He sold his blood so that I could study, but now that I earn ₱100,000 a month, when he came to ask me for money, I didn’t give him a single penny.

When I was accepted into college, I had nothing but an admission letter and a dream of getting out of poverty. Our life was so hard that when there was meat on the table, the whole neighborhood knew about it.

My mother died when I was just ten years old, and my biological father disappeared long before I could meet him. The only one who took me in was a man with no blood ties to me: my adoptive father.

He was my mother’s best friend in his youth and made a living pushing a stroller or riding a tricycle. He lived in a small ten-square-meter rented room by the river. When my mother died, it was he who, despite his own poverty, offered to raise me. During all my years of study, he worked day and night, even going into debt, just so that I wouldn’t have to drop out of school.

I remember one time I needed to pay a fee for an extra class, but I was embarrassed to ask him. That night, he silently handed me some crumpled bills that smelled of hospital medicine, and said softly,
“Your father just donated blood. They gave me a small reward. Take it, son.

I cried that night. Who would submit again and again to donating blood just to maintain the studies of a child who is not even their biological child? My father did it throughout my high school. No one ever knew, except the two of us.

When I was accepted into a prestigious university in Manila, he almost cried tears of joy as he hugged me and said,
“You’re strong, son. Struggle. I won’t be able to help you all your life, but you must study to get out of this life.

During college, I worked several part-time jobs: in cafeterias, tutoring, wherever possible. Still, he still sent me a few hundred pesos every month, even if it was all he had left. I told him not to do it, but he always replied,
“It’s my money, and it’s your right to receive it, son.”

Upon graduation, I got a job at a foreign company. My first salary was ₱15,000, and I sent him ₱5,000 right away. But he rejected it and said,
“Save that money.” You’ll need it in the future. I’m old now, and I don’t need much.

Almost ten years passed and I became a director. My monthly salary exceeded ₱100,000. I thought about bringing him to live with me in the city, but he refused. He said he was already used to his simple life and didn’t want to be a burden. Knowing his stubbornness, I did not insist.

Until one day he came to visit me. He was very thin, with skin dark from the sun and completely gray hair. He sat down timidly on the edge of the sofa and said in a low voice:
“Son…” your father is already old. My vision is blurred, my hands tremble and I get sick frequently. The doctor says I need an operation that will cost about ₱60,000. I have no one else to turn to… That’s why I came to ask you for a loan.

I was silent. I remembered the nights when he cooked me rice and soup when I was sick. The times I came back soaked by the rain bringing my backpack forgotten at school. The early mornings when I waited awake until I returned from my tutorials, asleep in an old chair.

I looked him in the eye and said softly,
“I can’t. I won’t give you a single penny.

He was silent. His eyes clouded together, but he didn’t get angry. He just nodded slowly and stood up, like a rejected beggar.

But before he came out, I took his hand and knelt down.
“Dad… You are my real father. How could we talk about debts between father and son? You gave me your whole life, now let me take care of you for the rest of yours. Earlier you said: “The father’s money is the son’s right”; Now, my money is your right.

Then she burst into tears. I hugged him tightly, like a child frightened by a nightmare. His trembling back made me cry too.

From that day on, he lived with us. My wife did not object; on the contrary, he took care of it with affection. Although he was older, he continued to help at home, and when we could, we traveled or went out together.

I am often asked,
“Why do you treat your adoptive father so well if when you were in school he could hardly give you anything?”
I just smile and answer:
“He paid for my studies with his blood and his youth. We are not blood relatives, but he loved me more than a true father. If I don’t take care of it, what would be the meaning of my life?

There are debts in this world that money cannot pay. But when it comes to gratitude, it’s never too late to give it back — completely, sincerely, and from the heart.