In 2020, a college dream came to a halt. While many students were preparing for internships and graduation, Angela C. Aquino was watching her carefully planned life unravel.
She was just 20, a third-year Hospitality Management student, one year away from completing her degree. She and her boyfriend, now a live-in partner, who was also pursuing the same course, had already spent much of their savings on school immersion trips, uniforms, and training. They imagined a shared future in the tourism industry like hotel work, maybe even cruise lines—jobs that could lift them and their families out of hardship.
But the pandemic hit. Schools closed. Job opportunities disappeared. Then, another surprise was that Angela was pregnant.
“We weren’t ready. Mentally, emotionally, and financially. We didn’t know what to do,” she said
With no income and no clear path forward, Angela and her partner returned to the simplest way of survival: manual labor. They worked as farmers in their family’s small land, planting and harvesting vegetables, specifically tomatoes and ampalaya, not for business, but to survive. She was pregnant under the sweltering sun, her hands in the soil, her future uncertain.
Despite the exhaustion and fear, she kept going. She endured body aches, stress, and the anxiety of becoming a mother at a time when even the basics were hard to come by.
“There were nights when I’d cry in silence. I kept wondering if I will ever finish school? Or will I ever have a career again?” She stated.
After giving birth, things didn’t ease up. She poured herself into small business after small business: first, a vape shop built from borrowed capital, followed by a printing service during the rise of modular learning. Each one ended in frustration. Still, she kept trying.
“It was tiring physically, mentally, emotionally. But we couldn’t stop. We had a child to feed,” she said.
What made her push forward wasn’t just the desire to survive,it was the love she had for her child. Every sleepless night, every failed business, every tear shed in the quiet, Angela endured it all for her little one. She wanted her child to grow up with more, to never feel the same weight of uncertainty she carried through their twenties.
In 2023, after years of false starts, she chose to start over not in a big way, but in an honest one.
They saved up for months and bought a secondhand coffee machine. With her partner’s help, she converted a small space beside their house in Barangay Santiago, Malvar into a modest café.
She named it Brewphoria Café—a blend of “brew” and “euphoria,” representing the peace and quiet joy she had long sought. It was not a luxury café, but a heartfelt one. Each cup of coffee she served was rooted in sacrifice, hope, and persistence.
Now, Brewphoria has become a regular stop for students, neighbors, and local workers. Some come for the coffee, others stay for the warmth. There’s no air-conditioning, no fancy menu, but there is sincerity. There is courage behind every brewed cup.
Angela didn’t get to wear a graduation gown, but she now wears an apron with the same pride. Her café may be small, but it’s a monument to her resilience.
“I’ve failed so many times. I lost the path I thought I would take,” she said. “But I kept reminding myself that I’m doing this for my child, and for the version of me that never gave up.”
She also credits her partner, who stood by her throughout the most difficult years, sharing the burdens and hopes equally.
Angela’s story is not about grand success. It’s about showing up. Trying again. Building something meaningful out of what little you have, and doing it all in the name of love.
“It’s not the life I imagined. But it’s real. And I’m proud of it.”
YOHANNAN 
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