Lorna

When she came out of the apartment building, there were on the staircase countless flies dead amongst the cemented ground. Now that her suitcase was strolling behind her back, the flies became curled up within the plastic wheels and ground down to the floor once more, until their bodies began to break down into pieces so small that they became indistinguishable within a sea of dust.

She was tired. She leaned against her valise and sat at the end of the stairwell. If it was not for her ragged dress and her floppy eye pouch, she would have looked like a youth in one of those popular American movies enraged by the tedious repetition of life, determined to pack and leave for an enlightened dream far away. But she was just tired. She looked up and found the ceiling constituted of intertwined staircases, they fell into her eyes and suddenly she realized how uncertain her life would become once she detached herself from them. It began to rain outside; a few vehicles drove by and left the gate. She closed her eyes as she felt the raindrops compiling into a stream of memories invading her perplexed mind.

The decisive dispute happened an hour ago, but her story had to be told from the very start.

She was borne and married in Philippines. She often thought of her life within Philippines in her days later on when she left for Hong Kong. There wasn’t much room for thinking each day when she lived between numerous works, but still she piled up a basket of things from the past: she remembered the Catholic Church she used to attend long ago on a Sunday morning and the beautiful notes of the hymn within; the once sweet and tender shower from the gaze of her lover, her husband years and years before their divorce. She remembered the birth of her daughters, and the new meanings they brought to her life with their presence on earth. She remembered her eldest daughter most clearly…the murky night where she saw her red puffy eyes in the brim of the dim light from the living room through the crack of her door, and that she wanted to embrace her into her chest and struggle against depression with her together. The memory descended into blackness, blurring themselves until they cease to be imprinted in the amnesia of time. But she sought consolation through these blurry spots of solidified time. They were not memories of golden glory, but as cold and dark as they were, she felt warm within and knew that she belonged there.

She left Philippines as a domestic worker to support her family. Once she deemed that her choice of leaving would earn respect amongst her acquaintances and friends, and perhaps it did. She had every reason to go, to leave her home. It was what was necessary and best for everyone. But sometimes she pondered over her decision. Was it wise? She tried to think in various aspects of the question. For herself, she would have to work hard both in Philippine and Hong Kong, yet Hong Kong was filled with more chance of stability as well as wealth, of settling down for a decent job. She would have to leave her family, of course, but she would bring a better life to her family, her daughters, and bring them out of their suffering. Besides, technology solved her conundrum for distance, and she could communicate with her family through her screen. At the end she chose to leave, and for a long time she felt she made the right choice. She encountered an employee who was also a single father, and she took care of his twin. A good relationship was kept between them, she looked after his children day and night, and she loved them as if they were her own.

It was only during one call that she toppled. It was during Christmas. It was a call with her daughter, her eldest daughter. She tucked the twins into bed and sat at the balcony of the bedroom window. She looked out the glass, the Christmas light broke off at the city yonder, it was a beautiful night, and she tried to remember something important at the back of her mind. After a while, her phone rang, and she answered it. It’s me. She heard from the other side of the screen. It was a familiar voice. A voice trembling with fear and bewilderment. Merry Christmas. It’s me, mother, it’s me. The voice went on. She heard from her that her sisters were doing well, they all missed their mother, and that He started a new family, her father. The voice went on for some while again. And then there was a moment of silence. She didn’t know what to say until a deep sob broke in. I miss you. She heard. I couldn’t live like this anymore; I need you here. The voice grew fainter, and every word shook with all their bitter fragility. Please come back to me.

The call ended. She was unable to utter a word. It was at this moment that she finally confronted herself and her choices, and she felt that she would burst into tears. She knew at the instant that she had to return. She had to return to her homeland, her family, her daughters. And she would do anything it takes to do so.The next day she asked for the approval for her to leave. She asked her employer, and he disagreed. Then she begged and begged again, until there was no way out except to choose her path once more. She understood her employer, in some way, she knew he was like her, alone with a heavy burden on their back. But she knew she had to leave, and she did.

She had a hard time struggling to find a second job. When she did, she tried to be part of the family and seek a mutual understanding between them. At first, it all went well, like every relationship at the beginning. Although she worked all day in the house, she sought comfort in taking care of the child and she felt less lonely when communicating with her. They were friends. She remembered once after school, the girl came back and threw herself onto her bed. The girl complained about school in a childlike frustration, she looked at her, and asked, why couldn’t I be a fish? Then I can swim in the vast cerulean ocean and leave my homework behind. She was amused by her naïve imagination, yet at the same time she felt tender and close to her. She sat beside her and said to her softly as she stroked her hair, that she was very lucky. She told her that not everyone may possess the luck to have their family beside them to accompany them and provide them with wealth and happiness. The girl seemed somber, like an empty ballon, and she said that there seemed to be endless challenges and she was exhausted. She was silent for a moment, she looked out the window to the horizon as the sun began to set down behind the mountains. Then she looked at her again, and she whispered to the girl. She told her that she was lucky, not because she didn’t have to face adversities. Everybody does. But she was fortunate, fortunate than many others because she wasn’t alone, because she always had someone beside her to face the challenges together.

Her relationship with her second employer fell apart when she realized that she was never treated as an equal. This may seem sentimental, and as a domestic worker she was used to order and condescension. It was, she thought, after all, a part of her job. But the feeling of discontent in every mistreatment and quarrel, she noticed, both in her employer and herself, piled up into a snowball so heavy that it crushed and annihilated all the sincerity and respect they once held for each other. She always wanted to be part of their family and treat them as if they share the same blood. In return, she received only patronizing accusations when she was late because of traffic and harmful curses when her work was not done as the way she expected. She realized that the idealistic hope for forgiveness and understanding never existed, it was her childlike imagination all along, and she was nothing but a domestic worker that was inferior to them whom they could treat with indifference. She felt absurd sometimes for her struggle for integrity and love, since beginning from her husband to her second employer, her attempt always failed terribly with humiliation. She was shocked by her own perseverance, but at the same time she thought of her daughters and all the harshness she suffered along her journey, and she knew that she couldn’t give up. She brought up to her employer one day, about the annual allowance in their contract for her to return to Philippine. At that time there was only one month left until their employment ends. Yet she refused to give her the ticket and claimed that since there is one month left and she’s terminated, she should in turn pay her back the one-month salary. They fell into a quarrel, and her employer threatened her that she was going to accuse her of stealing her diamond ring. She was stricken with despair. She thought of her family, and what would happen to them if she became entangled within the justice system. She felt like a helpless prey, and she thought of nothing else but to find the police for support. This was how she escaped the house, and now she was all by herself.

The first break of dawn caved in when she pulled herself out of her stream of memories. She walked onto the streets, two rows of building lined beside her, leaving to her only two paths to choose and take. The rain stopped; in front of her the murky night prevailed into the limitless edge of the city and she saw through the crowded rooftops and avenues the vast image of the ocean. Behind her, the sky was colored in amber by the light of the glorious sunrise, but it was too dazzling to be perceived. She hesitated. She felt the darkness invading her skin, and in all the darkness she heard again the voice of the past. Once she sought consolation within the past, a life as a wife, a mother and a domestic worker. Perhaps she still does. But at the same time, she knew she was something more. She gradually turned around. She gazed into the warm, shiny firmament as tears strolled down from her exhausted eyes. She began to walk towards the lightened sky, she did not know what laid beyond her. She only knew that this wasn’t the end of her struggle, but just like the numerous challenges she had confronted before, she knew she wouldn’t give up. She knew that the murky night would always follow her behind, even if she was able to return, to go back to her family and Philippines someday in the future. But she didn’t stop.

She continued her steps, and she walked faster and faster until she began to run. She held up her he’d and glared into the light firmly leaving her tears amongst her cheek. She knew that these memories, jovial or melancholy, were and always will be a part of her that she also knew she would boldly embrace. She knew that perhaps, someday, she would even share this portion of herself with someone, someone who would perhaps listen and write down a story. She knew it would be a story of truth and revelation, a story of a wife, a mother, and a worker. A story all about her life.