Ike-One
07-08-2005, 07:55 PM
This was written my junior year... the prompt was in an English class to write about some sort of experience that defined who we were.
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Four walls surrounded me, and I knew it simply because before I turned the lights off, I could see the posters I had hung upon them, from crooked to semi-straight. As a result, the existence of the four objects of human construction could not be questioned, for I had touched them, and put nails in them countless times.
As the pillows under me fluffed and I felt the air kiss my face, I realized I wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon. And thus, that somehow, in some unexplainable way, brought me to question my beliefs. Perhaps, it was the fact that I had been analyzing the existence of my walls, the air, and now I felt the need to challenge myself on a more serious and intellectual level.
I tried to truthfully consider on my religious status. Christian? Was that what they called it? From the time, I was a little boy, I had went to my church by myself. I had hitched rides, or walked there. But moreover, I was proud; I could stand in front of everyone in my church and recite countless verses from Genesis. I imagined myself walking down the aisle, toddler-size and spouting off the verses. And I felt myself grin, with my photographic memory bringing a certain justice to that satisfaction. By the time I was in 4th grade, I was going to another church, walking there myself, of course. Through the cold soul of winter, I crossed the streets and went through the doors, a block away from my house. I listened to the lectures with a sort of bliss that every parent dreamed of having, even though mine never came with me to church. And I see the memories flash before me, like a movie, I could see myself in third person, praying to God, that I would get that Chicago Bulls jacket, and that my best friends were okay.
It’s at that point, I turned my head over, in hopes of better comfort, only to find that my pillow had been soaked. I had been crying. I realized, I couldn’t believe in God anymore. In those past years, my heart was held by the impression that He was real, because I had been conformed to believe so. But now… I felt so vain. I felt like someone who was relying on someone for the wrong reasons. He wasn’t like the walls; I couldn’t touch him, nor could I lay my head on His shoulder and weep my sorrows to him, then expect him to answer me. It was a gamble. My entire life suddenly became a gamble, and I had no faith to put it in the control of anyone except myself. I could follow the rules of the Bible, conform, and hope for my sake, that I had gambled right, and would end up in that place they called Heaven. But I didn’t. I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing I was making a decision that would effect my life to a degree that people would question me. The next day, I awoke. Tired, cynical, and within all honesty, I felt like one vain S.O.B., surrounded by people whom I couldn’t help but question, in my mind, as much as I had myself. It occurred to me, that these people, for the most part, had found some sort of happiness, or fulfillment in their religion. On the other hand, I seemed to have lost something. It was like I had been shot in the chest, and I was walking with an empty spot in me. The pain severed me, like a fire I couldn’t rid, that would hang with me for eternity. For that, I admired the Christians, and the followers of any other religion that had found fulfillment. I wanted to say, I had somehow grown up, matured, and become an independent person. Perhaps I did, but if that were that case, then I hope life has more for me.
It wasn’t until one year later, I found the definition of my status as Agnostic. Yet, for one reason or another, my head still tilts to the skies, searching for something.
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Four walls surrounded me, and I knew it simply because before I turned the lights off, I could see the posters I had hung upon them, from crooked to semi-straight. As a result, the existence of the four objects of human construction could not be questioned, for I had touched them, and put nails in them countless times.
As the pillows under me fluffed and I felt the air kiss my face, I realized I wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon. And thus, that somehow, in some unexplainable way, brought me to question my beliefs. Perhaps, it was the fact that I had been analyzing the existence of my walls, the air, and now I felt the need to challenge myself on a more serious and intellectual level.
I tried to truthfully consider on my religious status. Christian? Was that what they called it? From the time, I was a little boy, I had went to my church by myself. I had hitched rides, or walked there. But moreover, I was proud; I could stand in front of everyone in my church and recite countless verses from Genesis. I imagined myself walking down the aisle, toddler-size and spouting off the verses. And I felt myself grin, with my photographic memory bringing a certain justice to that satisfaction. By the time I was in 4th grade, I was going to another church, walking there myself, of course. Through the cold soul of winter, I crossed the streets and went through the doors, a block away from my house. I listened to the lectures with a sort of bliss that every parent dreamed of having, even though mine never came with me to church. And I see the memories flash before me, like a movie, I could see myself in third person, praying to God, that I would get that Chicago Bulls jacket, and that my best friends were okay.
It’s at that point, I turned my head over, in hopes of better comfort, only to find that my pillow had been soaked. I had been crying. I realized, I couldn’t believe in God anymore. In those past years, my heart was held by the impression that He was real, because I had been conformed to believe so. But now… I felt so vain. I felt like someone who was relying on someone for the wrong reasons. He wasn’t like the walls; I couldn’t touch him, nor could I lay my head on His shoulder and weep my sorrows to him, then expect him to answer me. It was a gamble. My entire life suddenly became a gamble, and I had no faith to put it in the control of anyone except myself. I could follow the rules of the Bible, conform, and hope for my sake, that I had gambled right, and would end up in that place they called Heaven. But I didn’t. I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing I was making a decision that would effect my life to a degree that people would question me. The next day, I awoke. Tired, cynical, and within all honesty, I felt like one vain S.O.B., surrounded by people whom I couldn’t help but question, in my mind, as much as I had myself. It occurred to me, that these people, for the most part, had found some sort of happiness, or fulfillment in their religion. On the other hand, I seemed to have lost something. It was like I had been shot in the chest, and I was walking with an empty spot in me. The pain severed me, like a fire I couldn’t rid, that would hang with me for eternity. For that, I admired the Christians, and the followers of any other religion that had found fulfillment. I wanted to say, I had somehow grown up, matured, and become an independent person. Perhaps I did, but if that were that case, then I hope life has more for me.
It wasn’t until one year later, I found the definition of my status as Agnostic. Yet, for one reason or another, my head still tilts to the skies, searching for something.