I want to share with you about entering and leaving monkhood. These two moments changed me in different ways.
Entering Monkhood
When I first entered monkhood, I remember feeling nervous. My head was shaved, and when I touched it, it felt strange, like I was touching a new version of myself. The ceremony was simple but powerful. My mother cried softly, not because she was sad, but because she was happy this would bring merit to our family. When I put on the saffron robe for the first time, it felt heavy, not from weight, but from responsibility. I thought, “Now I must learn how to live with good heart.”
The first days were difficult. Waking up before sunrise, eating only one meal, sitting long hours in meditation — my body complained a lot. But every day, something inside changed a little bit, like water polishing stone. I learned how to sit with my thoughts, how to breathe slow, how to see beauty in very small things. I learned that peace is not something you find outside, but something you grow inside.
The silence became my friend. The chanting became my comfort. The simple life made my mind clear, like water after rain. I learned to let go of many things I used to hold tight.
I stayed many years, longer than I first planned. But monk life is not forever. One day I felt my path was changing, not because I lost faith, but because my parents were getting older and needed me. In Thai culture, taking care of parents is very important merit. I felt this was my duty.
Leaving Monkhood
Leaving monkhood was another transition, emotional in a different way. I did not leave because I was unhappy. I left because my heart told me it was time to take care of my mother and father. The teachings say we must repay the kindness of parents, and I wanted to do this with full heart.
On the last day, when I removed the robe, I felt light but also a little empty, like saying goodbye to an old friend. My teacher told me, “You are not leaving the teachings. You are carrying them into new life.” Those words stay with me even now.
Leaving the temple did not mean leaving the teachings. They stay with me in every breath, every step, every small kindness.
Leaving monkhood does not mean you simply go back to normal life. For me, this was the most difficult part. When you live many years with quiet, discipline, and simple routine, the outside world feels very loud. Too many choices, too many voices, too many things happening at the same time.
In the temple, every day has clear structure. Outside, you must create own structure. In monk life, you learn to let go of desire. Outside, desire is everywhere — food, money, comfort, entertainment. I had to learn how to live in the world without letting the world pull my mind in every direction.
Even speaking was difficult. As a monk, I spoke softly and slowly. Outside, people talk fast. They interrupt. They joke. They argue. Initially, I felt isolated. I had to learn how to join conversation again, how to be part of normal life without losing the calm I built inside.
But slowly, like everything, I adjusted. I learned how to carry the monk heart into daily life. I learned how to walk in busy street with quiet mind. I learned how to listen deeply, even when world is noisy. And I learned that leaving monkhood does not mean you stop being monk inside.
Today I take care of my parents. I bring food for them, clean for them, help them walk, help them rest. Some people may say I am not monk anymore, but I am monk in the home. The robe is gone, but the heart is the same.
Sending warm greetings from Chiang Mai, from someone who still walks with a little bit of monk heart.