more than the restraints was the emotional toll they seemed to take on him—his shoulders hunched under an invisible weight, his eyes downcast, and his steps hesitant as though burdened by more than just the physical shackles.
This encounter left an indelible mark on me, forcing me to reflect on the delicate balance we navigate in situations like these. While protocols are designed to ensure the safety of everyone present, they can also strip away a person’s humanity, casting a shadow of guilt long before innocence has been determined. It was a poignant reminder of the complexities and ethical dilemmas embedded in such moments, where justice and precaution intertwine in ways that are not always easy to reconcile.
The image of that patient, restrained and misunderstood, haunted me, especially now that I faced accusations of my own.
The fear that my truth could also be distorted loomed large in my mind. I worried that the narrative might be twisted to fit someone else’s version of events, leaving me defenseless.
My experience with cases like these made me painfully aware of how vulnerable anyone could become when caught in the machinery of accusations, regardless of their innocence.
Anxiety That Took Root
The fear of being summoned by the police haunted me day and night. For the first three months after the incident, nightmares plagued my sleep. In these dreams, someone would knock at my door—often police officers. Sometimes, I ignored the knock. Other times, I would wake up in cold sweat, gasping for breath before the conversation could begin.
Sleep became an increasingly rare luxury, slipping further from my grasp with each passing night. The anxiety that gripped me during the quiet hours often lingered into the day, especially on morning shifts.
My sleepless nights would stretch into long, weary workdays, leaving me running on fumes. Occasionally, the sheer weight of exhaustion would allow me to drift into a fragile slumber, but even in those fleeting moments, I found no peace. Worry was a constant companion, lingering in my mind and weaving itself into my dreams, only to leave me feeling more drained when I awoke.
In my darkest moments, I sought solace in the voices of my children back home. Their laughter and stories, even through a screen, were a lifeline that reminded me of what truly mattered.
My wife, steadfast and unwavering in her support, became the anchor that kept me grounded. Her encouragement and belief in me were invaluable, providing the strength I needed to face these trials. Through her patience and understanding, I found a glimmer of hope—a reminder that even amid uncertainty, the love of family could light the path forward.
Seeking Legal and Emotional Support
During a departmental meeting, my Head of Department (HOD) raised a critical question that caught me off guard. “Have you already spoken with a local lawyer in case the case proceeds?” The words hit me like a jolt. I hadn’t even considered hiring a lawyer in a foreign country, and the thought immediately overwhelmed me. The costs alone seemed insurmountable, a daunting burden on top of the emotional and mental strain I was already enduring.
Gathering my composure, I explained my predicament and asked if the hospital could provide legal counsel, emphasizing that I was here to serve their people and had been dedicated to my work. My request seemed reasonable, yet my HOD appeared uncertain. She assured me that she would consult the HR department and explore what assistance the hospital might be able to offer.
The uncertainty lingered after that conversation. While her response wasn’t dismissive, it left me feeling uneasy, as though I was left to navigate a labyrinth of legal and bureaucratic challenges on my own. It was another reminder of the precarious position of working abroad, where even in moments of vulnerability, the road to support often feels uncertain and uphill.
Turning to the Philippine Embassy: A Lifeline Abroad
Recognizing that I could not face this battle alone, I turned to the Philippine Embassy for help, reaching out via email with a detailed account of my situation. To my surprise, their response came within days, a glimmer of efficiency that felt like a lifeline amidst my uncertainty. Our communication quickly transitioned to WhatsApp, allowing for more immediate updates and coordination.
The embassy assured me of their willingness to support every Filipino entangled in legal issues abroad, emphasizing their commitment to safeguarding our rights. However, they explained that their actions were bound by the framework of the host country’s legal system. They needed to await further steps from the local government before intervening on my behalf.
At that point, my employer’s administrative and HR departments had not received any formal communication from the police or other external government agencies regarding my case. If such a letter were to arrive, it would be forwarded to the hospital’s legal counsel for review and guidance on how to proceed.
While the process felt slow and mired in bureaucracy, the embassy’s engagement provided me with something I hadn’t felt in weeks: a sliver of hope. For the first time, I felt less isolated in my ordeal, knowing that I had advocates willing to stand by me, even if the path to resolution remained uncertain.
A Battle Far From Over
This journey remains unresolved, lingering like an unfinished chapter in my life. The emotional toll, sleepless nights, and relentless fight for justice in a foreign land tested my resilience in ways I never imagined. Years have passed, and while the case seems to have been forgotten, its shadow occasionally sneaks into my thoughts, catching me off guard.
One encounter remains etched in my memory—an unexpected moment in our emergency room. A senior police officer, accompanied by junior officers escorting patients under custody, had come in as part of their routine duties. Seizing the rare opportunity, I gathered the courage to ask him about the status of my case. I had shared the details of the incident with him months earlier, hoping for some clarity.
He listened patiently as I recounted my lingering concerns. Then, with an air of nonchalance, he remarked that cases lacking merit or substantial evidence seldom progressed. His tone suggested finality, as though this explanation alone should put my worries to rest. Adding to my uncertainty, someone had once told me that government officials in this country were immune from legal suits, further complicating my understanding of the situation.
.. government officials in this country were immune from legal suits..
“So, that’s it,” I thought, trying to process his response. On the surface, his words brought a flicker of relief—perhaps the ordeal was indeed behind me. Yet, deep inside, they failed to provide the closure I desperately needed. The lack of resolution left a hollow feeling, a lingering desire for accountability and truth that remained unfulfilled.
Deep down, I still yearned to confront the person who had fabricated such a damaging story. I wanted him to understand the gravity of his actions—the anxiety, sleepless nights, and emotional turmoil his false accusations had caused. It wasn’t about revenge; it was about accountability, about ensuring that no one else would have to endure what I had.
Through all the chaos, I’ve learned the value of leaning on available resources and drawing strength from those around me.
This experience has shaped me, not only as an individual but as a testament to the challenges faced by expats, particularly Overseas Filipino Workers (OFWs), who dedicate their lives to serving others. My story is one among many, a reflection of the sacrifices and trials borne by those who venture far from home, fueled by the hope of building a better future.
(Note: The names and certain details mentioned have been altered to protect the privacy of individuals and maintain confidentiality.)
Doc_Riche spent 13 long years away from his family, dedicating himself to serving in both private and government hospitals across different countries. His journey was filled with countless challenges, memorable moments, and times of doubt that nearly pushed him to return home prematurely. However, through resilience and professionalism, he navigated each hurdle, always driven by the thought of his family waiting for him back home.
These experiences, both the struggles and triumphs, have shaped who he is today. Inspired by his journey, Doc_Riche created this platform to share his story with the world. Through this website, he hopes to offer a source of inspiration and reflection for others—proving that even in the face of adversity, perseverance and purpose can lead to meaningful growth.
