The Path To Kindness - A Story From Myanmar

WHEN I RAISE my head, it feels cooler than it did a few minutes ago. My hand touches my newly bare scalp—perfectly smooth and round. Father, standing nearby, folds the cloth that caught my hair. I shake my head. I feel different, but I’m still Sen.

- Arlene Mark

Today, I become a novice, meaning new or inexperienced. I have a lot to learn.

It started a few months ago when I visited our town monastery with my parents. I met with the head monk to see if I was ready to stay there during summer break. It’s something all boys in Myanmar do before they grow up.

“What is your name and age?” asked the kind, bald man in maroon robes.

“I’m Sen. I’m nine,” I said, trying not to squeak.

He asked me other questions, and I answered as best I could. I was nervous about leaving my family to live with boys I didn’t know, but I’d been looking forward to it ever since my brother became a novice two summers ago.

At the end of the meeting, the monk said I was old enough. I was going to become a novice!

The town held a big celebration for all the boys before we became novices. It’s called Shinbyu, which means “to make a monk.”

Mother helped me dress in a sparkly silk costume and an important-looking crown. She smoothed makeup on my face and lips. I looked like a prince.

“Stop fidgeting, Sen,” Mother said, tucking a blue and white sash around my body.

I closed my eyes and imagined what it would be like to be a real prince, just like in the story my father told me. A prince named Siddhartha Gautama gave up all his fancy things to become a great monk called Buddha. He started our religion, Buddhism.

“Sen, it’s time to go.”