In front of me is the usual pile of dirty dishes, forts, spoon, knifes, cups, pot and pens. This morning, the family has some guests over, so the pile of dishes is bigger than normal. The elder sister dumps more into the pile, then walks away. The middle sister lying on the couch resting after the big meal and the youngest one; never touches any dirty dishes. Ana passes me, does not say a word; she is expecting me, who for the past six month has been washing the family dishes every day, to perform the same duty again. These four women know very well that Chi will do the dishes. She will dry them, put them away as well.
I should be mad, but I am not. After all, it is my fault, I started to do it since day one I moved in this family. I did get mad once and stopped talking to the family for two days. They did not understand why I was upset, so they disapproved my behavior by talking about me, in front of me until I could not stand it anymore. So I gave up and accepted the fact that, I am the dish washing machine. I will do all the dishes.
It is really no big deal to do the dishes. I am a very organized person. I can not stand seeing all the dirty dishes piling up and sitting in the sink for hours. The family does not seem to mind but I do. Besides, I don’t feel right not to help after eating a meal which is cooked by my host mother. For that reason, I feel guilty not to wash any dishes. I know I have been taken advantage by this thoughtfulness and I have turned into a dish washer for these past six months.
But I am leaving this family in a week, will I miss them? I think I will miss serving Nene (grandmother) tea everyday at 5:00pm. Nene loves to order me to give her tea and it has to be freshly brewed tea. Not because she is a mean old lady but because she loves my attention. No one in the family seems to give her any. I have grown loving her each day, watching her talking endlessly about how bad everything is. I smile and nod, pretend that I understand. Nene just wants to talk to someone; that is all.
I will miss my room. It is inside this little room that I could be myself, wrote my journal, ate my own foods, watched DVDs, said my prayer, read “J” 's e-mails and had my dreams.
If I was much younger, I probably would have cried so many nights here… but I am older, I swallowed them. Last year’s Peace Corps Volunteer who stayed with this family has the same feeling as I have. She and I communicated and we both agree; no another American should ever be placed in this home again.
I still could not understand why ana always served me the smallest piece of chicken, why I always had to eat family left over foods and why I sometimes had to go to bed hungry….was I really such a bad guest?
1 comment:
What exactly is '"J" email?'
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