My name is Evangeline. I’m the second of four siblings and I come from a small village in San Isidro, Isabela, Philippines. Life was never easy for us. My father was a farmer, but he didn’t own the land he worked on. We lived each day with uncertainty — often with barely enough to eat. There were many nights when sweet potatoes and corn, whatever my father could harvest from someone else’s land, were all we had to survive.

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In 1987, I graduated from high school, but I couldn’t continue to college. My father had been diagnosed with cancer, and our lives changed completely. He was no longer able to work. His medicine was expensive, and with no savings and very little support, our family struggled even more.

At just 18, I made the painful decision to leave home and work as a domestic worker in Manila. I sent home whatever I could to help my siblings stay in school. I carried that responsibility with love, but also with exhaustion. Still, I told myself: I had to be strong — for them.

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In 1990, desperate to earn more, I accepted a job abroad in Dubai. It was there that I first experienced what so many migrant domestic workers suffer: abuse. I was overworked, denied food, given no days off, and constantly watched. But the most heartbreaking moment of my life came when my father died while I was still in Dubai — and I wasn’t allowed to go home. I never got the chance to say goodbye. That pain has never left me.

Still, I kept going. I worked again in Saudi Arabia, but it was worse. I was locked inside the house — and even inside my own room. I felt like a prisoner. I escaped with help from the agency and returned home, only to leave again. This time, it was Qatar. The employer was abusive, just like before — but I endured it because I was a single mother by then, and my child depended on me. When that same employer offered me work in London, I accepted, not knowing the nightmare that was waiting for me there.

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In London, I was watched constantly. I had no day off, no rest, and was never paid. I was physically hurt — by the employer and even by the children I was made to care for. I was broken. But I knew I had to escape. I gathered the last of my strength, and I ran.

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That’s when I found The Voice of Domestic Workers — or maybe, that’s when they found me. They gave me not only safety, but hope. They listened to me, believed me, and helped me rebuild the pieces of myself that had been lost through years of pain and silence. I am forever grateful to this organisation that stood beside me when I had no one else.

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And now, as I join the Future Voices Revolution 2025, I am stepping into a new chapter. A chapter where I am not just surviving — I am rising.

Through this programme, I want to heal, grow, and find the confidence to tell my story — not just for myself, but for all the women who are still trapped in silence and fear. I want to use my voice to help others find theirs. I want to show the world what migrant domestic workers go through, and why we deserve to be treated with dignity, respect, and humanity.

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My story is painful — but I am not ashamed. I am proud of the woman I’ve become. I am Evangeline. I survived. And now, I’m ready to speak, to lead, and to be a voice for change.