An OFW Daughter’s Perspective

by Rizza Lee
Singapore

She is in her mid 20's, a fashion-plate with designer clothes bought from different corners of the globe. Sweet, witty, and pretty, she is my friend who confides to me not for advice, but to have somebody who can see her in a different perspective.

When she was eight, her parents worked separately in two different European countries. When she was ten, her parents separated and she grew up under the tutelage of her grandmother.

“Who cares? As long as he gives me a good amount of sustento,” was her remark about her father who had re-married and already had his second family abroad.

My friend’s mother came home for a few days once in a couple of years. At age 52, she was still working quite hard out there to spoil my friend with worldly materials.

Spoiled enough, she was! She had four different active cell phones. She used each phone with a different boy friend. This arrangement, according to her, helped avoid confusion of sweet talks and text messages. She also dated several married guys and a few managers in our company.

People either loved her or hated her. She had a ‘bad girl’ reputation which she created herself and heedlessly flaunted. Although most of my female colleagues hated her, I thought of her as a little girl who managed to hide her pains through the attention of an entourage of boy friends who adored her.

One day in the office, she seemed annoyed while talking to her mom on the phone. When she put down the phone, she looked at me and sighed deeply.

“Nakakainis! My mom wants to come home next month--- for good.”

I said, “That would be great!”

But I stopped talking when she continued to say jokingly, “Ayoko nga, noh! I’m not used to having her around. Hay naku, di bale, I will try my best para makisama. She might not give me pasalubong at pera pag inaway ko.”

More than a month had passed and I noticed her coming to work early and working late at night. I was curious how she and her mom were getting along. I asked her about her mom while we were having lunch.

“Naku, gusto ba naman tumabi sa akin sa pagtulog! Tapos sa umaga, she makes me a tuna sandwich kasi healthy daw. Di ba n’ya alam na I don’t eat tuna? Eto pa ha, she prepares my clothes for me kahit di nya rin alam kung ano gusto kong isuot. Hay naku! I hope she stops doing those things, kasi she’s treating me like the kid I was when she left me. That’s why I go home late and come to work early para maiwasan ang encounter.”

I responded to her, “But I don’t think you should be giving her that ill-deserved punishment. Sabi nga nila, the more you hate your parents, the more you become like them, or even worse!”

My laconic comment stunned her to silence. Then she asked, “Uy mare, totoo ba ‘yan?”

“Ewan, pero marami na akong kakilala na ganun ang nangyayari. Alam mo mare, when we were kids, LOVE was spelled TIME in our eyes. Now that we’ve grown-up, and our parents have aged, they realize that at this point in our lives, we were right all along. Love is time spent together.”

During that time, I was planning to work abroad myself so I could afford to provide for more than just my children’s basic needs. My own advice was reflected back to me. As her mother had done, I was also about to brave separation from my own children and work abroad in the hope of giving them a good life.

Was it really all worth it? Would they ever understand? Would they ever see beyond the desertion that I had only the best intentions for them?

Aware of my friend’s perspective as a daughter, I made a promise to myself that wherever I go, my family would come with me and we would always be together. It would be a lot riskier but it was a risk I was most prepared to take.

Two months ago, my friend sent me an email. An excerpt of it says: “I have learned to accept and not to fight back what is happening. And I felt better. I’m just starting to do it, mare. And we are both struggling to be comfortable with each other. All these years, my mom was a stranger to me.”

I felt both happy and sad for her. Happy – because she seemed to have become a new person who had finally figured out her life. Sad – because she felt that her mother was a stranger to her.
The words might not have been spoken, but her mother must have surely felt it. What else could be more painful to a mother who had sacrificed the best years of her life working as an OFW in a foreign land?

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