In less than three months, African swine fever spread across Luzon. One by one, nearby pig farms collapsed. Some residents were forced to burn their entire pigsties down just to stop the virus from spreading. For weeks, thick smoke hung over the mountains.
Marites was frightened.
“Let’s sell them while they’re still alive,” he pleaded.
But Roger was stubborn.
“This too shall pass. We just have to hold on a little longer.” The constant worry and sleepless nights weakened him. He was even hospitalized in Cabanatuan due to extreme exhaustion and stress. He spent more than a month resting in his in-laws’ province.
When he returned to the mountain, half his pigs had already withered away. The price of feed had doubled. The bank had started calling to collect on the loan.
Each night, as the rain pounded on the tin roof of the pigsties, Roger felt as if everything he had worked for was slowly collapsing.
Until one night, after another call from a creditor, he sat on the floor and whispered:
“I’m finished.”
The next morning, he locked up the pigsty. He handed the key to the landowner, Mang Tino, and went down the mountain. He couldn’t bear to see everything he had built completely collapse. In his mind, it was all a loss.
For five years, he never returned to the mountain.
He and Marites moved to Quezon City and worked as laborers in a factory. Life was simple: there was no opulence, but there was peace.
Whenever someone talked about pig farming, Roger would smile bitterly.
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