In 2018, Rogelio “Roger” Santos, a 34-year-old man from Nueva Ecija, dreamed of escaping poverty by raising pigs. He rented a vacant section of a mountain in the town of Carranglan to turn it into a small piggery.

He used up all his savings, even took out a loan from the Land Bank of the Philippines, built pig pens, installed a deep well, and bought 30 piglets.

On the day he brought the first batch of pigs up the mountain, he proudly told his wife Marites, 31:

“Just wait for me. In one year, we’ll be able to build our own house.”

But life was not as easy as the success stories on television about getting rich.

In less than three months, African swine fever spread across Luzon. One by one, nearby pig farms collapsed. Some neighbors were forced to burn their entire pig pens just to stop the virus from spreading. For weeks, thick smoke hung over the mountains.

Marites became frightened.

“Let’s sell them while they’re still alive,” she pleaded.

But Roger was stubborn.

“This will pass. We just need to endure a little longer.”

From constant worry and sleepless nights, he grew weak. 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 of his pigs were already gone. The price of feed had doubled. The bank had started calling to collect his loan payments.

Every night, as rain pounded against the tin roof of the pig pens, Roger felt as if everything he had worked for was slowly collapsing.

Until one night, after another call from a creditor, he sat down on the floor and whispered:

“I’m finished.”

The next morning, he closed the piggery. He handed the key to the landowner—Mang Tino—and walked down the mountain. He couldn’t bear to watch the total collapse of everything he had built. In his mind, everything was already a loss.

For five years, he never returned to the mountain.

He and Marites moved to Quezon City and worked as factory workers. Life was simple—not rich, but peaceful.

Whenever someone talked about pig farming, Roger would only smile bitterly.

“I just fed my money to the mountain.”

But earlier this year, Mang Tino suddenly called him. His voice was trembling.

“Roger… come up here. Your old piggery… something big happened.”

The next day, Roger traveled more than 40 kilometers up the mountain. The old dirt road was now covered with grass and trees, as if it had been abandoned for a decade.

As he climbed, his chest filled with anxiety and fear.

Was the pig pen already destroyed?
Or was there no trace left of his former dream?

When he turned the last curve of the mountain, he suddenly stopped.

The place he had abandoned… looked alive.

It was no longer the old piggery he had left behind. The rusty tin roof was now covered with vines and thick vegetation. The muddy pens had blended into the forest. Trees around the area had grown tall, and the old pathway was almost unrecognizable.

But that wasn’t what made him stop.

He heard sounds.

“Ngrok… ngrok…”

Roger froze.

Slowly, he walked closer to the fence that was almost buried under tall grass. When he peeked inside the old pen, he stepped back in shock.

There were pigs.

Not just one or two—but many.

Large ones with thick bodies. And several small piglets running around.

The thirty piglets he had left five years earlier seemed to have turned into an entire herd.

“No… that’s impossible…” he whispered.

Mang Tino, who had been walking behind him, stepped closer.

“That’s what I was telling you,” he said softly. “They didn’t disappear.”

“But… how did they survive?” Roger asked, still unable to believe what he was seeing.

Mang Tino sat down on a nearby rock.

“When you left, a few pigs were still inside the pen. They broke the fence and escaped. I thought they’d die in the forest. But they didn’t.”

Roger looked around.

Behind the piggery was a small stream he had never noticed before. Banana trees and sweet potato plants had grown around the area. There were coconuts and various wild plants.

“They learned how to survive in the mountain,” Mang Tino said. “And they kept multiplying.”

Roger stared at the herd. Some of the pigs raised their heads, almost as if they recognized his presence even after so many years.

One large pig walked closer to the fence. Its skin was reddish, and it had a scar on its ear—the exact mark of one of the first piglets he had bought long ago.

“That one…” Roger whispered.
“That was the very first pig I raised.”

Something tightened in his chest.

Everything he thought he had lost… was still there.

Not just alive—but grown.

“So what will you do now?” Mang Tino asked.

Roger remained silent.

He looked at the mountain. The pig pen. The pigs walking calmly through the grass as if the five years that had passed meant nothing.

Slowly, Roger smiled—for the first time in many years.

“Maybe,” he said quietly,
“my dream isn’t over yet.”

And at that moment, he understood something he once believed he had lost.

Sometimes, even if you abandon a dream…
there are moments when it is still waiting for you to come back.