I never really knew what migrant workers were until I went to Polytechnic. Being an immigrant myself, I wondered if they were the same as my family, living under a warm roof, happily eating dinner with their families and enjoying life in Singapore. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that not everything was all sunshine and rainbows. Some migrant workers are abused or mistreated by their employers or even worse.
The Migrant Workers Poetry Competition allows migrant workers to express their thoughts and feelings and to showcase to the country that they are not what we think they are: lower-class, slave, alien, under educated. For the migrants, it is a platform where they can express their feelings of living in a foreign land far from home and to make known the struggles they are going through today.
Here are my 2 favorite poems from the 1st and 3rd competition winners. The reason why I like these poems is that it hits so close to home. My family and even close friends of ours have also gone through these experiences.
Pocket 2
by: Zakir Hussain Khokhon from Bangladesh
Still in the same world, we belong to different spheres
You on that side and me on this:
we can do nothing but remember each other
The memories of you and me hang like posters
on the wall of the Ekushe bookfair
at the doil chatta, under the shade of the bakul tree at Charukala
at Hakim square, in the hoodless rickshaw
at the florists of Shahbag, at the open field of TSC
on the water of Ramana lake
in a night of shades and lights
on our bed of love
I remember when I returned this time
my heart dissolved in your tears
The pocket of my shirt was wet
Reaching the end of my memories
I wear that shirt every night
and write love poems to you
Do I really write poems
Or do my poems cry with me?
In this poem, Zakir writes about how much he misses his wife and longs to be with her but can’t as he has to work in a foreign land to support their family. When he returned to his family for a visit, he let his wife cry on his shirt to let go of all the longing and heartbreak of not seeing each other. It is difficult to be separated from your loved ones, the pain of knowing that you couldn’t be there for them right when they need you the most hurts.
My Story
by: Rolinda O. Espanola
My story, I signed a two year contract.
Full of dreams, my eyes shine and bright
Finally, I can help my family
Fearless, I will sacrifice to provide them happiness
To be a maid in a foreign land
Where people look down on us
But for my family, I am a hero
Fearless, I draw my strength from my family
I spent three and a half hour to set foot on Singapore
I sealed my lips with a smile, my composure is now ready
My employer fetched me, drafted her own law
Fearless, I shall not quit
No phone, no daily dip nor even brushing is allowed
Never talk to anyone
even to fellow Filipinos
Sadly, noodles and bread. the only meal I eat
Fearless, I will be able to do all this
My daily suffering is making me lose my sanity
Work is what I am here for, but why are they doing this to me?
I believe all people are born with purity in their heart
Fearless, my masters are greedy
Each year I endured
I hope that one day my masters will change their treatment
In the mirror I saw that this is not me anymore
Fearless, I do not want to die here
I lost my weight, I am too skinny
To my family, I apologize; your mother can no longer make the sacrifices
To my creditor in the Philippines, I will pay you back in promised time
Fearless, where is justice here?
Although I am a maid, I am still a human with a heart
I was born and raised with respect
And always a humble person
Fearless, Are my masters worthy of respect?
One day, I draw all the remaining strength
Fearless, I will flee
Fearless, I will seek the assistance of law
Fearless, I will envision a good future
Fearless, my story will never end her
Rolinda’s story tells of the constant abuse and mistreatment of her employers towards her and their view of her as their slave. Even throughout her torture under their hands, she endured and fearlessly fled for her life when she knew that it would be in danger should she remain. All she had wanted was to make a living for her family back in the Philippines as she first entered this foreign land.
Reflection:
I fully understand how the migrant workers feel. Being in a foreign land far away from the support and love from your family can be scary. Alas, they needed to leave their birthplace behind to search for a better place way beyond it’s borders and earn for their families left behind. Although they are given a place like the poetry competition to shout out their thoughts, why is no one responding to them, giving them the support they need or ending the brutality some of them face each day at the hands of their employers. Is it because they are migrant workers that their pleas don’t matter.
As a local citizen, it is our duty to help them as they have helped us. They are the ones constructing buildings where we sleep, watching our children as we work throughout the day and taking care of trivial jobs which none of us even bother thinking of. If we can only look past the labels of society, we find out that we are not much different than we think we are.















Next, I chopped the basil leaves and garlic and pounded both ingredients in a bowl.
Afterward, I transferred the mixture into a larger bowl and added in parmesan cheese and olive oil. I started to cook the pasta after draining the chicken and shredding it. I put the shredded chicken into the pesto mixture and stirred until it reached my desired consistency.





Whenever I’m trying to do a task, I would find myself getting distracted by whatever I find interesting within my mind whether it was the latest release of a chapter in my favorite manga or getting some snacks in the kitchen. The “distraction” jar works when I get distracted or




