Stomach problems are related to digestion and acceptance. A relevant question is “What are you having difficulty digesting and accepting?” While still with Assumption College in the 90s I would often turn to a bachelor colleague  who had a calming effect on me. He didn’t preach but showed me how to take things in stride, how to go through life lightly. I had just returned to work then from ailments ranging from very high blood pressure to eventual severe depression.

Only when we parted ways did I realize he did have serious stomach and pancreatic problems. He would often jokingly tell people including his students that he was dying. Although he was definitely more senior than I was I didn’t think he was dying. I would laugh off his plaints. Who would think he had problems when he would be cheerful by template? Behind his funny-man façade he must have been in pain.

Was he suffering from loneliness? Did he just “swallow” the many problems ranging from the petty differences in the office to the heartaches of  his students who confided in him? What kind of family life did he have in a home he shared with his sister where he was fondly called “senorito by the help?”     He may have been able to relate to my depression.  After all he was a caring person. He may have been frustrated with his environment where the demands of a competitive professional world didn’t allow him to be kind enough according to his standards. He would try to make it easier for his students to meet the college requirements without getting into trouble with the college administration. He lived a relatively comfortable life so it is ironic he died from stomach and pancreatic problems.

I edited this essay after cleaning one of our electric fans. At first I did it perfunctorily. Then I was hit with a wave of mindfulness. “Why do I harbor such a strong reaction to the task at hand?” I better do something to understand my feelings at least not to be in denial. I suspected that I was transferring my ill feelings from being shortchanged to the task at hand. I don’t want to suffer from stomach pains again.

During our long stay in our old apartment, there was a glut of housekeeping help, provided the price was right for them. I used to have the illusion they worked for us because they liked us. The truth is, they mostly cared for Emil. After all it was easier to work for Emil who spoke their language and I don’t just refer to vocabulary. My body language would more often than not create a barrier stronger than the Berlin Wall.

The Berlin Wall was opened; I learned the hard way. Those who did housekeeping belonged to the community. In so many ways they implicitly confronted me with “You’re not one of us.” I sensed that the kinder I was the more demanding they became. I felt violated; I felt taken advantaged by the people blessed by the preferential option of the Church.

I suppose students of social development are wiser than I have been. I was caught between the general dictum of the Church: “Give till it hurts” and my readings on what it means to be an ADULT member of the Church. Being an adult would mean making choices. It would mean discriminating between good services and giving work to help those in need. It would mean that I would have to find a way to require quality work even from those who expect charity. This would certainly call for honesty on my part, whether I want to be true to my values or  to perpetuate forced charity and spoil those who can very well take care of themselves.

Living in our condo, I am careful not to subvert the professionalism in less expensive outsourced services. I mean it; outsourced services are less expensive and efficient. Perhaps, what is saved can be plowed back to charity. Also perhaps, what I save from antiflatulence and from antacids can be added to the budget for Sunday’s collection. Most of all I affirm: “The body cannot lie”.