When Peace Walked Into My Life

By Rosina Pavia

In November 2025, I discovered peace for the first time.
It had been a singularly dark period for me. I’ve come through many difficult things and times; this seemed like an era of pure overwhelm.
I was facing my first surgery. The only times I’d spent overnight in a hospital were while I was in medical school and residency. I’d be on the other side of the looking glass now. But what was really making me lose my grip on reality was that my best friend was no longer in my life.
John had been my best friend for nearly 30 years, becoming especially close during COVID. He had his second DUI before COVID, and his license was revoked for five years. John’s wife, Leigh, got really tired of being confined with him 24/7, so I was a welcome distraction for both of them.
Once we were all comfortably vaccinated and restaurants opened up, we were so happy to be out and about again. But John’s problems became more and more evident. He would post really embarrassing things about Leigh, as well as accuse her of harming him. He would post that she was trying to kill him and that he was afraid of her.
All of our mutual friends would then contact me, even some I didn’t know. They all knew that I was the family’s closest friend. And I would always drop everything and drive 30 minutes to help. I even went to see him every other day when he was confined to a psychiatric facility after trying to commit suicide. Leigh only went once or twice, and his daughter didn’t bother to visit even once. All of the staff thought I was his wife, and even security knew me by name.
Eventually, John started gaslighting me, too. In his drunken state, he would accuse me of horrible things that were completely made up and fictional. He would belittle me and ridicule me publicly on Facebook when he’d had too much to drink. His ego couldn’t take the fact that I was more successful than him, and his jealousy of me was just perplexing.
After many direct confrontations, I told John that he needed professional help, and I found him what I thought was the perfect therapist who could work with his addiction as well as provide family counseling. Even his daughter wouldn’t allow him to see his grandson, although they live locally, because of John’s constant state of inebriation.
I go out of my way to help people, and they turn around and stab me. I do all of the work, and get all of the blame. Story of my life. I know this one by heart.
By the time fall had rolled around, I was spending too much time doom-scrolling and was anguished by the inhumanities of man, deliberately inflicting pain.

Learning to Survive
The story of my struggle with chaos didn’t begin with John.
We had emigrated from Taiwan to the United States when I was three. We were a family of four in 1965. I barely knew my dad when we landed in Seattle. He was in the Taiwanese military for his mandatory one-year deployment when I was born. He was home for a year, but then emigrated on his own to do his internship at New Jersey City Medical Center. My mom, my sister, and I continued to live with our grandfather and extended family in Taichung, since there were many aunts who could help care for two toddlers.
My mom’s mental health problems started to become evident once we moved to Brooklyn, New York. We lived in a ghetto. When my older sister and I walked to P.S. 241, we got mercilessly teased for being “Chinks.” Bullies followed us to school and back.
Weirdly enough, my mom only walked us to school the first day. After that, my older sister, who was six or seven, and I, who was five, walked by ourselves about three long blocks.
On the way home the second day, the gang of bullies started tormenting us again. I decided that I had had enough. I sized up the biggest bully—and attacked him. He did not see me coming, and I was relentless. I punched, kicked, and kneed him in the groin. He crumpled like a napkin, and I stomped on him some more.
I like to be thorough.
The rest of his gang, as well as my sister, all ran away.
We never got teased again. And the bully and all of that gang became good friends.
Anyways, that should have been the first clue that something was not right with my mom. She started having wild mood swings, lost her temper over nothing, and that unpredictability was nerve-racking. I learned to walk on eggshells, read the room, and just try to stay out of the fray.
My dad was mostly gone, between doing his pathology residency and moonlighting, doing autopsies for $500. He was supporting not only his family in the United States, but also his family in Taiwan, an issue that my mom has never been able to get over. As recently as this week, she complained to me about that, even though my dad has been dead for several years.
I grew up vowing to never be like her. Even at the age of five, I vowed that no one would control me with power or money. In much later years, my sister and I had a conversation about that. She could not believe that I had those thoughts so young.
Yet, I did.
I have a really good memory, and can even remember what I was wearing in the corner of our living room in Brooklyn when I made my first vow to myself.
For the sake of brevity, let’s just say that the physical, mental, and emotional damage our mom inflicted on all four kids required all of us to explore lots of therapy. Growing up in that environment taught me to be hyperaware, to read people and situations quickly, and to protect myself.
I have lived with severe complex trauma from my childhood, augmented by dozens of traumatic events as an adult. I’ve been shot twice, was nearly fatally stabbed by a crazy old Russian guy in Boston who had been stalking me—and whom we later learned had fatally stabbed his sister that same morning in their apartment. I’ve had a couple of near-fatal SCUBA diving accidents and motor vehicle accidents, none of which were my fault. I also had a very toxic work relationship, with my last boss being so psychotic that I nearly got involuntarily committed because of his actions.
In other words, I had become very good at surviving.

The Unexpected Door
Buddhism wasn’t completely new to me. The Dalai Lama was familiar. And as part of my yoga practice, I knew some Sanskrit and poses like Anjali Mudra.
Although I am highly spiritual, I have never been religious. I believe deeply in science and facts, and I just refuse to take that leap of faith. Virgin births and ribs becoming Eve were a complete non-starter for me.
Then, one early November night, while scrolling on Facebook, Aloka caught my eye.
He looked so much like my Rocket that I did a double take.
Instantly hooked, I started following posts, which led me to Dhamma talks. Over the next few weeks, a sense of peace and serenity began to still the restlessness and emptiness within me.
I began to feel safe, like I was home with trusted family and friends.
Only I didn’t grow up in a safe environment.
That feeling was new.
I listened intently to Venerable Bhikkhu Pannakara’s Dhamma talks, and they made so much sense. Buddhism didn’t require me to suspend my belief in science and medicine. Instead, it offered teachings about the mind, suffering, attachment, compassion, and how we relate to what happens within us.
That was something I could understand.
As the weeks progressed, my awe of this team grew exponentially. I was amazed that nothing seemed to faze them. I was impressed with their strength and resilience. I was delighted by their attitudes, enchanted by their smiles, and grateful for their kind presence in my life.
I began to realize that I wasn’t simply watching a group of monks walk across the country.
I was watching people practice what they were teaching.

When Peace Walked Into My Life
After months of darkness, I found my way to the light.
I caught myself smiling and laughing while watching the sea of saffron glide with gentle steps into the hearts of millions around the world.
The Walk for Peace gave me something I hadn’t realized how desperately I needed: a glimpse of what peace could feel like.
Not the absence of problems. Not a life without pain. But a different way of meeting life.
Peace walked into my soul, and Aloka snuggled into my heart.
And the Venerable Monks walked into my mind, evoking compassion and kindness.
For someone who had spent much of her life learning how to survive, discovering peace was nothing short of extraordinary.