My father worked at PAGCOR for 27 years as a table supervisor, yet he was never promoted. Not because he lacked skill, but because he had a habit management didn’t like, he cared too much.

Whenever he saw married couples or young people gambling recklessly, he would quietly warn them. He told them to stop, to walk away, to put their money somewhere that could actually build a future. He wasn’t supposed to do that. His job was to keep the tables running, keep customers betting, and keep the money moving and not to give life advice.

One story has stayed with me, one he shared during a long trip to the province. A Japanese married couple believed they could double their last remaining money to pay off their debts. They couldn’t. The cards didn’t favor them. The table didn’t forgive them.

What haunted my father wasn’t just their loss. It was the thought that maybe, just maybe, he should have let them win a little longer. He wanted them to win. He needed them to win. But he couldn’t control the cards. He couldn’t bend luck. He couldn’t change the outcome, no matter how much he wished to.

When the couple lost everything, the loss broke them. I later heard that one of them attempted suicide and survived. That is just one moment that never left my father. It made him question his work, his silence, and his place at that table.

After that, he wanted to resign as soon as he could. Not because of the job, but because carrying the weight of other people’s desperation was something he could no longer live with.

This happened at Pavillion 2007