Friday. The end of a day full of classes and a week full of exams. My plan for the night is simple but essential. I’ll tidy up my room, which will clear up my mind at the same time, and I’ll watch a film with my host mother after. The moment I enter my room, I see my plan falling to the ground. I can’t believe what I don’t see. My worn clothes, muddy shoes, empty cups of tea filled with mandarin peels have been removed from where I left them (the floor). My bed has been made. The windows are sparkling. Oh, not again. The maid entered my room.
This was my job! This was going to help me feel better. I have to admit I liked the fact that my host family had a maid in the beginning. It’s something that most Ecuadorian middle-class families have. It gave me free time for doing other things. However, after two months of having been spoiled (she cooks, she cleans the bathroom, she does my laundry), I have had enough. I’d like to do some of it.
The other thing is that I am embarrassed. My room really was a mess. I even left dirty underwear lying around. No one would like to clean that! Besides, sometimes I like my room messy. And what’s wrong with that? So she didn’t have to clean it. Now I just feel like a little child. Additionally, next time I’ll make sure my room is at least decent-looking.
Telling my host mother or the maid that she doesn’t have to tidy up my room or asking her whether I can do some of the cleaning myself would be downgrading. It’s her job. That’s what she does. And I can understand that. Yet, that’s not helping my case. I am sitting in a clean room with a disordered mind and nothing to do. Yes, my mind must really be off track; I am starting to wish I was in my dirty old student house in Maastricht.