Marites Santiago stood by the 30th floor window of a luxury apartment in Hong Kong, wiping the glass until it gleamed. Below her, the city buzzed with double-decker buses, neon lights, and the rush of a place that never seemed to pause. From up here, the world looked polished and perfect. But in her heart, Marites carried the weight of a quiet sacrifice.
Back in her province of Iloilo, Marites had lived a simple life with her husband and two children. She used to run a smal sari-sari store while her husband drove a tricycle. It was enough to survive, but never enough to move forward. When their daughter got sick and needed surgery, they borrowed money from neighbors and relatives. The debt piled up, and so did the pressure.
One evening, over a dinner of tried galunggong and rice, her husband gently said, Kung gusto mo, ikaw na lang ang mag-abroad. Mas malaki ang kita mo doon bilang kasambahay. Marites didn’t answer immediately. The idea of leaving her young children behind was unbearable. But the bills didn’t stop coming.
A few months later, she was on a plane for the first time in her life, headed to Hong Kong with nothing but a suitcase, a contract, and prayers whispered between tears.
The work was hard. Her employers was kind, but firm. She had to clean a three bedroom flat, cook Chinese meals she had never even tasted before, and care for two energetic children. The language barrier was frustrating. She was constantly afraid of making mistakes. She cried in the bathroom, missing her kids, laughter, her husband’s corny jokes, and the sound of rain on their tin roof. But Marites was determined.
She learned to cook dumplings, handle laundry like a pro, and even picked up basic Cantonese to communicate better. On Sundays, her only day off, she joined other Filipinas in Central Park. They shared food, stories, and tears. It was a sisterhood born out of longing.
Every month, she sent money home enough to cover the surgery, buy school uniforms, and slowly repay their debts. Her children started calling her super nanay in their letters. Her husband sent voice messages telling her how proud he was. It made the long hours and loneliness worth it.
In her third year, she saved enough to renovate their house new floors, a proper kitchen, and even a small TV for her children. When she received a photo of her kids in their new school shoes, smiling brightly, she cried. Not from sadness, but from fulfillment.
Five years later, when she finally came home for good, her greeted her at the airport with a hand painted sign: Welcome Home, Our Hero! Marites hugged them tightly, realizing that while she had spent years cleaning someone else’s home, she had been building her own future all along.
Now, she runs a small eatery in Iloilo, using the cooking skills she learned abroad. And every time a young woman asks her if going overseas is worth it, she says, It’s not easy, but if it’s for love, for family it’s a journey that shapes your soul.
