Ten years ago, I wrote the following essay and got it published in the Youngblood column of the Philippine Daily Inquirer.  I am now back in Europe pursuing a master's degree, and my affection for all things that make Filipinos unique has not been diminished.

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The waitress

By Cristina A. Montes

Published in Young Blood –Philippine Daily Inquirer

October 21, 2002

It was my 10th day in Salzburg, Austria. The conference I attended had just broken up. I planned to tour the city for two days before taking the train to Vienna, so I transferred to a small hotel.

A week earlier, my mouth would have watered at the selection on the breakfast table in the dining hall that morning: apples, nectarines, peaches, plums; cold cuts and bread of various shapes and textures, cheeses, yoghurt, cereals, milk. But the novelty of being in another country had begun to wear thin. The wet and cold weather, the rich diet, the jet lag, my adventures and misadventures as I found my way through unfamiliar streets on foot, worries about packing and catching trains and computing peso-dollar-schilling exchange rates had all begun to take their toll on my mood that morning.

I also felt thirsty. I scanned the beverages on the buffet: fruit juices, coffee, tea, chocolate and the carbonated water that Europeans are accustomed to have at breakfast. No plain, fresh, cold water.

Then I spied the waitress. Her almond eyes, brown skin, wavy black hair and small frame made me conclude that she was a Filipina. “Oh no,” I immediately thought. “Probably another of those illegal overseas Filipino workers who give their countrymen back home a bad name.”

But her smile drew me to her. It was a kind of smile I never saw on faces of Aryan frauleins, a smile that warmed my travel-weary spirit the way steamed rice warms the belly.

I gathered enough strength to feign friendliness and start a conversation. “From where are you?” I asked.

“From the Philippines,” she replied, still wearing that smile.

“Ako rin!” I said, and went on to engage her in the usual small talk between countrymen seeing each other abroad.

Then I helped myself to the buffet and sad down to eat. In between bites, I watched the waitress deftly attend to the other guests in the dining hall, asking what they needed, first in one language and then another.

She told me later that she spent most of her spare time studying languages so that she could communicate with most of the hotel’s guests. Knowing the tremendous discipline required to learn languages through self-study, I instantly admired her and felt sorry I initially judged my fellow Filipino too harshly.

After attending to a group at a nearby table, the waitress approached me and asked if I wanted anything.

“Pahingi naman ng tubig,” I requested her.

With an understanding nod, she told me that her children also could not drink carbonated water when they first arrived in Austria. Then she went into the kitchen and returned with a misty glass of iced water – and the same smile.