In 2005, I hired a maid, until one day she secretly stole oil, rice, fish sauce, a little bit of each. More than 20 years later, the unexpected truth came and left me speechless.

In 2005, I was in my early thirties, and my business was thriving. Because I was busy, I hired a maid to help take care of the house. The person I was introduced to was Aling Belen, who was about forty years old at that time, thin, with a tanned face but gentle eyes.

Since she arrived, the house was tidy, the meals were ready. She was quiet, worked diligently, and almost never complained. But there was one thing that always bothered me: every night I saw her sneak into the kitchen, open the rice jar, the fish sauce bottle, the cooking oil bottle… and scoop out a little.

At first, I thought she was stealing. But after observing a few times, I realized she only took so little that it was hard for anyone to detect. That feeling made me both uncomfortable and guilty.

I intended to speak frankly, but then stopped. Instead, I quietly bought more things, filling the jars and bottles before she could touch them. I wanted to see what she was going to do.

For many years, I pretended not to know. When my friends heard about it, they all blamed me:
— “Why are you so easy? If you steal small things, you will steal big things in the future!”

I just smiled, still feeling troubled. But strangely, Aling Belen never touched money or valuables, only small things in the kitchen.

A person who has been with me for 20 years

She has been with my family for many years. She took care of my two children like her own, taught them, and took them to school. My children called her “Tita Belen.”

Although I saw her secretly putting food in small plastic bags a few times, she never explained. Many times I told myself: “Maybe she was too poor, so she brought food home to feed her family.” Thinking like that, I couldn’t bear to blame her.

Time flies like the wind. From 2005 to 2020, she was still quietly by my family’s side. When I expanded my work, when my children passed away from university, when my parents passed away… she was always there.

In 2022, she asked to retire and return to her hometown, saying that her health was not as good as before. I packed a large sum of money as a reward for her twenty-odd years of devotion. She was touched, hugged me and cried, but still did not say a word about the “secret” times in the past.

The truth in 2023..
In early 2023, on a business trip through a mountainous district in Quezon Province, I stopped by a remote elementary school. There, the principal told me about a “Nanay Belen” who had quietly fed several orphans in the neighborhood for the past twenty years.

My heart was pounding. I asked carefully, it was indeed Mrs. Belen!

The teacher said:
— “Back then, she worked as a maid in the city. Every night, she brought home a little rice, oil, fish sauce… to cook for the children without parents. Thanks to her, many children had enough to continue going to school. She never told anyone, nor did she take credit.”

I was stunned. For so many years, I thought she took it for herself, but it turned out she was taking care of a whole group of homeless children.

The reunion

I went to the small house where Mrs. Belen lived. She was old and weak, her hair was white. When she saw me, she was surprised and then confused:
— “Hija… why did you come here?”

I choked up:
— “Grandma, why didn’t you tell me earlier? I don’t regret a few grains of rice, a bottle of oil. If I had known, I would have helped the children with you.”

She was moved to tears:
— “I was afraid you would think I was taking advantage of you. Besides… that’s what I wanted to do for life. You gave me a job, gave me food and clothes, I just wanted to contribute something to the children who were more miserable than me.”

Those words made my tears flow. I held her skinny hands, promising myself that I would continue the work she had left unfinished.

The legacy of kindness

From that day on, I regularly sent money and necessities to the children she had raised. I told this story to my two children, so that they would understand what kindness and silent sacrifice were.

As for Mrs. Belen, even though she was weak, she still sat in front of her small porch every day, smiling as she watched the children affectionately call her: “Nanay Belen.”

22 years have passed, and that seemingly small secret is the greatest proof of human love. And I understand that sometimes we need to be patient and tolerant, because there are actions that seem wrong, but in fact contain a big heart.

At the end of 2023, when Christmas came, the small village in Quezon Province was busier than usual. In a simple tin-roofed house, Nanay Belen sat weaving rattan baskets, her hands trembling with age. Suddenly, the village postman stopped by and handed her a stack of envelopes.

“Nanay, there are letters from all over for you.”

She opened each envelope, trembling as she read the words:

“Nanay, I am Jomar, you used to feed me rice with dried fish. Now I am an elementary school teacher.”

“Nanay, I am Liza, you used to give me a pair of old slippers. Now I am a nurse in Manila.”

“Nanay, I am Arvin, thanks to your hot rice, I did not drop out of school. Now I am a civil engineer.”

Each line was a memory that flooded back, making her eyes blurred with tears.

A week later, the local government coordinated with her former students to organize a ceremony called “Gabi ng Pasasalamat – Nanay Belen Appreciation Night.”

The yard of the elementary school in the mountainous area where she used to bring rice, fish, and fish sauce to cook for the children was now brightly decorated. Under the lantern light, each adult face stepped onto the stage, recounting memories of her.

A middle-aged man choked up:
— “Back then, if it weren’t for Nanay Belen, I would have dropped out of school to work for hire. Now I stand here, a doctor, thanks to her bowl of rice.”

Applause mixed with sobs.

After the words of gratitude, the group of former students came forward together, handing Nanay Belen a wooden board engraved with the words:

“Sa bawat butil ng bigas, sa bawat patak ng pawis — Nanay Belen, salamat sa iyong puso.”

Next, they joined hands to build her a new house right on the old land, with a wide porch for her to sit and watch the children. The house was named: “Bahay ng Pagmamahal – House of Love.”

Nanay Belen covered her face and cried. She trembled and said:
— “Mga anak… I only do small things. I never expected my children to give me such great happiness.”

At the end of the ceremony, the students all held candles, stood around her, and sang “Thanks Be To God” in Tagalog. The whole school yard was lit up in the flickering candlelight.

Nanay Belen sat in the middle of the circle, her eyes shining, a gentle smile etched deep on her wrinkled face.

That moment was like an immortal picture of human love: from the meals of secretly taking spoonfuls of rice, small bottles of oil years ago, now blossoming and bearing fruit into dozens of lives rising up.

Since then, every year at Christmas, the children of the past return. They no longer called her “Aling Belen” or “Tita Belen,” but all called her by one name, full of love:

“Nanay ng aming lahat – Mother of us all.