When
one speaks of God, you’d expected a Christian. A goody-two shoe that even your
fight-flight response approves because you let your guard down in its presence,
and just a little, your muscle tone relaxes rapidly. You may perhaps willingly
share your space, throw in a smile or two and within a split second, watch this
person return it effortlessly. Her eyes gracing your presence with utmost
attention, without so much as turning around to see the bookworms buried in
their readings or the one little boy who has been running between bookshelves. You
then find yourself talking about your life and how it came to be, what is at
stake and who you love; many of those may have been locked up before friends
and family, yet permeate without difficulty as though the barriers are all
gone. Except she is not a Christian; an atheist would better suit her religious
identity.
“You
see, I don’t believe in God. What an irony, because I so happen to major in
religion. I’ve read the Upanishads, the Koran, the Bible, all those holy sacred
books. If you can name more, chances are I’ve covered them front to back. But I
simply can’t. Do you want to know why I don’t believe in God?”
I
nodded, partially because it was impolite not to follow through with a
conversation and the other portion was simply out of curiosity. No cats
involved I swear.
Part I,
Vonnie S.
Vonnie S.
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