A short-term volunteer in Taiwan learns life lessons at Maryknoll’s shelter for migrant workers.
One of my greatest joys during my time volunteering at Ugnayan, the project for migrants in Taiwan run by Maryknoll Father Joyalito Tajonera, happened far from the shelter. It took place at the local community recreation center, where I swam several times a week.
Almost every day at the shelter someone would ask, “Where are you going?” or “Where have you been?” They watched me set out on my five-kilometer walks, climb the shelter’s five flights of stairs, take the city bus, go to the gym and return with stories of the places I had explored. They seemed puzzled, not only by my presence at Ugnayan, but by my daily outings.
The women at the shelter and I had led very different lives. I had served in the past as a Maryknoll lay missioner and was discerning a return to mission. They were overseas Filipino workers who, having left their country in search of work, instead had landed in situations that sent them to the shelter. Supported by Maryknoll’s Tanzi parish in Taichung, the shelter’s name means “connection” in Tagalog, a primary language of the Philippines.
As I came to know the women better during my stay from February to April, I noticed that many rarely left the shelter unless it was absolutely necessary. They were deeply grateful for a safe place to stay, and their lives had become defined by waiting.
They waited for a labor broker to call with news of another job. They waited in hospitals for test results or chemotherapy treatments. They waited at government offices for visas, work permits, and document renewals. They waited at bus stops, waited for weekends, and waited for their next opportunity. Above all, they waited for the day they could once again support their families or return home.
At the Maryknoll shelter for migrant workers, named Ugnayan (a Filipino word for “connection”), residents and volunteers carry out household tasks together such as preparing meals. (Paul Jeffrey/Taiwan)
Waiting was no longer just something they did — it had become the very rhythm of their lives.
Sitting with the women after meals, I often wondered if all this waiting had quietly convinced them to put life itself on hold. They were so thankful simply to have shelter that they seemed hesitant to allow themselves small, revitalizing pleasures — a walk through the neighborhood, a trip to the recreation center or an afternoon at the pool.
I wasn’t trying to force an exercise routine on them. I just wanted them to remember that they were so much more than workers waiting on a job offer. They were women deserving of joy, friendship, laughter, health and quiet moments of peace.
Perhaps that is why I never stopped inviting them to swim with me.
At first, the answers were always the same:
“I don’t know how to swim.”
“I don’t have a bathing suit.”
“The water is too cold.”
“Maybe next time.”
Every invitation ended with a polite excuse and a warm smile. Still, I kept asking.
Then, just two weeks before I left Taiwan, something wonderful happened. Three women surprised me with a “yes.”
We pieced together bathing suits, shorts and T-shirts. With a few simple alterations, suddenly what had seemed impossible became delightfully doable.
At the recreation center, the women watched with wide curiosity as I bought tickets and showed them around. Together, we explored the dry sauna, steam room, hot tub, water jets and shallow pools. They laughed with the lighthearted joy of children on a school field trip.
Maryknoll short-term volunteer Antonia Soave, far right, and Maryknoll Seminarian Paschal Madukwa, who is completing overseas mission training in Taiwan, enjoy an outing with Filipina migrant workers Mercy and Precious. (Courtesy of Antonia Soave/Taiwan)
Eventually, I pointed toward the lap pool.
“You don’t have to swim laps,” I reassured them. “Let’s just step into the shallow lane.”
Slowly, one by one, they stepped into the water.
One woman asked if I would teach her to float. I will never forget that moment. It wasn’t just about floating in water; it was about trusting someone enough to let go.
Our trip stretched into three and a half unforgettable hours. Their laughter, bright smiles, relaxation and sheer delight in trying something new made it one of the happiest days of my entire mission. Months after returning home, one of those three women wrote to tell me she was still going to the pool.
It was never really about swimming. It was about reclaiming confidence. It was about giving oneself permission to laugh, to move, and to care for one’s own body and spirit — even in the midst of uncertainty.
Helping migrant workers to secure employment and navigate hardships was an official part of my ministry as a short-term volunteer. Helping three women rediscover joy was never listed on my job description. Yet it proved to be one of my most meaningful ministries.
As my three months in Taiwan came to a close, I reflected on what I would carry home with me. The greatest gifts I brought back were entirely invisible.
The Filipino migrant workers became my greatest teachers. They showed me what true courage looks like when a parent leaves everything familiar behind to build a better future for children they may not see for years. They taught me about resilience in the face of uncertainty, faith when tomorrow remains unknown, and holding fast to one’s dignity when circumstances threaten to erode it.
They also taught me the art of waiting.
I have never been a particularly patient person. Yet I watched these men and women endure long seasons of waiting with unbelievable grace and perseverance — waiting for a phone call, a doctor’s visit, a work permit, or simply for life to begin again. By walking alongside them during those uncertain days, I began to learn the subtle art of letting go — not giving up but surrendering what I cannot control while holding tightly to hope.
Looking back, I realize my greatest contribution was never solving complex problems but simply being present. Listening. Walking beside them. Sharing meals, prayers, and laughter. And inviting three women to a swimming pool where, for one afternoon, waiting finally gave way to living.
When I learned months later that one of those women had kept going to the pool, my heart overflowed with joy. It was a quiet reminder that ministry is rarely measured by grand achievements, but by the subtle confidence we help awaken in another human heart.
Featured image: Three women from the shelter for migrant workers run by Maryknoll Father Joyalito Tajonera as part of the parish ministry of Tanzi Catholic Church in Taiching, Taiwan, take a swim at a local pool, encouraged by Maryknoll volunteer Antonia Soave. (Courtesy of Antonia Soave/Taiwan)
