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Written by B.C. Writes
Art by Averie Kim Calabio
The clang of the hammer echoed through the half-built office. Sweat beaded on Ilaya’s forehead as she adjusted her hard hat, the harsh morning sun glinting off the steel beams. Her calloused hands gripped the hammer with practiced ease.
The world scoffed when she first dared to dream of a life beyond the confines of their expectations. “A woman shouldn’t work,” they would murmur, their disapproval clinging to her like a second skin. They said a mother belonged cradling children, not wielding a hammer on a construction site. A woman’s place, they insisted, was at home. But sometimes, a home needs a builder, not just a keeper, and Ilaya dared to defy the script.
Ilaya is one of the countless women who rewrote their own stories, the moment she dared to carve her own destiny, the moment she gave herself the right to be a mother and a dreamer, a caregiver and a provider.
The days were a blur of exhaustion. Every dismissive glance, every patronizing comment, and the sting of catcalls were a hurdle to overcome. Yet, amidst the struggle, is a silent defiance. Each peso brought home felt like a brick laid on the path she was building, not just for herself, but for her two daughters. A future where dreams would not be judged by who you are, but by the fire in your heart.
March. Women’s Month. A bittersweet taste on her tongue. A celebration, yes, but a glaring reminder of the battles continuously raging. The jokes that scraped raw the wounds of inequality and injustices, the legislation that treated women like fragile decorations instead of the architects of society, all felt like a punch to the gut.
Then, she’d steal a moment in the grimy bathroom. Leaning against the chipped mirror, exhaustion etched on her face. Her tired body, clad in crumpled work clothes and a world painted in the shades of gray. Yet, her eyes reflect the blaze of a thousand suns. In her struggle, we see not just a sacrifice, but a fierce love, a love that whispered, “Dream bigger. Bigger than they think a woman can dream.”
March may have been a month for celebration, but for Ilaya, the fight was a constant, year-round marathon. And in that fight, she wasn’t just a woman, she wasn’t just a mother. She was a woman who dared to dream beyond the confines of societal stereotypes, proving that the real celebration of women wasn’t limited to a calendar month, but present in the resilience of those who decided to fight for their way, every single day.
Art by Averie Kim Calabio
The clang of the hammer echoed through the half-built office. Sweat beaded on Ilaya’s forehead as she adjusted her hard hat, the harsh morning sun glinting off the steel beams. Her calloused hands gripped the hammer with practiced ease.
The world scoffed when she first dared to dream of a life beyond the confines of their expectations. “A woman shouldn’t work,” they would murmur, their disapproval clinging to her like a second skin. They said a mother belonged cradling children, not wielding a hammer on a construction site. A woman’s place, they insisted, was at home. But sometimes, a home needs a builder, not just a keeper, and Ilaya dared to defy the script.
Ilaya is one of the countless women who rewrote their own stories, the moment she dared to carve her own destiny, the moment she gave herself the right to be a mother and a dreamer, a caregiver and a provider.
The days were a blur of exhaustion. Every dismissive glance, every patronizing comment, and the sting of catcalls were a hurdle to overcome. Yet, amidst the struggle, is a silent defiance. Each peso brought home felt like a brick laid on the path she was building, not just for herself, but for her two daughters. A future where dreams would not be judged by who you are, but by the fire in your heart.
March. Women’s Month. A bittersweet taste on her tongue. A celebration, yes, but a glaring reminder of the battles continuously raging. The jokes that scraped raw the wounds of inequality and injustices, the legislation that treated women like fragile decorations instead of the architects of society, all felt like a punch to the gut.
Then, she’d steal a moment in the grimy bathroom. Leaning against the chipped mirror, exhaustion etched on her face. Her tired body, clad in crumpled work clothes and a world painted in the shades of gray. Yet, her eyes reflect the blaze of a thousand suns. In her struggle, we see not just a sacrifice, but a fierce love, a love that whispered, “Dream bigger. Bigger than they think a woman can dream.”
March may have been a month for celebration, but for Ilaya, the fight was a constant, year-round marathon. And in that fight, she wasn’t just a woman, she wasn’t just a mother. She was a woman who dared to dream beyond the confines of societal stereotypes, proving that the real celebration of women wasn’t limited to a calendar month, but present in the resilience of those who decided to fight for their way, every single day.
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