by Monica Graz
I was standing in front of Signora, head slightly bowed, hands crossed in front of my apron. As usual, I was all messy after a whole morning of scrubbing and cleaning, but Signora couldn’t care less. I was there to serve her and strictly follow orders regardless of how demeaning they could be.
- How are you doing with your Filipino education, Molly? - she asked rather casually. - Is your Tagalog improving? Conchita believes that you are an eager pupil though you have so much Western influence in you that becoming an Asian girl requires probably more drastic steps.
I looked at her timidly, not knowing once more how to answer to that, not to mention that my poor Italian was a constant obstacle to fully expressing myself.
