My Journey from Birth to Present

One year at the temple, I met many people and made many friends from all over the place. We didn't have phones back then, so we only got to know each other at the temple and chatted when they visited the temple during their travels. I learned to be more composed; I no longer indulged in playful activities as I used to. I learned to listen. Hearing people's stories, understanding their reasons for coming to the temple, their circumstances, I realized that everyone has different situations in life—from the elderly to the young. Some don't want their children to suffer because of them, some are escaping love, some lack stable jobs, some haven't found their direction in life, and some are tired of the outside world.

Besides, there are those who come for benefits and fame. They seek reputation as teachers or want others to serve them, and some come to the temple to destroy and deceive, spreading false words that lead people astray. I, too, was once entranced by a teacher's words, which made me follow him until someone helped me return to the temple. I thought I was quite naive in this world, even though I knew I had nothing, yet everyone seemed to want to possess me.

I thought I would be at peace and practice to become someone with no worries, but then I heard my mother was sick, and her business faced difficulties, leading to mounting debts. I returned home, but this time I found I had no home to stay in. I had to stay with relatives or rent a place. My mother, just recovered from her illness, had to rush out to earn money to support herself and my little sibling in kindergarten. I helped my mother sell shoes, cook, carry things, and serve at events. My mother and I dabbled in various jobs. Everything that could earn money, my mother did.

After being home for a while, I returned to the temple. Perhaps the temple felt more like home to me. I wasn't used to being at home; you must understand that I am a rather humble person and very reserved. At home, I had to meet many people in the family, remember names and titles, making me feel like a stranger. I noticed that since I stayed with my mother less, I gradually lost affection for her. I was cautious with every word when speaking to her, not confiding or showing concern, and maybe because of that, I forgot about my mother in my heart.

At the temple, many people loved me, making me gradually fear strangers. I was quite attractive to homosexuals; they said I was gentle and often touched me, which I found very uncomfortable. I didn't like it and tried to avoid them, but it wasn't always possible. I stayed in my room unless there was work to do, managed by the monk in charge. I didn't dare go out alone. Although they were older than me, their actions made me feel very uneasy. Why couldn't they behave normally when interacting with me?

The younger ones at the temple spoke very rudely; I didn't understand who taught them those words. Fortunately, having grown up at home and then entering the temple, I wasn't familiar with such language. Though I tried to adapt by using casual speech, it didn't feel right and made me lose myself. Gradually, I learned to fake a smile while feeling uncomfortable inside. I preferred the company of women and the elderly over middle-aged individuals because they often touched me excessively, which I couldn't stand anymore. I decided to leave that temple and live in another one.

When I left, the monk in charge cried and didn't want me to go. He protected me very much; I mostly stayed in my room, and no one said anything. Hardly anyone saw me except when I went out to recite scriptures or help with tasks. Outwardly, it seemed I was loved, but no one understood my silent suffering. Even if I spoke up, it would be seen as a joke by the adults. It wasn't until I grew older that I understood it was my own cowardice and lack of knowledge. I blamed myself for not stopping it, for being so naive and allowing myself to be exploited without resisting.

When I left, that monk lost his reputation because of his actions. Even though I didn't speak out, people might have noticed something. I rarely talked about my personal life, so even if someone reads this story, please consider it the past of a child who was taken advantage of. I don't want anyone to lose their dignity because of my story.

At the new temple, people talked behind my back a lot, saying I was an abandoned child with no one to care for. They said I didn't love my guardian. I ignored them and stayed at the new temple, still unable to fit in. The new head monk cared for me but didn't exploit me like the previous one. I helped with simple chores like washing clothes and cleaning. However, those around me grew more jealous. Though they didn't say it, I understood because children would tell me what they saw and heard. Children always speak the truth.

The head monk knew I was talked about, so he often confided in me, and I considered him my only confidant, sharing everything with him. He helped me through many difficulties and promised to support me if I ordained. I understood why people asked why I didn't become a monk. It's easy to shave your head and wear the robes, but the important thing is whether you can renounce greed and anger. I'm not greedy or selfish, but I harbor anger and resentment. I'm haunted by sexuality and dislike those who speak ill, unable to like such people.

If I were thick-skinned and unconcerned about these issues, I could become a monk. Some exploit their position to make money from devotees, using sweet words to achieve their goals. I know there are all kinds of people everywhere, but joining a temple means facing many people who gossip, which I can't handle. Many my age become monks and then leave, showing no respect for Buddhism. I dislike that. If you think of becoming a monk to escape life's suffering, then truly ordain. Don't do it for material gain. This is why Buddhism's reputation suffers. I don't blame the genuine monks, for they are rare. The true monks are in the mountains or remote areas. Now, you only see beautiful, magnificent temples, not the peaceful places for practice anymore.