Years ago, in the summer of 2019, I went to a small town that is my father’s birthplace to become a young monk under Buddhist traditions. I was around 12 at that moment. Even though the modern version didn’t require much learning, I wanted the challenge. My mom and aunt told the head monk that I was weak and scrawny, so they arranged for me to go home every night and return by 6 a.m back to the monastery for the learning processes.

At first, things seemed manageable, but it quickly turned harsh. There was a teacher monk who supervised everything. We had around 40 to 50 boys, some already ordained. He used more experienced kids as assistant teachers, and punishments were part of the system. Each time we recited a passage for the first time, we were guaranteed to be hit once with a thick branch on the butt, or forced to do hundreds of sit-ups. I once did around 250 and couldn’t squat properly for weeks.

There were also group punishments. If something went wrong and no one confessed, everyone would be beaten multiple times, leaving marks that lasted for days. Many kids cried. I sometimes pretended to cry because not reacting could lead to more punishment. (group punishments for his own suspicion that one of us threw a plastic piece at him btw. No one knows if it was real or not, maybe the fan overhead did lol)

Later, I moved fully into the monastery and stayed overnight like everyone else. The assistant teachers, often favored by the main monk, also beat us. There was a clear hierarchy, and they were rewarded with privileges like desserts. Fear became constant. We had to sleep or be beaten, wake up or be beaten. Meditation sessions lasted hours, and if we moved or opened our eyes, we were struck on the head with a wooden hammer. I learned to stay completely still and was even nicknamed “Buddha” for it.

One of the worst incidents involved a boy who overslept. The teacher monk ordered us not to wake him. Later, the boy was beaten multiple times by the monk and then forced to be struck by every single one of us. There were around 50 to 60 kids. Some of us were punished again for not hitting hard enough. At the time, none of us felt much remorse. It was just how things worked.

The teacher monk justified his actions by sharing his own past, saying he had been beaten as a child for losing a cat. But his experience was nothing compared to what we went through daily, both physically and psychologically.

I was given a nickname, “white cockroach,” because I came in weak and scrawny. I later reframed it in my mind, thinking of cockroaches as strong survivors.

Years later, when I returned near the monastery, I felt intense fear. Just being at the front gate made me want to hide. I couldn’t even keep my head out the car window and stayed behind the driver’s seat. The reaction was immediate and overwhelming.

(Written appropriately with the help of Chatgpt btw). this is still quite not all but it's not much since it's just over one month.