Lynette remembered the first time her mother announced that they were getting a live-in domestic helper. Her mother had found a job and was returning to the workforce after a long hiatus, and someone needed to be home to do the household chores and take care of her and her younger brother. Lynette was sitting at her usual spot on the black couch in the living room, trying to feign interest in the nine o’clock drama serial on Channel 8 as her mother explained how the arrangement was not ideal but nonetheless necessary.
She couldn’t help feeling uneasy. It was the first time a stranger was coming to live in their flat, and they never needed any domestic help before. Turning away from the screen, Lynette began firing questions at her mother.
“What’s her name?”
“You can call her Yulia.”
“How old is she?”
“She just turned twenty-three.”
“Where’s she from?”
“Somewhere in Indonesia.”
“What is she like?”
“She’s pleasant, you’ll get to meet her soon.”
“When is she coming?”
“The agent will bring her here this Sunday.”
“Where will she sleep?”
“In the study room. Or do you want to share your room with her?”
Lynette wasn’t sure if her mother was asking in jest, but didn’t want to take her chances.
True to her mother’s word, Yulia arrived on Sunday afternoon.
When the doorbell rang, Lynette hurried to her room and shut the door, but not completely—just enough to leave a gap through which she could peek. She was surprised to see how young Yulia looked. Dressed in a polo shirt and jeans, she didn’t look a day over eighteen. The agent, a jovial, middle-aged woman with too-bright lipstick and dyed brown hair tied in a messy bun, was doing most of the talking. Yulia mostly stayed silent, wearing a faint smile on her face while looking down at the floor.
After some time, Lynette heard the main door close. Her mother began showing Yulia around the house, pointing out where everything was—the kitchen where she would do the cooking, the service yard where she would do the laundry, the toilets that needed scrubbing twice a week—and now they were approaching her room. She quickly sat at her desk, pretending to be doing her homework. Her mother pushed the door open.
“Lynette, this is Yulia. Yulia, my elder girl, Lynette.”
As a practiced greeting tumbled out from Yulia’s mouth, Lynette swivelled in her chair to face them. Tentatively, she managed a smile and mumbled hello.
Yulia set her things down in the study room. It wasn’t a particularly large room. Of the four yellow walls, one was lined with tall wooden shelves filled with books of varying thicknesses. Across from them stood a mahogany piano, on which framed photographs of the family were displayed. Next to the piano were two writing desks for the children. A thin mattress had been laid out in the centre of the room. On top of it: a pillow and a blanket. Yulia unfolded the latter to find it fraying at the edges. She lay down on the mattress, pulled the blanket over herself and tried not to think of anything else but the tasks that lay ahead of her.
When Lynette plopped down at the dining table the next morning, sulking over being woken by a stranger, her mother seemed unusually pleased by the unimpressive fact that Yulia had prepared the coffee and arranged their breakfast on the table without further reminder or instruction on her part. Lynette became more annoyed as her mother—oblivious to her sullenness—started reminding them that it was her first day back at work, that Yulia would be the one accompanying them to school, preparing their meals and picking them up when the school day was over, that she would probably be home late and not to wait for her.
Five minutes later, both her parents were done with their kaya toast and promptly left for work. Feeling cross, Lynette glanced first at her brother and then grudgingly at Yulia. Her brother was tilting his head backwards to catch the last drops of milo from his plastic mug, unperturbed by the presence of a stranger in their home. Yulia picked up her brother’s Snoopy school bag. She was still wearing that same faint smile on her face, though it seemed to have somewhat faded. Setting down her mug with a loud thud, Lynette rose to grab her pastel pink bag before Yulia could lay her hands on it. *
By evening, Yulia was spent. She had barely slept the night before, and had been on her feet since five that morning—preparing breakfast for the family, memorising the route between the flat and the children’s primary school, finding her way back to the flat after dropping the children off to begin sweeping, mopping, cleaning, doing the laundry and ironing, before picking them up, preparing their afternoon snacks, followed by dinner for the family. It might not sound like much, but it was gruelling, unrelenting labour that ate away at her. As Yulia waited for the children to be done with dinner, she peered out through the metal grilles in the service yard. Even the colour of the sky appeared different here. She couldn’t wait for the day to be over so she could lie down on the mattress in the study room, even though she knew sleep wouldn’t come easily.
At dinner, Lynette stared at the dish Yulia had placed before her. It was a serving of rice—coloured brown from caramelisation—with pieces of cubed meat, vegetables and a fried egg on the side. She picked up her spoon, took a hesitant sniff, then a mouthful. The explosion of flavours on her tongue took her by surprise. It was delectable, unlike anything her mother had ever cooked. Meals made by her mother mostly comprised variations of steamed fish and vegetables. Her mother claimed they were nutritious and good for health. They were also easy to prepare and wouldn’t leave much of a mess in the kitchen to clean up thereafter.
Within a few minutes, Lynette polished off every grain of rice. She looked over to her brother, who had likewise gobbled up his meal and was now gleefully licking his plate. Giggling to herself, she looked up to see Yulia standing quietly by the doorway of the kitchen.
“What’s this?” she asked.
Surprised to be spoken to, Yulia mumbled, “Nasi goreng.”
For a moment, Lynette considered asking her to cook it again for tomorrow’s dinner. But she decided against it and instead asked, “Have you eaten?”
Yulia shook her head. “Yulia wait for Sir and Madam to eat, then Yulia eat.”
Lynette wondered what time her parents would return home. Her father usually got back late, long after they had gone to bed. She hoped her mother’s work would be less demanding than her father’s, so that she could still see her on weekday evenings. She bit her lip and shifted her gaze back to the television, marking the end of the conversation.
After working for over a month at Madam’s place, Yulia received her first paycheque. Most of it would have to go towards paying off her placement fee, but still, it was money that she had earned through her own hard work. Just like her cousin Irma, she felt encouraged that she would soon be able to start sending money home to help her family.
Irma had grown up together with Yulia back in the village, and was also working in Singapore. In fact, Irma was the one who had convinced Yulia to come over, after hearing about what had happened with Yulia’s family. While the work was taxing, the money was good—much more than what they could dream of earning back home. She would be able to improve her life and, more importantly, support her family financially if she worked in Singapore, Irma had persuaded her.
But what Irma forgot to mention was that the increase in financial status came accompanied with a corresponding decrease in social status. Here, Yulia was nothing but a maid. Her circumstances never failed to remind her of that each day. Since arriving in Singapore, she felt as though her identity had been stripped away from her. She was no longer the happy, carefree Yulia of her village.
Scenes from her old life cluttered her head. She swept them aside. All of that belonged to the past. Yulia understood that her present worth lay solely in the quality of her housekeeping and childcare—of which both the house and children didn’t belong to her—so that Madam could be free for work and leisure, so that she herself could earn enough to ease her family’s burden.
Since her mother started working three months ago, Lynette saw less and less of her. In her parents’ absence was Yulia’s unwavering presence. She was always there. She was there in the morning to rouse them from slumber. She was there in the afternoon, patiently standing in the broiling heat, waiting to pick them up from school. She was there throughout the day, helping them with anything and everything they needed help with. Biscuit tins to be opened. Cardboard boxes to be procured for a school project. Snacks to be prepared for an excursion. Over time, Lynette sensed the three of them growing into a comfortable companionship—herself, her brother and Yulia.
Although the children had opened up to her and both Madam and Sir had treated her well enough over the last few months, Yulia couldn’t help feeling like an outsider who could never belong here. Some days, she even felt like a prisoner—trapped within the confines of the restricted spaces in which she was allowed to move, with minimal room for flexibility in her schedule. Her days were repetitive and her routine unchanging. There seemed to be nothing to look forward to. Even the single rest day that she was supposed to be entitled to each week had been denied her. Madam always found a reason to make her stay in, and so she did.
Some nights, Yulia allowed herself to cry to sleep. She wondered how her parents were coping with the situation back home, how big her brother would have grown by now, how her friends were doing. When she tried to imagine their faces in her head, she found that their features had started to become blurry with absence. She longed to be home, to be with her own family. She missed the feeling of being doted on by her parents. She missed carrying her baby brother in her arms as he gurgled with his twinkling eyes. She missed being under the open skies with the expanse of land all around her, and the sense of vastness and freedom they had afforded her.
When would she be able to return home?
Over time, Lynette and her brother began to enjoy Yulia’s presence at home, for they managed to negotiate for perks that wouldn’t have been possible under their mother’s previously strict supervision. After school, Yulia would sometimes accede to their requests of stopping by the playground or the mama shop on the way home and allow them to pick a small snack each. It had to be under a dollar, for Yulia had a tight budget from their mother each week for grocery shopping. Still, it was a delight for Lynette and her brother to pick from the range of tantalising treats that were usually frowned upon by their mother. Sugary ice lollies, pink coins of haw flakes, pastel wafer discs larger than their faces. Regardless of what they got, they always made sure to discard the evidence in the rubbish bin at the void deck before heading home.
