The Cinderella and I

My Filipino maid is a Cinderella of modern days. In no way does she look like the Cinderella that was the true owner of the pair of magic-glass-slippers. Her wind-beaten harsh face is not sweet, demure or gentle. She does not like small animals nor love the wicked stepmother, the two ugly stepsisters nor anybody else other than her family. She smokes secretly whenever possible and she is very impatient. The only reason she is Cinderella is because her name is Cindy, short for Cinderella. According to her, Cinderella is a very common name for a Filipino lady.

Please do not think I write this article to ridicule Cindy. No, no, I do not dislike nor hate my former maid. In fact I do have a certain degree of respect and admiration for her. The following anecdotes will explain it all.

First let me introduce Cindy's background. Cindy is a graduate of Political Science from the University of Philippians. Cindy is also an experienced farmer. Her father owes a large farm in one of the 7,107 islands around the Philippine Archipelago in the western Pacific Ocean. Besides that, Cindy loves to sing, she is a good wife and has two children.

Cindy was not born to be a maid. In fact she was born a princess to her family. She was forced to become a maid by circumstances. The country's economy was down to the bottom. Her daughter needed tuition money. Her handsome husband Romeo was too idealistic to take a blue-collared job to provide for the family. Cindy could not ask her family for help. She told me twenty years ago she was disowned by her father when she insisted on marrying the 'good for nothing' band boy Romeo.

The politically inclined Cindy could not get a permanent job. She talked little but whenever she opened her mouth she criticized people and made enemies. Since she started to work (after marrying Romeo, her handsome band boy) she changed jobs more than twenty times. Finally Cindy decided to become an export-maid to gain revenue for her country and income for her family.

Cindy was over forty when she came to Malaysia. As it was her first time to be an export-maid, she could not get to those countries where maids received better pay like USA, Canada or even Hong Kong. She came to Malaysia full of dissatisfaction and disillusioned with life as a whole.

It was 1995 when I first met Cindy. I needed a maid as I was a working mother with three kids. My husband worked overseas at that time. Cindy replaced my former maid who was called back by her family due to a family crisis. I had a good first impression of Cindy. She was quiet while I was too busy to make small talk. Cindy was fluent in English and that was good for my children. With her farming skill Cindy liked to work in the garden and did all the gardening I always wanted to do but could not afford the time. Cindy never played with the children and that was fine with me. I did not mind the fact that I had to wake Cindy up every morning, as I was always nicknamed the alarm-clock since young.

Very soon I discovered the quiet Cindy had a loud voice. For some reason, maybe it was to avoid extra work; she just did not want to talk with my family. She talked over the phone loudly and excitedly. At that time hand phones cost a bomb so she was using the house phone. Her phone calls disturbed me even though she offered to pay for the bill.

As she was using her Pilipino dialect, I would know what she was arguing, scolding, joking or chitchatting. Moreover it annoyed me to see her leaving the water running, the soup boiling or whatever she was doing halfway to yak over the phone. I decided to put a stop to this. No more calling out from the house. She had a day out every weekend, so she could make all the phone calls back home at the public phone booths. I did allow her to take short or urgent calls. From then onwards, I had a nightmare of phone-call wars with her.

My phone bill soared high; whenever I rang home the phone was engaged. I confronted her but she rebelliously denied. When she was with me for a second year, I bought a device to lock the zero on the phone. So she could not make international calls. I tested the device and rang home, I still got the engaged tone. Finally I was too tired so I surrendered on that issue.

I was surprised when Cindy asked me if she could use my old portable typewriter in the attic. I was surprised that my maid shared my one and only hobby, writing. Surprised she had gone through my things, even those long forgotten things well stored in the attic.

I had used the portable typewriter all through my college years and the pre-computer years. I could still remember those tender and frustrated moments that I spent with it. The typewriter tenderly shared my dreams of my youth of becoming a writer. The typewriter witnessed my frustration of using correction fluid every five minutes. I suppose only people who did creative writing on a typewriter can understand the problem of thinking and typing simultaneously. One could make a thousand and one spelling and grammatical errors, and each one had to be corrected manually. I kept the typewriter for sentimental value.

When Cindy requested for the typewriter, my reaction was mixed. I was glad someone would make used of its service again. I was sad I could not say no while I did not want to part with it. Anyway I agreed. The next moment I regretted for doing so.

As soon as I agreed, Cindy moved the typewriter into her room. From then onwards, she was out of the room only if it was absolutely necessarily. She came out to deal with the laundry in the mornings. She also cleaned the house a little.

As my husband and I were away working and the children were all at school we never knew how much time she spent on this job. I only knew the house was not as clean as it should be. I had to point out spider webs and dusty areas before they are dealt with.

She stopped doing gardening totally. She helped to prepared dinner in the evenings. After washing up she locked herself in the room straight away. Well, I had to satisfy myself with a part time maid for a full time cost in the name of helping to nurture another writer. At the end of the three years span she stayed with me, Cindy requested to take the typewriter back. By then the typewriter was so much hers, I agreed.

What was Cindy writing? When she was in a good mood she told me she typed love letters to her romantic Romeo. She wrote encouraging letters to her children. She sent protests on social issues to the local (her hometown) newspaper. Finally, she kept sending letters to voice her opinions to the Filipino political leaders, hoping that one day she would make good use of her Political Science degree. She was definitely disappointed for she never received even a single reply from these VIPs.

On her second year in Malaysia, to make use of her political knowledge and her leadership qualities, Cindy started to give advice to her fellow Filipino maids around the neighborhood. She advised the maids not to use chlorinated detergents to be environmentally friendly. She taught them to fight for their rights and fix their working hours. She told them to demand good nourishing meals. She organized outings to nearby scenic spots on Sundays, their official off days. However, the outings became further and further from home, and the maids went back later and later.

On Cindy's third year stay with me, she became even more like a trouble maker in the neighborhood. The last straw came when my neighbor (note, not a friend) Soraya had some misunderstandings with her young Filipino maid. Cindy acted as a leader and told the maid to run off. Soraya was not an easy woman to deal with. She was really annoyed and became so mad she rang me up and told me the whole story. I politely answered that I did not know anything about it and I did not want to get involved either.

Angrily, Soraya came straight to the front gate of my house and scolded Cindy. Cindy shouted back and they really made an embarrassing scene for me when the neighbors all came round to watch the fight. They became real enemies.

I did not know how Soraya threatened Cindy. However, Cindy was worried, later she said to me," What if on my off day she uses her car to knock me down? I am a foreigner and her husband is a lawyer¡­"

By this time I had enough of this Cinderella and was not sympathetic at all. I told her as she caused the problem so she had to take care of herself. Cindy really suffered. Every Sunday, Cindy left the house later and came back before dark. She was worried about her own safety. When she came back, she would tell her adventures of passing Soraya's house. How she was cursed and stared at. How Soraya's car passed so near her and so on. I took all her stories with a pinch of salt.

When Cindy's contract was over at the end of that year, I wished her good luck and let her off. I gave her a gold chain as gift for her three years of service. She took it but was obviously not grateful. I have never heard from her since. After Cindy, I never employ another foreign maid in the house.