Letter to a Nun In Naksan-sa, Part 5

To A Nun I Met in Naksan-sa,

There I was , stopping outside Hong-ryeong-am in the autumn of 2004, feeling a little more than disappointed and cheated because the sunrise I had been expecting at Uisangdae didn’t materialize. And there you were, apparently just having finished your morning meditations or morning chores with a little time to spare before your next round of chants and prostrations. Can’t remember how we started chatting, if one can even call it that as my Korean was just as limited as your English. But it’s amazing how far a little goodwill and a dictionary can take us.

Despite the language barrier, I think somehow we managed to work out that we shared the same birth year and I think I managed to ask you rather impertinently why you chose to be a nun. You smiled enigmatically ( or was it awkwardly?) because you didn’t want or know how to respond to my presumptuous question.

Our stilted conversation was punctuated by quiet long looks out to sea. My irritation was giving way to your calming smile and soon it was time for you to return to your temple routine. So I was more than a little surprised when you gestured for me to wait as you disappeared and reappeared with a bag of rice cakes and sweets which you put into my hands. My jaw dropped because I was more accustomed to seeing people giving things to Buddhist monks and nuns. Yet there you were - someone who had obviously given up so much, giving up even more to a stranger.

Hurriedly I rifled through my day backpack for something to reciprocate but my main supply of snacks was in the minbak where I’d left my main bag. You smiled reassuringly as if to say it didn’t matter, that you weren’t expecting anything, that you were simply happy to give me a parting present. Some people may think – how embarrassing to be at the receiving end and to accept things from a nun when I should be giving something to you. But it felt like a blessing because your kindness and generosity of spirit more than made up for the sunrise I had missed. Gamsa-hamnida.

Sincerely,

Ajumma