November 2010. Hong Kong was a different kind of departure. I was no longer a daughter seeking her fortune, but a mother carrying a future not my own. The weight was terrifying, yet it empowered me. My son’s picture was a constant ache in my heart, the reason I was here. But my mission was complex—I also carried my family back home, a balance every overseas worker knows.

 

I pause here, wondering if I can finish this. Reliving this is painful. But I press on. Okay, let’s go on.

 

So, there I was. A Domestic Helper in my second country. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine being a servant, but this was the reality I had chosen. I endured because the salary—a lifeline for my son—was far more than any office job in the Philippines could offer. I smile now. If you are reading this, I hope you find the strength to keep going in your own struggles.

 

My employer’s family included a couple, their two young children, and the grandmother. The grandma was inherently mistrustful, her suspicion a cage left by a previous helper. I was forbidden to touch anything. Not the stove. Not my own food. She prepared my meals: pre-cooked items from the supermarket, frozen, then reheated. During the cold Hong Kong winter, the damp seeped into my bones. I dreamed of steaming soup, the simple comfort of boiling noodles. It was forbidden. So, I obeyed. What choice did I have?

 

Privacy was a foreign concept. I shared a room with the children—a storage room, really, filled with clothes and boxes. My space was a small corner where I unfolded a folding bed each night. At least I didn’t have to sleep in the kitchen.

 

My routine was simple. Wake up. Make coffee. The electric water heater was a convenience, allowing me the minor rebellion of instant noodles. But real food had to be waited for, prepared by the old lady herself.

 

My duties were to take the children to their school bus, pick them up, and clean. I did not shop or cook. My only kitchen task was helping Grandma prepare ingredients. In a strange way, I suppose she was trying to treat me well.

The problem, as always, was my attitude. I fought for my rights. I can admit it: it’s tough to be an employee with my personality. There is no peace... hehe!!

 

The breaking point came as I cleaned the windowless toilet. I had the light on. Grandma came by and turned it off. I turned it back on. A moment later, she returned, plunging the room into near darkness. I could not stand it.

 

“Why do you keep turning off the light? I am cleaning. I need to see.”

 

“It is daytime. It is bright enough.”

 

“Then you try to clean it yourself without a light.”

 

My defiance was intolerable. She immediately called her daughter. A strange courage came over me. I decided to tease her. I picked up a pen, a notebook, and the telephone handset, pretending to make a call in a low, serious voice. Hehe... I wasn’t calling anyone, but she grew afraid. She knew she was in the wrong.

 

“Are you calling the police?” she asked, anxious.

 

“Why? Are you afraid? Are you afraid if I report this?”

 

Thirty minutes later, her daughter called. “Gen, what happened?”

 

“Ask your mother. She knows.” I said no more. Defending myself would only make it worse. Sometimes, silence is the most powerful statement. I knew what came next.

 

I went to my corner and began packing. I was ready.

 

When the lady boss arrived home, her tone was calm, surprisingly gentle. “Gen, please pack your things. I will take you back to the agency.”

 

“I am ready. Everything is okay now.”

 

The car ride was a heavy silence. She didn’t speak; I didn’t speak. As Hong Kong’s neon lights flashed by, a storm raged in my mind. Is this life for me? Who will my next employer be? Do I still have a chance?

 

The familiar sting of uncertainty. But beneath it, an unshakeable little spark of hope. I had been here before—bags packed, future unknown. I had survived Singapore. I would survive this. My son’s face flashed before me. For him, I would swallow my pride and try again. This was not the end of my story in Hong Kong; it was just a difficult, painful, but necessary turn in the road.

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