Tag Archives: Nanny

Looking Back (and Giving Back)

Service

Service

I met my godchild, by phone, for the first time.  She is the daughter of my nanny.  She is now 20 years old.

And she wanted money from me.

She told me in not very many words.  Ninang pautangGodmother, can I borrow money? It was masked as a loan, although the message, I think, is clear.

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I Thought I Was Saving with Breastmilk

The Other Half

I had full faith in it.

Twice (or even thrice) a day, on a work day, my door would close and I would be enveloped in the womb of my office, in semi-darkness, lost in my thoughts or looking at the sky (which, surprisingly, is many shades of blue), my right hand in constant motion, pumping.  My efforts would be rewarded by the gurgle of a small stream of white froth.  I would smile and continue to muster all the love that I have so that it will nourish the froth, while my eyes, although mirroring the clouds in the distance, seek the slopes of my memory for my son’s face.

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