Mary Jane

The stay-at-home yaya left for the province early last week. Her absence would make life difficult for the family. With most of our daily needs - laundry management, house cleaning, cooking meals relied on her, our easy life surely would come to an end.

All that is left was the lesbian driver whose violent fights with the maid, made her the antagonist. Relationships were still tense even though it already thawed when she fixed the main power switch one time it sparked. To be sure that  someone would run the house without the maid around, my mom asked an ex-yaya (who lives with her husband and four kids in our old house) for help.  She would check us from time to time, between her duties as a housewife.

We also enlisted the help of a guy, whose increasing presence has already made him a de-facto assistant in the house. He used to be my mom's student when he was in college. He was also my tutor until I learned to study during exams on my own.



The first days went by without a hitch. There were seven of us in the house and mouths were fed on  time and with sumptious meals. It was the lesbian driver who cooked the food. After several days, the big chunks of meat, which were hard to chew now melts in your mouth. The much fatter Lumpiang Shanghai even tastes better.

The living room, once the pinnacle of sloppiness is now squeaky clean. The cracked floor was always polished and the trash taken out once the bins are full. Even the dog who loves tearing strangers' skin only went out to poop. Everything was running well and we didn't even have to ask the ex-yaya to come and  intervene.

These welcome changes didn't escape the watchful eyes of the lords of the house. Twice, I told my mom how I felt ashamed leaving the dirty dishes on the table. Turns out, it was the same sentiment of my sister and her husband. After eating their meals, they now leave the sala clean.

For the first time in many months, I was forced to clean my plate after I have eaten. My obsession with order had reached heights never before seen,  I even tried washing the greasy pan when the lesbian driver fried something.

This new-found respect for someone I had previously thought to be on the verge of leaving opened my eyes to the people who should be given a chance. I cannot deny that the lesbian's violent tendencies swept all my sympathies. And her binge drinking, though seldom, made me doubt the company she keeps. 

But in the days we needed her most - and her male sidekick - the lesbian driver never failed to deliver. Not only did she run the house like a Swiss-made wristwatch, we too learned to give up something for the house to remain at peace.

Following the recent near-miss of typhoon Chedeng, I thought the maid would ask for extra days for her to come home. Her absence didn't matter really, we're doing well without her around. And just when the lesbian driver appreciation days resume, I woke up to another voice this morning after asking what's in for lunch.

"Menudo..." It was the maid who answered. She got bored in the province and decided to go home earlier than what she promised.

And with her return, everything will be back to normal. But each time I see the driver quietly passes on her way to her quarters, I will always remember how her fine work brought us closer to learning that we could actually stand up for ourselves.