A tale of commitment, talent, and love is hidden behind each exquisitely stitched piece of fabric.
This is my dad, his name is J.
He is in his tahian, this is a pandemic tahian. He built it from scratch.
These are the sinulid that he brought from Lipa City. Lipa City is a humid place with his age, he still manages to go there and buy the materials and tools needed for his tahian and garments.
In my opinion, he is a hero not just because of his skill but also because of the morals he ingrained in us. He is not an ordinary sewer; he is my dad. He feed us fom the money he earned from his hands, and I am so proud of my dad. Sewing is difficult. It requires a creative mind, stable hands, and keen eyes. Never
He never teaches me how to sew, he gave me a degree, I am a psychology graduate because of his hands. He provides for me, for us. He persisted despite all the difficulties—broken needles, sleepless nights, and sore backs
Vacant seats for the people who needs work.
He built something from scratch to help others.
My dad has been making dreams come true for thirty years, helping to support our family one stitch at a time. His contributions are incalculable, even though they may not receive recognition or awards. Each piece of clothing he makes is a silent testament to his strength and love, carrying a piece of his soul.
I see my dad's world as one of bravery and unsung heroes, not just textiles and threads. He is a living example of how greatness frequently results from ordinary people performing remarkable tasks.
These are the hands of a pro sewer. I may get emotional here cause, right now I just want to build a good life for my dad too. In January, he will give up all of this because of financial problem. I want to help.
He can make a quality output, so I want to make a quality life for him.
Look! Seaman's suit. He sewed this with his hands.