The Moment I Returned to Life

📬 Letter #2 Post-Monastery Reintegration

60 days. 61 days. 62 days…

From the moment I unpacked my tiny suitcase at the temple to the day of the official ordination ceremony, life inside the monastery was a dramatic, irreversible shift. The weather was heating up, even in that deep valley between the mountains. The robe was uncomfortable as hell. Sweat pooled at my neck, chest, thighs, armpits.

The material offered zero ventilation, yet we had to appear calm and unbothered. The only disturbance we were allowed to acknowledge was the chaos inside our minds.

“Here are samples for you. You’ll wear these now. Let me know which size fits; I’ll find more.”

A monk around my age—six years into monastic life—held up two colors: white and beige. They looked like vests with thick shoulder lines and square-shaped torsos.

These were supposed to be my new bras.
No support. No elasticity. No shape. Just an extra fabric layer over the chest.

I tried one. Too small.
Another. Too tight.
Last one. Barely got my arms through. Small again.

Of course, I didn’t like them. I needed support—real support.

“What’s your schedule like on Thursday? Shall we go to Daegu for your tattoos?”

The same monk was arranging my tattoo removals. I had maybe six or seven tattoos—my handwriting, my language, my designs, and even my favorite Buddhist sutta. They were my collection of ego, souvenirs of places I enjoyed: Bangkok, El Salvador, Portland for my birthday, Manila, Boracay with family.

But in the Jogye Order of Korean Buddhism, tattoos are not permitted. You must start the removal during postulant training or have them fully removed before ordination. Some people get rejected for heavy tattoos. Some make it through ordination but later quit because of the unbearable pain.

Zzzzzzz.

I hunched over, upper body naked, the machine blasting like a dental drill in a cave.

OMG. That shock was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

If there is hell, it must feel like this. The pain was literally, truthfully, unbearable. I tried shifting focus to breath, to nature, to chanting—nothing worked. The burning smell filled the room. My skin was literally burning.

Four hours.

By the end, I couldn’t walk, sit, talk, or hold my body upright. Blood covered my back. It felt like every inch had been scraped with a tiny knife. And this was just the beginning of the removal, at least three more years to go.

That same day, I donated 80 percent of my liquid assets—whatever I could mobilize with a single click—to a few organizations I deeply cared about. Monastic life here requires complete non-possession. Monks don’t have “things”, well, at least at this temple. Literal non-attachment.

Monastic bras. Tattoo removals. Empty bank account.
One part of me was committing step by step to this path, transforming into a monk.

Another part of me was suffocating, utterly in denial.

The hierarchical, historical monastic culture—built over thousands of years—was a massive system to obey. Moving from West to East in my mid-thirties was already a big leap. On top of that, adapting to Korean monastic culture was a whole new layer.

‘Will I like the person I become in five years?’ I asked myself.

The real problem wasn’t whether I could change.
It was whether I was willing to.

My answer was no.
My values were already formed as non-negotiables—innovation, democracy, horizontal relationships, logic, global mindsets. I had become stiff, in a way.

I could still hear my greedy, efficiency-driven, ambitious voice every day while learning about Buddha’s teachings. And that wasn’t wrong—it was simply me. But it didn’t belong under the robe of ultimate humanity, compassion, non-self, and non-possession.

If I was going to remain greedy, selfish, ambitious in my own ways, then it might be better as well to have hair and wear normal clothes.

Walking this sacred path was indescribably lonely. Determined. Bold. Honest. A moment-by-moment restlessness. And the truth was: I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t cool enough to bury my secular self.

After another four-hour conversation with the master nun, I told her the truth:
I wasn’t willing to change who I was. And leaving was the right decision—for myself and for the community.

Bitter and sweet.

The monastery to the nearest city was only a 40-minute drive. But it felt like thousands of lifetimes.

I felt washed clean—hundreds of lives washed through me.

Clearer. Calmer. Grounded.

And I learned things about myself that even 15 years of meditation and trauma-informed mindfulness couldn’t reveal.

I realized how closed off I had become and how much inner deconstruction was left. I gained a razor-sharp awareness of sensations and thoughts—loneliness, affection, desire—yet there was no reaction anymore. Just observation. Just presence.

Back in the city. Elastic bras with wire support, thongs, coffees. Things remained the way they were when I left. I stopped casual meetings, casual dating, casual sex, casual ambition, and casual overworking for emotional dopamine hits.

I became a little more intentional.
With my time.
My body.
My work.
My connections.
My energy.

Loneliness, fear, insecurity—they’re still there. But now I’m ready to swing with them. Surf with them.

“We thought we lost you forever!”

Friends welcomed back the old AJ. Work welcomed me back and threw projects at me immediately. How lucky am I?

Two months after returning to ordinary life, I rebranded and restructured my social enterprise into a global NGO—new venture, old soul, carrying the mission 22-year-old AJ started.

No language can fully describe my journey, yet I am collecting these alphabets to articulate something meaningful to you.

Tune in to your true inner self. Every day. Every moment. Ask: “How do I want to live? What am I breathing for?”

Everything will evaporate at some point in your lifetime. But something about you—your intention, your integrity, your consciousness—remains eternally.

So find that. Start your inner journey sooner rather than later.

Breathe.
Be aware of your breath.

My dream? The real, deep personal dream that I wouldn’t talk about on an interview show or stage today?

I want to be conscious of my very last breath on earth when that moment comes.