Dear my son, 

I am writing to you from the front porch of our home, in the calmness of this breezy morning. Home? It never occurred to me that I would one day have a home back ‘home’. Life was so hard I could barely survive, let alone build a home. But now that I have one—which I built with my hard-earned money—and now that I am back ‘home’, I start to think about what the word truly means to me. Where is home? I feel like I am stuck somewhere between here, in Indonesia, and there, in Singapore. I’ve spent a significant portion of my life in Singapore. That is the land where I toiled, cried, laughed, hoped, and prayed for 25 years, mind you! That is where I started a life journey that was at once sweet and bitter. 

Leaving you was the hardest decision I made in life, and more so since you were still very small when I left. You were barely two years old. But what choice did I have? I could barely feed myself, let alone provide for you. I wished your father hadn’t just disappeared without any trace. But you know, at times life takes a surprising turn; we really don’t have much time to think and simply have to go on, which I did. I moved on. I promised to myself I would work hard so I could feed you well and send you to a good school. 

I finally set foot in Singapore in 1997 after two months of training in Jakarta. I did my duties as a domestic worker very well. I would lull my employer’s son to sleep, cook for him, fetch him from school, and play with him. But it pained me that I didn’t even have the slightest idea about my own son. I was filled with remorse and shame. I would cry every single night staring at a little picture of you that I slipped in my tattered bag. Sorry, Son. Sorry you had to grow up without me and your father. Sorry that we had to live these moments separately. It felt like our lives were drifting apart, so much so that you didn’t even recognize me when I came for a short visit five years later. 

Do you remember this picture?

It was my third visit, and for the first time after so many years, you mumbled, “Mom”. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes when I heard you say that. We were slowly redeveloping our bond. I still remember spending hours speaking over Skype with you. We started sharing our moments of struggle and joy together. I showed you my workplace—piles of dirty laundry, the washing machine, the kitchen, my delicious cooking, and many more. And you showed me your schoolwork and trophies. Do you still remember telling me once, “I’ll study hard and win a scholarship so I can join you in Singapore!” 

Again, sometimes life takes a surprising turn, and this time it was a surprisingly delightful one. After years of hard work, you got into the University of Indonesia and won a scholarship to spend a semester at the National University of Singapore. My whole body trembled with joy when I saw you walk out of the Changi airport terminal. It felt unreal—the son whom I had left finally came to join me, though for a brief moment, after a long 19 years. 

You have no idea how ecstatic I was when I helped you move into your university dorm because finally, I could ‘drop you off’ at school again after a long, long while. But it also reminded me of the dream that I’d buried deep down: going to university. I whispered, “I’d be a prof now if life weren’t too harsh to me.” You suppressed a chuckle. I was so smart back in school I would always come top of the class, you know. But really, dropping you at school inspired me to get myself back on track.

After you graduated, I began to focus on the dream that I’d long abandoned. I enrolled in a non-degree program to learn about entrepreneurship and eventually ‘graduated’. I made it. We made it. The both of us. You see, sometimes life takes us on a meandering path to teach us lessons, and I am forever thankful that I am journeying down this path with you.

Love – Your mom

* My mother’s story was first published by the Humanitarian Organization for Migration Economics (HOME) in 2024. See here.