Whenever I have a hankering for home-style Filipino cooking, I head into town to Orchard Road’s Lucky Plaza. But on this day, I had to put my cravings aside, as I couldn’t imagine conducting an interview while scarfing down a hot, hearty meal at a classic “turo-turo” (“point-point”) joint. I suggested to Ellen Lavilla that we meet instead at Tiong Bahru Bakery, across the road at Tang Plaza. 

Here we were, away from the boisterous, frenetic energy of Lucky Plaza, two kababayan (“fellow Filipino”), meeting for the first time. Our circumstances of arrival in Singapore could not have been more different. My partner and I moved here three years ago, fortunate to secure an employment pass, international education for our kids, and a condo with a verdant view, overlooking the lush Upper Peirce Reservoir. Ellen moved here two decades ago, a “foreign domestic worker” on a work permit, living with her employers.

A few beats from Ellen’s life: her family’s business suffered while she was in college studying accounting. She dropped out to come work here. At first, the plan was to stay for two years, just long enough to put her younger siblings through college. But when her parents fell sick, Ellen decided to remain in Singapore to help with their medical expenses. After twenty years as a domestic worker, she managed to buy them a house—a house she expects to return to, someday. 

Ellen began journaling while working for a Chinese family that gave her only one day off a month. “Sometimes it’s very lonely, sometimes it’s so busy, sometimes I was so stressed. And it’s difficult to find people to talk to, so I relied on writing.” Then right before the Covid-19 pandemic, she discovered the Migrant Writers of Singapore (MWS) on Facebook. “I went there [to the MWS workshop space] alone and then the minute I went upstairs, it was so warm, like they welcomed everybody, it’s open for everybody.” 

Most of our conversation played out like two friends enthusiastically talking about the craft of writing rather than an actual interview. I learned that Ellen found the haiku quite flexible, beyond the common 5-7-5 rhyme scheme. The quatrain—a four-line stanza with an ABAB rhyme scheme—is her favourite. She also introduced me to the ghazal, a lyrical poetic form originating in Arabic literature. If it isn’t apparent already, Ellen loves poetry: “I think it’s more beautiful. It’s more beautiful if you put it in stanzas or in lines.” Informed by her careful, observant disposition, she tends to write sad poems, like the one inspired by the cuts on the arms of a fellow MWS writing workshop attendee. “I realise that I can’t write happy poems like others do…I don’t know, it’s too easy for me to write painful ones.” 

We discussed whether she felt her writing should educate people about migrant workers’ experiences. “I think it’s a good way to tell them that…we are not just here as migrants, as domestic workers. If we have talent, we can share it. We don’t have to be a domestic worker forever.” Only at the very end of our conversation did Ellen mention that she had written a play. I had already marked my calendar to see “The Homecoming”, but little did I know I’d been sitting with its playwright all along.