by Asher Soto
Miami
It was clear by the end of our first date, sitting side by side on the shore of the bay, her hand in mine as the sun came down—the only natural thing to do was kiss.
Leaning in, I thought: Like the movies. All we’re missing is the fireworks.
It didn’t occur to me that I’d felt much the same not so long ago, at the start of my last relationship.
Three years earlier, in 2017, I’d graduated Soka University of America and moved to San Diego for work. Born and raised in the “garden of Soka,” I quite frankly took the practice for granted. On my own for the first time, it didn’t take me long to drift from faith in pursuit of what I thought would make me happy: promotions and a girlfriend. Landing both, I shelved my faith in the spring of 2019, until the breakup that winter. Heartbroken, I called my parents, who encouraged me to dust myself off (and my altar too) and chant. For two months, I did, for what I thought would make me happy. I chanted for another girlfriend. When I met one—the one, that February, on a bayside date I didn’t want to end, I swiftly drifted again—from faith and myself—further this time than I knew was possible.
The isolation happened slowly, encouraged by my partner in subtle ways—a complaint here, a joke there; an eye-roll, a criticism—gestures made toward friends and family that seemed to lament their company. She longed to be alone with me—perfectly natural, as the movies make clear, the hallmark of a person in love. And indeed, alone together, we were happy. Or at least, at the beginning, she was.
When the pandemic hit in March of 2020, she quickly moved in with me. Driving straight home from work, I’d find her waiting. It occurred to me only dimly, in transit, that my life was shrinking, that it was fully contained in these two places: work and home. An employee from 9 to 5, a boyfriend 5 p.m. to bedtime. I might have remained a Buddhist, but religion offended her judgment. Eventually, I chose her comfort over my faith and stopped chanting altogether.
I was seeing a therapist at the time, who was helping me answer certain long-standing questions about myself. I realized I was a) bisexual and b) on the autism spectrum. These revelations confused and upset my partner, who blamed me more and more for our unhappiness.
Searing abdominal pain woke me in January 2023. Waking my partner, I pleaded to be taken to the hospital. She refused (we’d been fighting just before bed), so I drove myself, got to the waiting room and promptly passed out from the pain. I came to on a gurney, a doctor informing me of a gallbladder infection requiring emergency surgery. Coming home post-op with a tube in my gut, I hoped I’d find some compassion. Instead, I was met with vicious putdowns lasting the length of the recovery. The shock set off a little red warning light in my head.
That spring, back-to-back deaths in both our families strained us to our breaking points, and our relationship collapsed. Still, we were living together, and one day, during a particularly heated exchange, she assaulted me. I was admitted to the ER and she was arrested. Pained, overwhelmed and emotionally exhausted, I recognized that I couldn’t go on like this. My parents flew in from Miami and, for the second time in two years, encouraged me to reenshrine the Gohonzon and chant. For the first time, I chanted not for promotions or girlfriends but for one thing and one thing only: happiness.
In September of that year, I reached out for guidance from a senior in faith, who asked me whether I’d yet chanted with appreciation for my ex. Wasn’t it her, after all, who’d brought me back to the Gohonzon?
Putting this into practice felt strange at first, but slowly began to make sense. Not only was I chanting again, but I was chanting about things I never had before. In prayer, I considered for the first time what my ex was helping me to see—my tendency to please others at the cost of my true self and happiness. Chanting, I began to see the value of that painful relationship, to feel hope. And then, just as I was getting back on my feet, life dealt another major blow. I was laid off.
By January 2024, I’d spent my savings. Painfully, I admitted this to my parents who immediately offered to fly me home. With no prospects, I took the offer. So, 10 years after leaving home for college, I was back, with nothing to show for the time I’d been gone.
One morning, at a Soka 2030 meeting, a member approached and asked if I’d consider supporting a meeting behind the scenes. With no excuse, I said yes.
Supporting the members every week, I chanted abundantly for their happiness. For the first time in my life, I put my Buddhist practice at the center of my life and began to feel lighter than I had in years. Though I had no career, no girlfriend and no apartment, I was reminded by my friends in faith that I had what mattered most—the heart of a Bodhisattva of the Earth. Words from Ikeda Sensei that strengthened me then:
Nothing is irredeemable in youth. Rather, the worst mistake you can make when young is to give up and not challenge yourselves for fear of failure. The past is the past and the future is the future. Keep moving forward with a steady eye on the future, telling yourselves: “I’ll start from today!” (Discussions On Youth, p. 26)
In the summer of 2024, speaking with a family friend, I mentioned the insurance work I’d done for years in San Diego, which prompted her to suggest I get a master’s in legal studies, an idea that sparked something in me. I began researching and discovered the perfect program at the University of Miami (UM).
As I wrote my application, I took part in a long tradition kept by Miami’s Byakuren and Soka Group, of sharing determinations before and after a shift. Always, I determined that everyone arriving to the center would feel safe, seen and heard, and that we as a team would be fully united. Personally, I determined to get accepted to UM to infuse the compliance field with humanism.
On Nov. 18—the founding day of the Soka Gakkai—I got the call for an interview. I kept chanting with determination. Then, on Dec. 2, the day after my Soka Group shift at a kosen-rufu gongyo meeting, I got the news: I had been accepted. It was my first victory as a newly appointed district young men’s leader.
The program at UM has been wonderful. But this time around, having gotten what I wanted, I have no intention of letting my faith fall to the wayside. I know deeply now that happiness comes not from without but from within, from a vow for the happiness of all people.
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