“Who put this here again?” Marco asked irritably as he looked at a Tupperware container on his office desk. This was the tenth day in a row that someone had left food on his table during lunch break. No note, no name. Just warm food and rice.

“Dude, that could be your secret admirer! Eat it, you bastard!” Jeff shouted next to him while chewing on a burger from the fast food.

“Secret admirer? What if it’s poisoned? Or is it a drug?” Marco replied, pushing the lunch box away. “It’s scary. I don’t know if this stalker is obsessed with me.”

Marco is a typical corporate slave in Makati. Always busy, always tired, and always eating fast food or convenience store food because he doesn’t have time to cook. He’s already thin and looks stressed. That’s why at first, he was happy with the free food—Adobo, Sinigang, Kaldereta—it really tasted like home-cooked food. But as time went on, it got creepy.

“I’ll just throw this away,” Marco decided. He picked up the Tupperware and was about to throw it in the trash when he noticed that the dish was now Pork Binagoongan. His favorite.

He stopped. How did the sender know his favorite?

“This is not right. I need to know who he is,” Marco whispered.

The next day, before lunch break, Marco set up a small hidden camera on the side of his monitor. He pointed it at his desk. Then, he left, pretending to buy coffee, but he just waited in the pantry to watch the live feed on his cellphone.

Five minutes passed. No one was there.

After a while, the door to the cubicle area opened. An old woman in a blue uniform entered. It was Nanay Ising, the janitor of their floor. She was carrying a mop and bucket.

Nanay Ising started cleaning. The floor was wiped, the chairs were arranged. Marco thought he was just cleaning. But when Nanay Ising arrived at Marco’s desk, he stopped.

The old man looked around to make sure no one was looking. Then, he slowly took out a familiar Tupperware from his eco bag. He placed it on Marco’s desk very carefully. Then, he caressed Marco’s picture frame that was on the desk, smiled sadly, and wiped away tears before continuing to mop.

Marco dropped his cellphone in shock. Nanay Ising?

Page: SAY – Story Around You | Original story

Marco hurried back to the office. He caught up with Nanay Ising who was about to enter the Comfort Room to clean.

“Nanay Ising!” Marco called.

The old man stopped. He turned pale when he saw Marco holding the Tupperware. “S-Sir Marco… s-sorry… I’ll take that, I’ll throw it away…”

“Are you the one who gives this every day?” Marco asked, not angry but curious. “Why? What do you need from me?”

Nanay Ising bowed. Her hands were trembling, full of wrinkles and calluses from the work she had just done.

“No, Sir. I have no bad intentions,” the old man replied harshly. “I’m sorry if you were scared. I just wanted… I just wanted to feed you.”

“But why?” Marco asked.

Nanay Ising took a deep breath and looked straight at Marco. In the old man’s eyes, Marco saw a kind of sadness that penetrated his heart.

“Because Sir… my son looks exactly like you. Jay-jay.”

Marco was stunned.

“He’s been in Dubai for five years,” Nanay Ising said as tears flowed down her face. “At first, he would call. He would text. But for the last two years… he hasn’t. I can’t contact him anymore. I don’t know if he’s angry, or if something has happened to him, or if he’s forgotten about his mother.”

Nanay Ising wiped her face with the hem of her uniform.

“Every time I see you here in the office, thin, always tired, and eating something… I remember my son. I wonder, is he still eating well there? Is someone cooking for him? Does he miss my Binagoongan?”

Nanay Ising approached Marco, but immediately stopped as if embarrassed.

“That’s why I cook for you, Sir. Every time I see you finish the food, I feel better. It’s like… like I’ve fed my child too. It’s like I’ve told her that I love her so much, even though she’s far away. I’m sorry, Sir Marco, an old man is just delusional.”

Nanay Ising was about to leave out of embarrassment, but Marco grabbed her arm.

Marco suddenly remembered his own mother in the province. How many months had it been since she last called? It must have been Christmas. She always said she was “busy.” It was always “next time.” He never thought that his mother might feel the same way—waiting, worrying, missing her.

“Nanay Ising,” Marco said, his voice cracking. “Don’t go. Come eat with me.”

“Oh, Sir, it’s embarrassing. I’m just a janitor—”

“No,” Marco interrupted. He pulled up a chair. “I need company. And… I miss Mom’s cooking too.”

That afternoon, in the middle of a busy office, an executive and a janitor shared a Tupperware in Binagoongan. They chatted about Jay-jay, and about Marco’s life.

After eating, Marco took out his cellphone. Not to check emails, but to dial a number he hadn’t called in a long time.

“Hello? Mom?” Marco greeted when the other line answered.

“Son! Marco! Did you get a call? Is there a problem?” his mother’s voice was clearly surprised and happy.

“Nothing, Mom,” Marco replied while looking at Nanay Ising who was happily clearing away their food. “I just wanted to say… I miss you. And thank you for everything. I’ll be home on the weekend, Mom. Will you cook me some Sinigang, please?”

The mystery of the lunch box had been solved. It didn’t come from a stalker, but from the heart of a mother full of love who had nothing to give. And because of this, a bond is formed, and a relationship is mended. Sometimes, all we need to remember the value of family is the taste of home-cooked food and the story of a stranger.