I've never been an avid church goer. The few memories of church I have are mainly rooted in experiences from early childhood, when I spent my summers with my grandparents. Sunday mornings would always start earlier than any other day, and I would always resent the fact that I had to be dragged along to Sunday worship. On the ride there, there was hardly any conversation, just the gospel station playing some slow-tempo, melancholy melody that seemed to last for longer than three minutes and thirty seconds. I never understood why we only listened to the gospel station on Sundays before church. I guess this routine was the source for my anxiety towards gospel music; I still can't listen to a church hymn without feeling oddly foreign. The church of choice for my grandparents was our family church. It was no stranger to age, a small building that you'd definitely pass right by without noticing if you weren't looking for it. The congregation was all family: blood relatives of mine. Except for the poor occasional boyfriend or girlfriend or colleague that got suckered into coming for a visit. Most people only visited once, especially those who randomly came upon the church with no ties to any of the family, my family. Looking back now, I imagine they must have been taken aback by the service. It was an interesting service, alright. After loitering about the pews and making idle conversation for about an hour past the intended start of services, everyone would shuffle to their places and get settled in for about another five minutes. Once the old women were situated with their paper fans and us children had been hushed, we would open up with hymns. The longest preamble to anything I've ever witnessed were those hymns before service. There would be a jumble of different ranges singing one song, some voices in tune, others hopelessly lost in another key. I would always look around to see those who remained seated, swaying along to the singing, but with lips closed. They were the non-members, non-family. I'm reminded of this image every time I visit a new church and the parish stand to rejoice in hymn, while I remain seated, a foreigner in familiar territory. After rambling through about three or four of never-ending hymns, the pastor would take the pulpit and share some verses, which he would expand upon endlessly. It was the length of service that bothered me most. At the age of six or seven, no child wants to sit anywhere for hours on end. And even though my grandmother tucked away fruit roll-ups in her purse to disperse to me, my cousin, and my brother mid-service, I soon developed a feeling of indifference toward church service, a feeling that spilled over into my perception of any church I visited afterward, no matter what the message was. Though I attended the church in the summertime until around the age of eleven, I remember the times surrounding six and seven most vividly. Maybe it's because those were the ages when it no longer was acceptable to sleep through service. Though I still wasn't quite old enough to understand the sermons, I remember getting an occasional nudge from my grandma if I began to doze. Sometimes it was just a side look from her that would remind me of my new duty: stay awake, even if service stretches out from 2 hours to 4. The closing of service was about the only thing longer than the opening, however. This was the time when any one present in the church who had a word or two to share with everyone could stand up and speak. Though they hardly had just a few words to share. A regular speaker was one of my uncles. He always had something to say, and I learned to associate his presence at the pulpit with an extra 20-30 minutes tagged on to the closing of service. He never failed to put his word out, and half the time, the topics would soon stray to something not so close to church. It didn't take long for me to get used to this pattern of religion, and as soon as I got used to it, I began to resent it. I never even actually payed any attention to the bible until I was in my teens, around 14, but I can remember feeling anxious on Sunday mornings as far back as age 7. That's 7+ years of having a clouded view of religion. As you can imagine, I never really developed close emotional ties to church those years or to anything that related to it...prayer, gospel music, living the so-called Christian Lifestyle. All of these things I related with others, not myself. I never could imagine myself as a Christian, even though I was never a troublesome child. In fact, I began to build a guilt because of the lack of feeling I had towards my family's religion, my religion. I thought that since I felt "un-Christian" it was also obvious to everyone else I knew, like some one had written across my forehead "WARNING: NOT A TRUE CHRISTIAN!". Every time I had a conversation with a friend about religion and I said I was Christian, I could hear a little voice in my head scream: "IMPOSTOR! YOU DON'T REALLY LOVE JESUS! LIER!". I became paranoid that once my friends found out my real feelings towards church that I would lose them. Even today, I feel ill-at-ease conversing heavily about church matters or the bible. It wasn't until recently that I began to think that maybe it was okay to veer from Christianity. Now, I am in no way downing the religion, but somethings just aren't for everybody. Breath, sleep, eat, grow-up: these things everybody must do, and I don't think I'll hear any one complaining seriously about having to breath to stay alive anytime soon. But things like the clothes you choose to wear, the people you choose to hang around, the advice you choose to follow, the way you choose to present yourself, the things you choose to do, they all have one thing in common: you choose them. And choosing something other than what the person next to you has chosen doesn't make you a bad person. It took me 9 years to realize this. But finally I have, and I am beginning to look beyond religion and what others expect of me. I'm focusing more on me. I'm looking for ways to further myself, as an individual and a member of society. And whether or not I have to use religion to get to a higher place is slowly becoming less of a concern for me. Yes, there are still days when that relentless guilt strikes me and I feel the need to crack open my dusty bible and kneel and pray awhile, but I am slowly internalizing that a "non-Christian" is by no means a "non-good-person". I still call myself christian, but now I've begun to lean more towards agnostic beliefs. And that does not make me a bad person. I am still a spiritual person, and I do believe there is a God. But I'm beginning to discover God for myself, without just going by what others believe. Thank God for that.
Friday, July 17, 2009
A Deeper Look Into Who Be M.F.E.
I've never been an avid church goer. The few memories of church I have are mainly rooted in experiences from early childhood, when I spent my summers with my grandparents. Sunday mornings would always start earlier than any other day, and I would always resent the fact that I had to be dragged along to Sunday worship. On the ride there, there was hardly any conversation, just the gospel station playing some slow-tempo, melancholy melody that seemed to last for longer than three minutes and thirty seconds. I never understood why we only listened to the gospel station on Sundays before church. I guess this routine was the source for my anxiety towards gospel music; I still can't listen to a church hymn without feeling oddly foreign. The church of choice for my grandparents was our family church. It was no stranger to age, a small building that you'd definitely pass right by without noticing if you weren't looking for it. The congregation was all family: blood relatives of mine. Except for the poor occasional boyfriend or girlfriend or colleague that got suckered into coming for a visit. Most people only visited once, especially those who randomly came upon the church with no ties to any of the family, my family. Looking back now, I imagine they must have been taken aback by the service. It was an interesting service, alright. After loitering about the pews and making idle conversation for about an hour past the intended start of services, everyone would shuffle to their places and get settled in for about another five minutes. Once the old women were situated with their paper fans and us children had been hushed, we would open up with hymns. The longest preamble to anything I've ever witnessed were those hymns before service. There would be a jumble of different ranges singing one song, some voices in tune, others hopelessly lost in another key. I would always look around to see those who remained seated, swaying along to the singing, but with lips closed. They were the non-members, non-family. I'm reminded of this image every time I visit a new church and the parish stand to rejoice in hymn, while I remain seated, a foreigner in familiar territory. After rambling through about three or four of never-ending hymns, the pastor would take the pulpit and share some verses, which he would expand upon endlessly. It was the length of service that bothered me most. At the age of six or seven, no child wants to sit anywhere for hours on end. And even though my grandmother tucked away fruit roll-ups in her purse to disperse to me, my cousin, and my brother mid-service, I soon developed a feeling of indifference toward church service, a feeling that spilled over into my perception of any church I visited afterward, no matter what the message was. Though I attended the church in the summertime until around the age of eleven, I remember the times surrounding six and seven most vividly. Maybe it's because those were the ages when it no longer was acceptable to sleep through service. Though I still wasn't quite old enough to understand the sermons, I remember getting an occasional nudge from my grandma if I began to doze. Sometimes it was just a side look from her that would remind me of my new duty: stay awake, even if service stretches out from 2 hours to 4. The closing of service was about the only thing longer than the opening, however. This was the time when any one present in the church who had a word or two to share with everyone could stand up and speak. Though they hardly had just a few words to share. A regular speaker was one of my uncles. He always had something to say, and I learned to associate his presence at the pulpit with an extra 20-30 minutes tagged on to the closing of service. He never failed to put his word out, and half the time, the topics would soon stray to something not so close to church. It didn't take long for me to get used to this pattern of religion, and as soon as I got used to it, I began to resent it. I never even actually payed any attention to the bible until I was in my teens, around 14, but I can remember feeling anxious on Sunday mornings as far back as age 7. That's 7+ years of having a clouded view of religion. As you can imagine, I never really developed close emotional ties to church those years or to anything that related to it...prayer, gospel music, living the so-called Christian Lifestyle. All of these things I related with others, not myself. I never could imagine myself as a Christian, even though I was never a troublesome child. In fact, I began to build a guilt because of the lack of feeling I had towards my family's religion, my religion. I thought that since I felt "un-Christian" it was also obvious to everyone else I knew, like some one had written across my forehead "WARNING: NOT A TRUE CHRISTIAN!". Every time I had a conversation with a friend about religion and I said I was Christian, I could hear a little voice in my head scream: "IMPOSTOR! YOU DON'T REALLY LOVE JESUS! LIER!". I became paranoid that once my friends found out my real feelings towards church that I would lose them. Even today, I feel ill-at-ease conversing heavily about church matters or the bible. It wasn't until recently that I began to think that maybe it was okay to veer from Christianity. Now, I am in no way downing the religion, but somethings just aren't for everybody. Breath, sleep, eat, grow-up: these things everybody must do, and I don't think I'll hear any one complaining seriously about having to breath to stay alive anytime soon. But things like the clothes you choose to wear, the people you choose to hang around, the advice you choose to follow, the way you choose to present yourself, the things you choose to do, they all have one thing in common: you choose them. And choosing something other than what the person next to you has chosen doesn't make you a bad person. It took me 9 years to realize this. But finally I have, and I am beginning to look beyond religion and what others expect of me. I'm focusing more on me. I'm looking for ways to further myself, as an individual and a member of society. And whether or not I have to use religion to get to a higher place is slowly becoming less of a concern for me. Yes, there are still days when that relentless guilt strikes me and I feel the need to crack open my dusty bible and kneel and pray awhile, but I am slowly internalizing that a "non-Christian" is by no means a "non-good-person". I still call myself christian, but now I've begun to lean more towards agnostic beliefs. And that does not make me a bad person. I am still a spiritual person, and I do believe there is a God. But I'm beginning to discover God for myself, without just going by what others believe. Thank God for that.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
New Lessons to Learn
A really odd thing happened yesturday. I wrote a short story. From a man's P.O.V. A sexually aroused man's point of view at that. Wierder things haven't happened, but hey, I'm okay. Maybe this is a new leaf to peel back...whatever in worlds that means. For goodness sakes, I read the the piece back and I didn't even recognize it as my own. Freaky stuff. Like I remember writing it out and the other, but I can't recreate the emotions in my mind that drove this one outta me. I guess some stuff just comes out and you can't really negotiate the details. I stopped though. I'm afraid I can't claim this one. Here it is.
- - - - - - - -
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The Look-A-Like
Tell me why it seems I'm always not in the right place at the right time? My mom called me today on her way home, as she usually does, but her voice sounded especially hype: she had some good news. Honestly, the first thing that came to my mind was, "did we get the house??". We're shopping around for a new house. But by the tone of her voice, I could sense it was better than that; it was indeed. She was on MARTA and by a fluke of events, a young man who happened to look like the male model Tyson Beckford was sitting across from her, wearing simply blue jeans and a white T. I couldn't believe that woman's luck. WOW. I egged her to take a picture, but it couldn't happen with out being too obvious. She said when he got off, all the women near her started chatting and giggling about him, and I bet they were. Hmmm. I wish things like this would happen to me...but wait, only I would want the guy to look like Kevin Michael:) Jeesss. Jeess.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
The Book About Nothing
So when I first realized that the book I've been creating was deleted, I was kind of upset. But I got over it. I just had to accept it was gone and there was no turning back. So I let it go. I started all over again. (Which wasn't all that bad.) Anyway, the book is still under heavy construction and has more potential than ever. I can't wait until it's finished and I can publish it and hold it and say, "look, this is what I have made, an actual book". It won't be long now.
p.s. wanna make a creation of your own?>>>blurb.com
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Famous Stars League
My mom and I were just talking about famous people when I had this delayed epiphany. I call it delayed because I don't know why I haven't delved into the idea before,: famous (and rich) people have it MADE. I mean, seriously. There are few things that I can think of at the moment that can't be fixed with a $million+ annual income and famous connections. Worst comes to worst, you get down and you can just call up Usher to serenade you, or have P-Diddy throw you a party on his yacht, or call up Doctor Phil to give you a pep-talk, or even go on a shopping spree with Sarah Jessica Parker. Okay, maybe not all famous people have such valuable connections, but that doesn't mean they couldn't. They could definitely approach fellow stars who they admire and ask for a picture or autograph without coming off as "the crazed fan". What advantages they have at their disposal! And of course, there's the money. Money, money, money. So much of it and (if they have the sense to manage it right) enough to last a lifetime. The only thing that I might get tinged by from time to time is the all-seeing presence--the paparazzi. They really do seem annoying. But besides those bimbos, it'd be sweet to live that life. Drake, now I gotta go get famous just to see if I'm right.
Music Discovery 'O The Day
I've never been a huge fan of rock bands with loud guitar lines, screaming lead vocalists, and insanely inaudiable lyrics. Surprise, surprise because today's Discovery 'O The Day is along those lines: "Bulls On Parade" by Rage Against The Machine. In such a time appropriate era as well. The Message: War is a never ending game of Russian Rullette, while it's reasoning is mysterious, the outcome is obvious. *M.F.E.
Monday, June 1, 2009
A Poptart A Day...
So I'm just wondering--what is it that makes pop tarts so good? Is it the light frosting that compliments its breaded texture? Or maybe it's the irresistible filling on the inside that's just the right amount of sweet...I'm at a loss. No matter the mysterious reason, I find that most of my friends are addicted to this delightful little pastry as well. I still remember when we realized that the school vending machine had finally switched over to the 2-pack pouch instead of selling just one measly pop tart. We all grinned in satisfaction and high-fived. I've got to hand it to Kellogg's, even the little animated characters on the packages make me crack a smile; it's an all around good thing.
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