Monkhood

This is only a mock photo. No, I wasn't wearing a robe, I just covered my learner's robe around my chest.

What if I’d wake up one morning like this–caught up in an existence hasn’t even crossed my wildest imagination–not even once?  Would unkind words echo like a roaring thunder or would I hear nothing but a deafening silence of condemnation? I could feel the sting of a wounded heart through ridicules from the world I’ve known while the other side of the world is in constant jubilation. I knew it. It had to be this way. Of course, I am aware ever since I got here that this is someone’s path but somebody’s inquisition–only a minute of pretense for once in my life.  

Please don’t get me wrong, please don’t. I have a deep respect for monks and Buddhism in fact–deeper than the ocean, but I can’t be one of them for a billion reasons. And whatever justification I have in mind, let it be gone with the wind. Classroom, hi-and-bye rapport, taking photos in selfie and groupie, teacher-learners acquaintances, and typical chats–we were always just this close. To be in a monkhood? No, it isn’t  my world.