My room was dark, but the twin bed was dressed in a coarse golden rod plaid pillowcase and comforter set. It was not comfortable at all, but I guess it was pretty or at least neat looking. My room was right next to a bathroom. It was a long room with the toilet on one end and a counter that ran the length of it on the left side. Under the counter, if you slide the door open, is all kinds of avon products…. Beyond your wildest imagination. Pink panther toothbrush, orange shaped perfume bottle, cute cylinders of baby powder in different scents, powder puffs, soap shaped like shells…. Where the hell did she get all these things. It was a playland for me where I would go to escape.
My life in the U.S. is much different than that in the Philippines. Back home, we were middle-class, and I didn’t really have any responsibilities. We had a yaya each, and helpers in the house. I would have to beg for them to let me do chores like wash the dishes and they would have to clean up after the mess I made “washing the dishes”.
But here in America, I had lots of responsibilities. As the oldest and only girl, and with my parents working a lot, I was the one in charge of my brothers. In-charge of bathing them, dressing, them, feeding them, and making sure they finished their homework. I didn’t mine so much in the beginning.
It was fun to dress them, pretending they were my life-size dolls. I would dress them matching from top to bottom. Shirts matching shorts. Shorts matching the stripes on the socks. Even the shoes would have to match.
But there were some tasks that was not as fun. Like feeding my brothers. We were all third-world skinny and hated to eat. my grandma’s mission was to fatten us up. We would get rewards for gaining weight. A dollar, a toy, a surprise…… but I was in charge of making sure my brothers emptied their plates and would have to spoon-feed them. They hated to eat so much that they would fall asleep with food in their mouths and I would have to jog them back awake. I would get so frustrated. One time, I put my 3 year old brother in the washing machine and turned on the water to scare him awake. I wonder if that is how my yaya felt with me.
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Please finish this...it's a beginning commentary, I feel, on frustration with responsibilities and needs to go much further. It's interesting to see "middle-class" mentioned when the disparity compared to the U.S. paints the P.I. as only third-world upper- and lower-class. "Hated to eat" is another contrast: to eat vegetables? to eat meat? vs to eat at all? What is the relationship with brothers now? With you as their early caretaker, and seeing you involved with another kind of caring -- it's an early responsibility still applicable today (which ain't so bad, really, right?)
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