Truth be told,
we were considered a well-to-do family in my
country. Definitely not the mansioned-aristocrats by Philippine standards but my parents did manage to hire people to work in our household throughout the years. It was and still is a fairly common practice there.
I couldn’t forget that day in our old house in Cebu City. Outside, the jeepneys (extended jeeps used as public transportation) blast out Eurythmics and other `80s tunes in earsplitting volumes as they teeter along the highway a couple of yards from our red iron gate. The adults sprawl all over the large living room watching Blue Lagoon when halfway through it somebody tells us kids to step outside and play. I am 6 years old but I know this is the cue for a kissing scene or something of the sort. My cousins and I reluctantly stomp out to play hide and seek or chinese garter made of rubbers stretched by two people to increasing heights to see who can jump the highest. But we see Lisa, our then-16-year-old maid banished to the outdoors like the rest of us, peeping through the Spanish-style hollow blocks to watch Brooke Shields and the boy splashing in a waterhole. Everyone forgot the games as we gathered around her transfixed by the movie.
Lisa was cool. She looked young for her age though she had this unbecoming poodle cut popular back then. She had fair skin, an asset among perpetually-tanned Filipinos. My sister Jen and I had unforgettable mornings waking up to find her sweeping the sala (living room) wearing her favorite yellow shirt and green shorts, broom in hand and ready to rock and roll. We would call stations and turn on the radio eagerly waiting for "A Rico Mambo." Sometimes we danced to "Speedy Gonzales" or "Lambada" though one Speedy morning we shook and jumped so hard the figurine of the boy fetching water on top of the piano tumbled and broke its neck.
Before and after Lisa, there were many others like Esther and Nita. They wanted to be employed together. I remember thinking Esther could have been Batman with Nita as Robin ‘cause Esther was always showing Nita how to do stuff. I secretly thought Nita was crazy. She acted like she had another world inside her head. She watched as I pretended I was Cheetarah of the Thundercats running through the house as fast as I could wreaking havoc. She would just laugh at my multi-colored bruises and go about pestering Esther as usual. She would want to play mahjong (Chinese game tiles) with me and my sister though we didn't really know how to. Sometimes, when she seemed "normal" we’d ask her to gather tambis (a red-pink sweet-bland fruit) or other fruits growing in our yard. We were forbidden to climb trees -- all trees.
There was also this girl whose name I forgot. She stayed with us for a few days after which she told us she had to leave because her mother was ill. We found out that she was trying to steal some of our clothes, bathing suits, shoes and jewelry on her way out. My mother sent her back to her angry father. She then vowed to screen employees more carefully.
Our last maid, Jennilyn came straight from another province when I was 15. There was a time when I hated her because she told my mom that I had a boyfriend when I intended to keep him a secret. My aunt (who was 9 years older than me) and I would sometimes help Jennilyn with chores so she could go with us to the town disco where the old and young danced to cheesy songs and the occasional cha-chas or to go check out the local gay beauty pageants where my aunt has acquired the prominent position of judge. During lazy afternoons when my mother was napping, we would play badminton or volleyball or soccer in our front yard. Jennilyn and my aunt would fend off town boys making moves on us but somehow end up being charmed by those idiots. And how they gossiped! It was incredible how Jennilyn would know everything going on within a 2-mile radius.
When I was bored, I’d go downstairs and find Jennilyn reading old magazines or an R-rated comic book in her basement room. Sometimes she would ask me for help on her reading or arithmetic or biology homework. We encouraged her to attend classes at a nearby school for a few hours on weekday afternoons and she complied.
Some afternoons, I‘d be in my room and suddenly hear voices with shattering glass and slamming doors. I figured either our neighbors were at each other's throats again or "Suerte sa Gugma" (Lucky in Love) was on the radio. Jennilyn always tuned in to that drama while ironing clothes near the pool table. It was hilarious to hear her scold Fernando, the leading man, every time he cheated on Lydia while our turkeys gobbled loudly at every spoken line. A few times I caught sight of our dog looking at her as if she was crazy talking all by herself. How I miss her.
Sometimes even the maids needed a little help. For years, Salvé was our laundrywoman. For extra money, she'd cut grass with the rest of us who had to help my mom tend to her orchids, saplings and grounds. Salvé lived on the nearby hills providing for her young children and invalid husband by working in the neighborhood. She was so poor she had to have her only son adopted. She was this thin woman in her thirties who, like Jennilyn, would tune in AM radio dramas. Sometimes, my aunt or Jennilyn and I would trek a mile and a half to her hut on the remote hills to bring her to work or get palm leaves for Palm Sunday or give her gifts and cakes during Christmas and holidays.
We had a couple of dogs named Beavis and Butthead who always got into trouble. One day, my dad got so irked at Beavis. He ordered the dog be taken away or killed. My sister Jen and I were protesting when Salvé volunteered to take him home. She said she needed a dog anyway to protect her goats from thieves. I guess Beavis missed Butthead so much because he found his way back to our house after a few days. Salvé came by to cut our grass and explained that Franklin wasn't too happy with the goats. We asked her who Franklin was. She pointed at Beavis and said her daughter named him Franklin after a famous American she'd read about in class. My dad laughed so hard about the mangy dog‘s identity crisis.
The most unforgettable of our maids was Mercy. She was there with us in the old highway house. Up until now, 13 years later, I still have her full name, address and birthday memorized. Mercy Dingcong. Kitabug, Titay, Zamboanga del Sur. June 14. I have no idea why. Mercy was tall. At least she was when I was 8 years old. I'd say about 5'3. She was rail thin with large eyes, buck teeth and shoulder length straight hair which she always brushed a hundred times right before she went to bed during which she would tell me about her big family and how, like me, her father was strict with her too.
In our old house, my parents occupied the master's bedroom. Mercy, my sister and I slept in the next room. Mercy didn't want to sleep on the first floor or other rooms because she was afraid of ghosts even in her twenties. My sister and I didn't mind having our bed next to hers because she always made sure our mosquito nets were tucked securely underneath our mattress before she tucked hers. Sometimes after watching those wretched local horror shows on TV, she’d get so scared that she‘d lie with us in our big bed with goose bumps all over. But usually she acted like the big sister, telling me not to do cartwheels and splits on the floor for fear that my parents would catch me and punish me. When we celebrated Flores de Mayo (Flowers of May), an event where the kids would go to church dressed up as angels and participate in mass during May, Mercy would make me strings of calachuchi (a fragrant white flower) to offer to the Virgin Mary and Santo Niño (Holy Child Jesus). We would collect the stubs with the church seal on it after mass from the catechists to be exchanged for toys and candy at the end of the month.
I have pictures of the family’s visit to the Chinese Temple. There we were. Me and the familiar mischievous look on my face, my aunt's face distorted with surprise as I pinch her butt, my uncle making funny monkey faces, my sister with a poker expression, her eyes and lips swollen by allergies and Mercy looking tall and serious in her pink dress. It was her favorite color. She pronounced it "Fenk" and I always corrected her. I should write to her one of these days. I hope all those years I had her address memorized won’t be in vain.
So there you have it. Lisa. Esther. Nita. Jennilyn. Salvé. Mercy. These were the people who, unknowingly, helped mold me into the person I am today, a person aware of others, whatever their station in life. I like this about myself. I may still be struggling with my chores and washing dishes which will be the death of me. Unlike our previous maids who were fired or quit, I am stuck with the same perfectionist household boss named Mother yet I am coping. But believe me, just watching a soap opera makes me think of my laundry sometimes. And the mere mention of any Franklin makes me laugh. I am thankful for the experiences I’ve had with our helpers. Over the years, knowing how people like them provide the service that they do such as raising kids makes me more accepting of myself and what comes. Yes, lessons can be taken even from unexpected people. I am lucky to have gotten my fair share of these from our maids. They are proof that you don't have to be educated to teach. That you don't have to be paid to care. That you don't have to be related to be treated like family. Though it was my parents who paid them with money, it is I who will be indebted to them for life.
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