By Rex Catubig

 

WE call them maid, boy, or katulong, now better known as kasambahay—short for kasama sa bahay–literally, house companion, euphemism for servant, househelp. However condescendingly they are called, they are an indispensable part of the Filipino household.

Back in the day, our family had a handyman, a housemaid, and a laundry woman.

My balikbayan vacations were a breeze owing to a temporary kasambahay who pampered me: breakfast was ordered the night before, my laundry bag was emptied before it filled up, the kitchen and dining area where I received guests was kept spotless, and she made it a point to remind me when we’re short of rice lest I probably starve.

But all that changed when I retired and decided to reside here.

Years abroad had reconfigured my lifestyle. I was conditioned to do things on my own—cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, and running errands. I have brought that lifestyle here.

But it does not mean that I have completely weaned off myself from the househelp syndrome. Having my own house now, I find cleaning quite overwhelming, watering plants quite a chore, and doing laundry, a gargantuan task. In the States, my office clothes—suit, shirt, pants, ties were all laundered at work. I just washed my manties and homewear at home.

So now, instead of having a lavandera, I have my soiled clothes picked up by a laundry service and delivered the same day already folded. And because of my garden, I hired a part-time gardener.

My household is presided over by a cleaning lady who works half a day— just making my room, dusting, mopping the floor, and washing dishes. Cooking is something I like to do on my own—it’s a habit and a choice. I can manage without a cook.

My kasambahay Sisang, the fourth since I moved here, has proven good enough for my purpose.

Looking back, my first one, Connie, was a prize find. She was the epitome of a well-rounded, multi-tasking househelp. She had a clockwork routine, coming in at six thirty when I would still be in la la land. By the time I was up, she had already watered the plants, swept the yard and was ready to tackle the world. She thought nothing of climbing up a stool to wipe clear the French doors and windows.

But one day, I caught her lying on the bench in the lanai. She said she was dizzy and needed to use the bathroom. She staggered as she came in. But when she stepped out, I noticed her face was lopsided and her mouth drooping as she spoke. She was having a stroke. I called the Disaster Center and an ambulance whisk her off within minutes.

The doctor at the hospital, when asked if I could keep her, advised me that it was not a good idea as the chance of another episode could happen any time.

She was a tough act to follow. I wasn’t as lucky with the others I hired after her. Until the epiphany of Sisang came along.

Sisang is in her second year going on to third now. She shares my OCPD to a fault. Sometimes, I would be close to tearing my hair because I couldn’t find my stuff that she had rearranged and placed elsewhere.

Beware what you wish for. But she is as good as it gets.

Yet I am heartbroken that this species of selfless servers is on the verge of extinction. Years of serving families have kept them stagnant with no growth in sight. Even their earning remains rock bottom. In this scenario, the inroads of social media have bred healthy discontent. Thus, unfazed by their meager education, they are drawn to the lure of opportunities in the land of Oz. They have metamorphosed into ubiquitous Overseas Foreign Workers– on their way to self-realization and self-worth.

It would be hard to let them go. But we owe them at least a wish for good luck.

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