Banig ang kama. Karton ang dingding. Kalye ang tahanan.
It may sound poetic, but this is not a metaphor. This is the literal Sunday reality of many of our kababayans in Hong Kong, our dear Filipino domestic workers whose day off is spent on sidewalks, beneath tall skyscrapers and luxury malls, forming makeshift ‘homes’ just for a day of rest and belonging and to feel home.
I recently went to Hong Kong, not as a tourist but as a friend, listener, and burden-bearer. The trip opened my eyes wider than ever before. I’ve seen Filipinos everywhere (coz we are practically everywhere), Singapore, the Middle East, Europe, but something about Hong Kong broke my heart in a different way.
It all began with a dream. not mine, but a friend’s.
Yayie, who once lived and worked in Singapore, reached out to us with a burden burning in her heart. She dreamed of starting a “high quality” agency in Hong Kong. not just to process paperwork, but to truly help and empower our kababayans. Her vision was deeper than logistics; it was about restoring dignity
We mentioned this to our life coach, who said something simple yet weighty:
“Sige na, gawin niyo na ‘yan. Ang tagal niyo na rin iniisip.”
That one sentence sparked movement.
Not long after, during one of the sessions in our Prayer & Fasting, Coach Albert shared about the work being done in Bicol. His message stirred something in me. It was missional, not just in geography, but in heart. Just like what we’ve been doing in Singapore – bringing the church to where people are.
And when my eyes met Dina’s, it was clear: we were thinking the same thing.
“Tara, book na tayo ng flight. Hong Kong na.”
We weren’t sure what would come out of this. There was no big program, no formal agenda. We simply wanted to catch up with friends. But deep inside, we knew we were also being led perhaps to see, to listen, and to carry a piece of our kababayans’ burden.
On our first morning in Hong Kong, we met with two old friends over breakfast. The hugs were tight, the tears came fast. It didn’t take long for the burdens to surface.
One of them, once a business owner and proud mother of a college graduate, is now back working as a domestic helper. Life back home took unexpected turns, covid killing the business, financial loss, illness, and the need to start over. Her story, like so many others, was layered with quiet strength and quiet heartbreak
But more than the details of their past or present, what struck me most was the emotion, raw, unfiltered, and very real. The pain of being misunderstood by employers. The deep loneliness. The fear of sudden contract terminations without recourse. The weight of having to provide for a family while enduring verbal abuse and being made to feel small.
There were phrases I heard that still echo in my mind:
“Durog na durog ang pagkatao ko.”
“Wala ka namang laban.”
“Kailangan kong tiisin.”
Sometimes, it’s not even the physical labor that’s the hardest. It’s the emotional wear and tear, the quiet erosion of one’s dignity.
Between Skyscrapers and Cardboard Walls.
Sundays in Hong Kong are different. Especially in Central. The streets transform not into markets or festivals but into makeshift neighborhoods. Folded cardboard becomes flooring. Banigs are unrolled like red carpets. Umbrellas and boxes become walls. And amid the towering silhouettes of Dior, Louis Vuitton, and glassy malls, our kababayans sit cross-legged on concrete, eating packed meals, getting haircuts, painting nails, doing each other’s makeup. Laughing. Singing. Resting. Trying to experience the feeling of being at home.
It’s their day off. the day when the helper becomes her own person again, even if just for a few hours.
And yet, the contrast is jarring. Right in the heart of luxury, our people settle on the streets. Not by choice, but because there’s nowhere else to go. They say it’s not illegal to enter malls, but there’s a quiet message that whispers, “You don’t belong here.”
We walked along the closed-off streets, where the government had designated a space just for them. In a way, it felt like a gift. But in another way, it felt like a boundary line … “You can stay here, but don’t go beyond.”
Inside Worldwide House, the unofficial Filipino center, the atmosphere was electric and overwhelming. Crowds. Shouting. The hustle of side hustles – food, accessories, anything you can sell. It felt like a market and a neighborhood rolled into one. And yet, something in me quietly ached.
Twenty years ago, when I first visited Hong Kong, I had seen scenes like this. I thought things might’ve changed. But nothing much has. If anything, there are more people now. And deeper stories behind every smile.
It looked like joy, and maybe it was. But it also looked like survival dressed up in Sunday best.
Joy or Resignation?
At first glance, it felt like a celebration.
There was laughter, food, music, and a sense of togetherness that was undeniably Filipino. It reminded me of Sundays in Singapore too, our kababayans laying out mats, sharing meals, trading stories. But something about Hong Kong struck a different chord.
It felt heavier. Louder. And strangely, lonelier.
As we sat with some of the women, I noticed their eyes, they sparkled when they talked about shopping, video calls with their kids, and the dollar exchange rate. “Okay naman kami dito,” one said. “Masaya naman. Malaki sweldo.”
And yet I couldn’t shake the question in my heart:
Is this happiness? Or is this what happens when hope gets boxed up like the balikbayan boxes they pack every Sunday neatly taped and tightly sealed?
Maybe we’ve learned to celebrate just to survive. Maybe the laughter is real, but so is the exhaustion, the pain that’s too deep to put into words. Maybe some of us have accepted that “ito na kami.” This is what life is now. Earn, send, survive, repeat.
But what if it’s not supposed to stop there?
One of our friends said something that pierced me: “Ate, wala naman kasing ibang nadidinig.” Probably no one’s telling them there’s more. Probably no one’s reminding them that they’re not just workers, but women of worth. Not just survivors, but dreamers. Not just remittance senders, but nation-builders, whose dignity shouldn’t be traded for dollars.
And so we walked. We listened. We laughed. We sat on sidewalks and in stuffy corners. We took it all in, the noise, the numbness, the reality of it all. We didn’t have answers. We didn’t go there to fix anything.
When the noise faded and the day wound down, what remained was a gentle nudge in my heart … a soft whisper that this mattered. That they mattered.
I left Hong Kong with a full stomach, oh yes! we did eat well, so well!. But more than that, I left with a full heart. Full of stories. Faces. Tears. Laughter. And questions I still can’t answer.
I didn’t come home with a strategy. I came home with a seed.
A seed of longing.
That somehow, someday, we can help.
That maybe, one day, the little things we carry, our skills, our connections, our faith, our presence can be planted in the lives of our kababayans who feel stuck in survival.
I don’t know what that will look like yet. I don’t know how, or when, or with whom. But I carry the hope that what we saw and felt in those streets and crowded corners was not the end of the story. Maybe it was just the beginning of one.
For now, all I can do is pray.
And dream.
And believe that when the time is right, we will put hands and feet to the dream. Maybe not all at once. But one step. One heart. One life at a time.
One life at a time.
“For the vision is yet for the appointed time; it hastens toward the goal and it will not fail. Though it tarries, wait for it; for it will certainly come, it will not delay.” – Habakkuk 2:3
A Doodle In A Day 