OH! My friend. I found my friend.

In junior high and high school, one of my closest friends in the world was Hoa. I loved Hoa. When he was good at something, he was amazing at it. He drew, did all of our party announcements for years; he was just an incredible artist. He was so damn smart, and funny, and way stylish, and profoundly, overwhelmingly good. Most of the time he was just another sharp kid with us, you know. But sometimes we'd talk, and I'd get afraid that he was too good for the world. That the world would take someone like him, someone who never ever saw a person do something bad, who wanted to understand every single person to their core, who was open to the best of everyone, and hurt him.

He stayed in LA when I left for college. We stayed close; not talking often but talking intensely when we could. We visited each other. He got a fiancée who wasn't so sure about me, so I kept my distance for a while. They didn't marry. Then I heard he won a Fulbright to Vietnam, his first trip back since leaving. He came home, won an architecture contest and used the proceeds to go straight back to Vietnam. This time he became a monk. My friend Hoa. A monk.

You know, when I heard that Hoa was a monk, I had two immediate thoughts. The first was grief for all that talent, lost. He won't be drawing and making buildings for the world if he's a monk. My second thought was "Of course. Of course he's a monk." I was relieved. A monastery will be a safe place for my friend who is too pure and good to live in the world.

It is a little strange to have a friend who's a monk. I visit him every few years at his monastery. The first time, he wasn't there. He was at a nearby campus, holding a retreat. I got to the campus way late, but it turns out that if you ask people where the monks are, they can generally tell you. I found other monks, who didn't know his pre-monk name. We finally tracked him down (he was working with the LGBT teens group), and when they finished he came out and saw me. It was amazing, watching my old beloved friend walking toward me in monk's robes. He was exactly the same, only purer, distilled to essence. More him. I was desperate to hear about becoming a monk, but also desperate because at that point I had twenty-two minutes to get to the airport, return the car and get on my plane. I told him I wanted to hear everything, but he had to tell it to me while walking me to my car. He just beamed at me.

We started walking to the car and whenever I'd tell him where I was and what I was doing, he'd stop to listen and give me his full attention. I'd tug him towards the car and ask him "how did you become a monk! what is it like! what did your family think!" and he would stop to think and answer me. I looked to the car one more time, and he said in the most loving tone "Megan, I wish I could tell you more about our practice. We practice mindfulness. So, when I am walking with my friend Megan, all of me is walking with you. When I am talking to you, that is all I am doing." DUDE! But you can't hurry a monk.

I've seen him again since then. That must be odd for him, 'cause I don't call ahead. I mean, he's a monk. He'll be there, right? So every few years, he turns around at his monastery and there I am. His life is pretty worldly; they're definitely engaged with the community. I asked him if he was going to be a monk his whole life; he said "This and many lives to come." He means it. He looks so whole. I still can't totally understand that he's a monk. I want my piece of him, where we stayed friends our whole lives and our families visit each other. I'm not going to get that. He gives all his pieces to his monastery and his practice.

I can still love him, though. Tonight I found pictures of him and I'm missing him badly. But look how happy he looks. You can see it, right? How good he is? He was always like that.

















.