strangeposts:

To: Ms. Corrie Tan

Dear Ms. Corrie, 

I’ve read your column about F. Sionil Jose, The Straight-shooting writer (Life Section Page C2) dated Oct. 19, 2011 Wednesday.

I am a maid from Philippines, I used to borrow some books from my employer, where I’ve learned some of Singapore local authors and stories. The Teardrop Story Woman and They Do Return by Ms. Catherine Lim, Plastic and I by Dr. Lau, and Reflections by Ng Fook Kah. 

I know my knowledge about Singapore local writers is not much, it is also the same from my own country.

We’re taught about Jose Rizal and Stevan Javellana author of Without Seeing the Dawn and other Philippine writers who become a hero. When I was at grade school this writers are included in my homework. But sad to say that two sometimes three students share one book in my class. If you belong to the lowest section worst, you need to wait for your turn to have that book.

Few have given a chance to join in an essay or literary contest, because of “padrino” system or you ought to be a teachers pet first. Fourty to sixty pupils against one teacher in a classroom, how can a student be able to concentrate during lecture. This is what I’ve experienced in my own village school.

Mr. Jose lamented that Filipinos have a colonized mind, it is because the power of television in my country. It is easy to press a remote control after a hard day work from farm or from fishing. A village were books can be found only at school library. We have newspaper both in English and Filipino including our own province dialect. Still having a three times a day meal is more important than buying a paper.

Sending a letter is not a trend anymore, this is what my friends told me everytime they see me carrying an airmal envelope. Pointing out the use of handphone and e-mail. Calling is limited, e-mail is not impossible but is also troublesome for my family to go to an internet cafe and wait for my own free time. For me writing a letter is not expensive and I can tell more stories, more happy experiences working here and I can express easily my own feelings.

I hope to send a letter to Mr. Jose one day. I can also share my local stories from here and from my native place.

My apology to write this letter to you and send it through fax. This is the only way for me to reach you.

And I am thankful to my employer _ _ _ _ for letting me use of the fax machine. She is so kind to me.

Respectfully yours,
_ _ _

P.S My employer is also writer, she wrote some comments on Chinese paper. I forgot to let her read my letter first before sending this to you. By the way I am 27 years old. I will be grateful to have Mr. Jose mailing Address.

Thank you. 

Saying so much in so little.

When I read this, I remembered Maria, who worked for my family from when I was 4 to 10 years old.

My parents had a veritable library, through which she sped with ferocious intensity, having after all nothing but long, tedious hours at home with two kids. Delia Smith recipes from a fat tome, Encyclopedia Britannica, mystery novels— my mom in particular liked knowing Maria had something else to pass her time, and that someone was making use of the book collection. In her bedroom were two large drawers full of novels she’d bought, standing at attention, quite like the orderly rows of magazine paper rolls she’d glued together to make a tissue box case (she did this for all our tissue boxes, with mom’s issues of Her World). 

We didn’t agree on many things. She wanted me to like Madonna and swing on the monkey bars. Instead I was jamming plastic heels onto Barbie and hiding Robovites inside the living room calendar. I was an indoorsy girly-girl, she was a pop-belting diva who grew up with the smell of the sea. 

Still, writing and reading we did like. She found my made-up lyrics for a Celine Dion song, and was excited, but I was too embarrassed and snatched the paper back. The same with the booklets I made with stories and illustrations of my hamsters, whose names, Buona and Buono, she had suggested. She cried sometimes when reading novels (almost as much as when we watched My Girl), and I did too towards the end of our time in the same household, but at that age I wanted to pretend, being a snooty child, that really we had nothing in common. 

Helen & Carol

She has celebrated 13 birthdays with me, and though she has left the household, she is family. My strongest memory is of waking up in the middle of the night, seeing her familiar silhouette sitting crossed-legged on the floor, writing letters to her pen-pal-boyfriend, mum or daughter. Years later when I was a university student in Australia, I wrote letters to her in the Philippines. Now, we send each other facebook messages.

She’s been working for our family for well over six years. She’s nice, dependable, and basically she has become part of the family now.

But there was this one time in December 2008, when I came back to Bandung for the first time after finishing my first semester. I came home and was shocked to hear that mom had fired her. The reason? Because she wants to take a month-long break. In the end the house became what Indonesians call “kapal pecah”, an equivalent of “a Titanic”.

Don’t get me wrong, mom isn’t one of those evil employers who yells at their maid every minute. In fact, mom adored her and they clicked really well. I think it’s because she smiles alot, and mom likes that. But she can be quite touchy when it comes to work. So when she asked for a break, mom saw that as “being unprofessional”.

“Don’t worry, I can take care of the house all by myself. It’s gonna be fine,” mom said. I didn’t buy it, after seeing how messy the house was.

So I talked her out of it, reminding mom that she can never find another maid whom she can trust so much. Or who would work for the family for years, considering that the previous maid we had quit after just one year. And sure enough mom agreed to have her back into the family. Up until now, the house is still squeaky clean, all thanks to her.

“I’m glad, you came back, Fan. Your mom had been the nicest employer I’ve ever had…so it was hard for me to leave you guys.”

“Haha, don’t mention it. You’re like a family to us.”

GSK

Yati, my maid, was a little apprehensive about us getting a dog. We asked her repeatedly whether she would be fine with it, but she always consented with the consideration that the dog would hopefully not jump on her too much. 

Since buying our beautiful golden retriever two years ago, Yati and Asterix have become inseparable. While the rest of the family are out they spend the whole day together and if we are out late they even sleep in the same room.

It’s a real pleasure watching them chase each other around the house. 

AB

We couldn’t resist :P

Maid By Me Team

I’d like to think I’ve always been a friend to my helper, Claudette. When I still lived at home with my parents, I made it a point to talk to her a little every day or to abandon dinner plans outside if she’d already started cooking. I didn’t want to waste her efforts or hurt her feelings if I could help it.

But I haven’t thought of Claudette much since moving out.

There are 5216 photos across my iPhoto albums: funny signs, parties, new places, smiling faces. But this is the only one I have of Claudette. It’s not glamorous or flattering. It’s not even properly focused. Here she is inspecting Cookie’s tail because he had an infection— she loved him as if he were a child, the way we did, and I know I snapped this not because of her but because of him.

She’s in a cap because she was outside gardening; I guess I didn’t go out that day because I thought it was too hot.

This weekend when I visit, I should probably take some proper pictures. Years have gone by and I’m surprised I never thought of it till now.

Dawn T

We had a pair of African grey parrots at home who learnt to tell me to “do your work” in a Filipino accent. Because that’s how often I was nagged.

Dael

Atedona is more like a second mother to me than a mere domestic helper for the past 6 years. Would never forget the days when I would come home from school only at wee hours of the night to find dinner in the micro-oven waiting for me, or for her to be waiting up for me before going to bed. Whenever I’m stressed, I know that she will always be there to give a soothing word or for me to just talk to and feel better. 

Mscandid

She collects my parcels from the postman and automatically hides them in my room, away from the judging eyes of my parents.

She sends me a text on days my grandmother dictates that dinner will be something unappetising, like stale vegetables and leftover chicken, and I buy chicken wings on my way home and we munch on them sneakily in the backyard.

She tells us the neighbourhood gossip, heard through the backyard grapevine from the other maids.

Sometimes, when I’m at work and I need to make an i-banking transaction, I give her a call and tell her “ok press the red button now”.

She can crush, chop, blend and cook the meanest garlic chilli sauce in Singapore.

She sits on a stool next to the sofa and watches that Taiwanese drama serial with my grandmother, every day at 7pm, and gasps at every atrocity that happens on screen.

Angelene