Seven Months and Five Days: Let Us Stop Here

A young man once believed that love was happiness. Yet, after enduring anger, demands, and constant questioning, he realized that worldly pleasures often bring little joy but much exhaustion.

One morning, in a room still holding the coolness of dawn, the young man sat upright before his altar for paying homage to the Buddha. He was tall, with a bright face and a healthy demeanor. His daily routine was neatly arranged: time for chanting sutras, time for prostrations, followed by meditative concentration and physical exercise. The space was so quiet that he could hear each breath clearly when his phone suddenly vibrated beside him.

“Are you well, my love? What are you doing today? I miss you so much.”

His eyes paused on the screen. These words had once warmed his heart, for being missed by someone is easily seen as happiness. But that morning, the first feeling that arose was not joy. His hand resting on his knee tightened slightly. He looked at the altar, then at the glowing phone, feeling a sudden heaviness, as if an invisible string had wrapped around his mind/heart.

He was a young lay practitioner who had not yet taken monastic vows. Until now, he had thought simply that he had the right to love and to start a family. Relatives often reminded him it was time to find a suitable partner for marriage. Therefore, when he entered this relationship, he did not think he was doing anything unusual. He saw it as a natural part of life, a path many people walk.

In the beginning, everything seemed beautiful. A morning greeting, a midday message of longing, or a goodnight text made one feel cared for. He too smiled when reading those gentle words. But as time passed, love was no longer just about missing each other. It gradually brought expectations, demands, jealousy, blame, and clinginess. Small things, like dust particles, accumulated day by day, making it hard for his mind/heart to remain peaceful.

Sometimes, while he was practicing meditative concentration, the phone rang repeatedly. Sometimes, during chanting or prostrations, messages waited for him. Other times, just as he prepared to exercise, unanswered texts led to urgent questions. He did not want to sadden his girlfriend, but he also did not want his practice schedule constantly interrupted. He sat silently, fingers hovering over the screen, unable to type a single word.

“Why aren’t you answering me?”

“I am busy with chanting and exercise. I will talk to you later.”

“Do you hate me now?”

“No. I am just doing my own work.”

“Or do you have someone else?”

The young man exhaled slowly. He explained that he was not betraying her and there was no one else. But the more he explained, the more tangled the conversation became. One delayed reply could be seen as coldness. A desire for quiet practice could be interpreted as a loss of love. Questions that were once sweet now forced him to constantly prove his feelings.

He tried to harmonize. When she was angry, he chose comforting words. When she blamed him, he explained. When she was sad, he listened. Yet these actions repeated endlessly. Joy appeared but vanished quickly, while fatigue lingered. Some days, after putting down the phone, he looked back at the missed practice time and felt empty inside. His mind/heart was like water stirred up; it took a long time to settle.

One afternoon, as he prepared to exercise, the phone rang again. He looked at the screen but did not answer immediately. Soon, familiar questions appeared.

“What are you doing?”

“I am preparing to exercise. I will reply soon.”

“Can’t you even send me a few words?”

“It’s not that I can’t. But I need to finish what I am doing.”

“I see. You don’t miss me like before anymore.”

He stood still beside the phone, his shoulders slumping slightly. What tired him was not any single sentence, but the feeling that all his time and attention could be demanded at any moment. He wondered: If this is happiness, why does my mind/heart grow increasingly uneasy? If love only brings peace, why do we frequently argue, doubt, and cause suffering (dukkha) for each other?

Through his practice, his mind/heart had gradually changed. Before, he viewed love as a natural joy of youth. But the more he turned inward to observe himself, the clearer he saw the price paid for that joy. To gain a few minutes of sweetness, one must invest much time, effort, and worry. The pleasure is short, while accusations, demands, and anxiety can stretch from one day to the next.

The turning point did not come from a fierce argument or the appearance of a third person. It arrived in a very quiet moment, when he sat alone after his practice and looked directly into his mind/heart. He realized he no longer found that binding affection joyful as before. The teaching on worldly sensual pleasures became clear: to find a little joy, humans expend great effort; there is little happiness and much suffering (dukkha), with dangers lurking behind.

He did not resent his girlfriend. She had her expectations, and he had entered the relationship believing love was normal. But now, after exactly seven months and five days, he understood he could not continue merely out of fear of making someone cry. Prolonging something that causes both parties unease is not wise compassion.

He took out paper and sat for a long time before starting to write. His handwriting began slowly, but as he wrote, his mind/heart grew clearer. He did not accuse her, recount arguments, or claim he loved someone else. He simply spoke honestly about what he had deeply considered.

“We have loved each other for seven months and five days. Today, let us stop here. I cannot bear it anymore; I am too tired. I have not betrayed you, nor is there anyone else. I just realize that we are exhausting each other. I hope you do not rush into another love only to suffer again. I too will stop, focus on my practice, and live more rightly.”

When she received the letter, she cried greatly. Through choked words, she asked the thing she feared most.

“Why did you betray me? Why did you leave me?”

“I did not betray you.”

“Then why do you want to break up?”

“Because loving like this is too tiring. We keep arguing, demanding, and causing suffering (dukkha) for each other. I do not want to continue like this.”

Her tears continued, but he did not change his mind. This was not an impulsive decision after an argument, but the result of many days of reflection. He understood that if he softened due to temporary sympathy, they would return to the old cycle: missing, expecting, delaying replies, doubting, explaining, and continuing to be exhausted.

After the relationship ended, he returned to his practice routine. Chanting sessions were no longer interrupted by rapid-fire questions. During meditative concentration, he did not feel anxious about someone getting angry if he replied late. When paying homage to the Buddha or exercising, he could devote his full attention to the task. The return of silence was not noisy, but became clearer each day.

From this experience, he understood that a gradually purified mind/heart naturally loses interest in polluted and binding worldly pleasures. It was not because he hated love or disrespected the person who once loved him, but because he recognized that joy based on demands and possession is fragile. When one has not found peace within, they run outside to grasp happiness. But when the mind/heart begins to settle, that purity itself becomes a happiness that requires no begging or clinging to anyone.

Later, whenever he recalled those seven months and five days, he no longer saw it as a lost love. He viewed it as a period that helped him see the nature of worldly joys more clearly: the surface may be sweet, but behind it lies much effort, much affliction (kleshas), and unpredictable consequences. By recognizing this in time, he chose to stop, care for his mind/heart, live more peacefully, and continue his path of practice.

The Meaning of the Story

Worldly sensual pleasures often demand great effort, bring little joy, and lead to much suffering (dukkha) and danger. As the mind/heart becomes pure, one no longer needs to chase happiness externally, for the cleanliness and peace within one’s own mind/heart are already happiness.

Compiled from the dharma talk by Venerable Thich Chan Quang