Rowena “Weng” Bautista had lived most of her life in the rice fields of Nueva Ecija, where the air was fresh and the rhythm of life was slow. But when her husband’s income as a farmer could no longer sustain their children’s schooling, she decided to work abroad. With the help of a recruitment agency, she found herself in Hong Kong, working as a housekeeper for a Chinese family living in a high-rise apartment in Kowloon.
The adjustment was immediate and demanding. Hong Kong was fast-paced, crowded, and noisy the opposite of her rural hometown. Weng’s daily tasks included cleaning the apartment, washing clothes, preparing meals, and walking the family’s dog. The apartment wasn’t very big, but the expectations were high. Every corner had to be spotless, every meal had to be ready on time, and every task had to be done with precision.
Her employer, Mrs. Chan, was strict but fair. At first, Weng struggled with the language barrier, often resorting to gestures or broken English to communicate. She would write down phrases in a small notebook and practice them at night. Over time, she learned enough Cantonese to understand basic instructions. Her effort did not go unnoticed, and Mrs. Cahn grew to respect her dedication.
One of Weng’s biggest challenges was the loneliness. In her tiny room at night, she often cried quietly, thinking of her children back home. She missed the sound of roosters crowing in the morning, the laughter of her kids, and the comfort of her husband’s company. But she reminded herself why she came to give her children the education she never had.
Sundays became her lifeline. On her only day off, she would join other Filipino workers gathering at Central. There, under the skyscrapers, they spread mats on the ground, shared home-cooked meals, sang karaoke, and laughed together. For a few hours, the streets of Hong Kong transformed into a piece of the Philippines. Those moments gave her strength for the week ahead.
Despite the physical exhaustion, Weng found fulfillment in small victories. The Chans youngest son, David, grew fond of her. He would often follow her around, asking questions about her life in the Philippines. When she taught him simple Filipino words like salamat and kumusta, his parents were surprised and amused. For Weng, those interactions were not just part of her work they were glimpses of humanity and connection that eased her longing for her own children.
After two years, Weng renewed her contract. By then, she had managed to save enough to start building a small concrete house in Nueva Ecija. Every peso she sent home as a brick laid for her children’s future. She knew she was missing milestones, but she held on the hope that her sacrifices would one day be rewarded.
One evening, as she stood on the apartment balcony overlooking Victoria Harbour, the glittering skyline reminded her of both her sacrifice and her strength. She whispered to herself, Someday, I will walk back home, not as the woman who left, but as the mother who endured.
Her story was not just about being housekeeper in Hong Kong; it was about resilience, love, and the unshakable dream of a better tomorrow.
