My Second Mother

I recently experienced my first true loss of someone close to me. My helper from the Philippines finally retired after being with my family my whole life. I had lost relatives before, but I was never as close with any of them as I was to my helper. Although she didn’t necessarily “pass away”, I had lost a part of my life that consistently was there every day since the day I was born, plunging me into emotions of emptiness, confusion, and uncertainty.

I grew up in Hong Kong and now live in Singapore, where it is common to have domestic helpers or maids. However, I never really liked the term helper, and, since my infancy, my family would always call her “Yiy,i” which meant auntie in Chinese. Yiyi was not a helper, but rather a second mother, somebody who loved me from the day I was born, and somebody whom I loved dearly as well. When my parents were away on business trips when I was younger, Yiyi would take my brother and me all around Hong Kong. Our trips to the zoo, public library, and more are some of the best and most defining memories of my childhood. I found comfort in Yiyi’s embrace, in seeing her every day before I left for school and every day when I came home. As a child, my experiences with her shaped the pure and innocent love that I felt for her. I was attracted by the immense care she gave me as well as her cheerful and colorful personality. I knew that Yiyi loved me as well, but it wasn't until after she left that I fully realized the sacrifice that she had to make, that her love for me didn’t come without a price.

Something that she said on her last night with my family truly hit me hard. She said that back home, her own grandchildren would not hug or greet her like my brother and I would regularly. That she even felt closer to my brother and I then her own grandchildren. This really made me realize the immense sacrifices that she had to make in order to help support her family, sacrificing her own relationship with her grandchildren and being away from home for so long. Although this made me feel almost guilty at first, for robbing her of a relationship with her grandchildren, I found comfort in knowing that she would now be able to make up for lost time and enjoy her family’s company while also always holding onto the special relationship that connected us.

It never occurred to me how special my relationship with her was, but during these past few years, on visits to my other friend’s houses, seeing their interactions with their helper, it hit me how close I was with my Yiyi, realizing that what I shared with her was something extremely precious and something that I should work to treasure. However, I had this treasure for my whole life, it was a norm to me, and therefore I began treating it like something that would always be there, like an everyday thing rather than the invaluable treasure it really was.

I will admit that before learning that Yiyi would be retiring, I didn’t appreciate and spend as much time in her company as I wish I had. It wasn't until the last couple of weeks that my mind finally clicked and realized how she would be leaving my life soon. My brain was unable to fathom the fact that she would not be there at the counter in the morning, talking to me as I ate breakfast, or inside the kitchen asking if I wanted a snack after school. I eventually realized that no matter how desperately I wanted to go back in time, either to relive my happy memories with her as a child or to say one more “I love you” and show my immense appreciation for her, I would not be able to. That the best thing I could do was to make the most of the time left with her, to savor the “normal” days that remained before I had to enter uncharted territory. I tried my best to help her celebrate the times we have had together, to show my appreciation for her, and to make sure that our last days together would be the best days. But no matter how hard I tried, on our last night together, my brother and I couldn’t hold back the tears and let our emotions out, our tears softly falling onto her shirt as we both held her as tightly as we had as toddlers before. It was the first time I had truly cried in over a year.

As my family sent Yiyi through check-in and watched her walk away into the airport, I knew that a new chapter of my life had just begun. I thought back to the many memories I made with her as well as the unique connection that we shared. Even though we were not related by blood, culture, or even backgrounds, we were able to build such a strong and deep connection, a love that transcends everything. This moment shaped my identity immensely; it taught me a new level of gratitude for the people who care about me and the sacrifices that they make. This moment also taught me flexibility, strengthening my ability to adapt and even welcome change. Instead of staying hung up or regretful on the times in the past where I could’ve spent with Yiyi, I instead look towards the future, how not only is this change the best thing for Yiyi’s future, but also an opportunity for me to grow and become a more independent and resilient person. All of this with the comfort in my heart that our love for each other would transcend any distance that comes between us. That this moment with Yiyi will not be a goodbye, but merely a see you later.