*This is a piece I wrote for an essay-writing contest with a theme "My Icon, My Hero". Of course I did not win, but I think this is still worth sharing -- especially because it's yaya's birthday today. :)
Beef stick. Gordon blues. Pancit cantoon. I scratched my head for a moment and laughed to myself. Yaya’s grocery list never gets old. I scurried around the supermarket to look for beef steak, cordon bleu, and canton noodles. I came home proud with bagsful of groceries only to hear Yaya point out all the mistakes I had made again – wrong brands, wrong sizes, wrong colors (green Ligo sardines, not red!). I fought the urge to say, “Whatever, yahyah! Your list was full of mistakes too yahyah!” Of course I opted to stay silent to save the list for my future entertainment.
From a humble barrio in Catanduanes to our doorstep came this proud Bicolana with curly hair and a signature mole on her chin. Yaya Baby has been with our family for 22 years now. That’s how old I am too. She was our nanny when my sisters and I were little kids, and as we grew older she became our beloved cook and house keeper. Though she has lived with us for so long, we don’t really know exactly how old she is for she just giggles at us whenever we ask. She never got to marry and raise her own family (there’s still a chance though, having those textmates here and there), because she has devoted most of her life in service to our family. Yaya is, without a doubt, the unsung hero of our home.
Our memories as children are never complete without side stories about the yaya who helped raise us. My personal favorite is how despite being a skinny girl now, I was once a chubby child because my yaya was fat. And it’s true. Yaya used to force all the food into my mouth while constantly accusing me of “parking” (i.e. sucking all the juice out of the food for 15 minutes before swallowing). She would not let me play sungka with my best friend until I was done with my long and tortuous process of grinding food – so she played with my best friend instead. She was the classic Filipino nanny: she put sili on my pacifier so that I would stop using it at five years old, threatened me that an aswang would come in from my window and kidnap me if I didn’t sleep in the afternoon, warned me that Papa Jesus would be angry whenever I did something wrong. Indeed, classic evil fat yaya she was in the eyes of a child, but an effective one at that. My parents loved her.
We carried on with our childhood and Yaya was like an extra parent, but one who was obliged to perform the nitty-gritties of our little bratty requests. When our dad bought us this tri-cycled bike, Yaya had to pedal it up our steep street as I sat on the side car, instructing her to pedal faster. While my mom helped me with my cross-stitch project in Grade 4, Yaya also had to sew me a perfect set of Chinese jackstones to play with during recess time. Yaya also took on the very stressful task of dragging us from bed every morning for school, for which she deserves a best actress award in the “pretend-in-panic-that-it’s-already-late” tactic. Indeed, she had her own distinct role in my life when I was young. She could never replace my parents, but my parents could never replace her either.
As we grew up and graduated from the nanny stage, Yaya assumed the new responsibilities of cooking and cleaning in the household. Her exceptional work ethic and loyalty to my parents did not waver. My mom trained her equally well and taught her how to pray. Being sociable and unreserved, Yaya started to become popular around the neighborhood, known as Ate Babes to security guards, tinderas, drivers and other household helpers. Sooner or later she became the most in-demand ninang for their children. Then from being ninang ng bayan she also earned the title of “utangan ng bayan”, as she never refused to lend the little of what money she has to people ranging from village maintenance workers to my very own grandmother. Yaya also sought out other new fulfilling activities such as leading the household helpers’ choir for our church. Such deeds outside her regular duties make her shine and be valued by many in our community.
Yaya’s bloopers and idiosyncrasies are as priceless as her hard work. Lots of times would one of my sisters or I catch her off-guard, dancing alone in front of the mirror to Boom-tarat-tarat, snapping her fingers and clucking her tongue at the same time. She’s also the ultimate clutter-keeper, saving all of our junk such as paperbags, boxes and old thingamajigs, resurrecting our old stuff that we desperately try to get rid of (I would throw away used-up pens only to find them on my desk again the next day). She loves to narrate stories verbatim, repeating what this or that person said even though she doesn’t really have a point – so my sisters and I would crack up and she would always think it was because her story was funny. She also has this super-advanced body clock (grown out of habit in trying to wake us up in the morning) – so when she says it’s 11am already, that means it’s only 10am.
Today, after 22 years, Yaya is no longer as strong and as sharp as she used to be, but she is still yaya in every sense of the word: full of character, caring, nagging, pakialamera, chismosa, “ma-beauty” as she always likes to say, a good entertainer of guests and friend of our suitors. She still secretly cooks pancit cantoon for us for merienda even though my mom disapproves of the MSG. More importantly, she has evolved to become a GURU of household helpers. She may not be the most educated or intelligent woman, but trust me when I say that she has already earned a Ph.D. in nannyhood. Really, people like Yaya epitomize the raw essence of what it means to serve. She is a rare find and a blessing to our home. And while she has made all the classic horrifying mistakes one can possibly think of (name it, she made it!) – like burning a hole through an expensive dress while ironing it, throwing away my homework accidentally, pleading guilty in perhaps 50% of all broken glasses, and even reading my sister’s diary while cleaning her room – my heart overflows with love and gratitude for Yaya and the selflessness she has shown to my family all these years.
More often than not we talk about our parents or friends being heroes of our personal lives, and we seldom recognize other heroes in the background who work just as hard in building us a safe and loving home – like our household helpers. True enough, the Filipino yaya has been the object of humor in local movies and sitcoms, for they bring color to our life stories with their English accents and silly antics. Without us being aware of it, they have become true icons of Philippine culture. We also acknowledge the diligence and sacrifice of our OFWs, who make known the quality of alagang Pinoy to the world. I would therefore like to take this opportunity to honor and applaud all the hardworking household helpers out there – those who guard the house while the family is out for vacation, hold the cameras to take the family pictures, clean up the mess after a big party, and above all, who were there to help raise our children. Obviously, Angelina could not have risen to fame without her yaya. So thank you, Yaya, and all household helpers here and abroad. You are the hidden heroes of Filipino society.
