Church.

I came out of my mother’s womb but wasn’t baptized in any church. So basically, if we talk about religion, I don’t care about it. I used to. But now I don’t. Ha-ha. There’s a lot more to think about –like where am I going to after finishing my course? Or what to eat for lunch? A lot more. Things that might not mean so much to those who figured their lives out, but mean a heap of shit for a growing teenager like me.

So yes, I wasn’t baptized since birth, wasn’t bathed in holy water and other superstitious stuff, but I grew up in a church. No, not literally. But something like that. I attended our “Sunday Service” every weekend, but often missed “Wednesday Devotional” due to class schedule, school projects or just pure laziness.

When I was younger (cos I still am), I was highly participative to these gatherings, even small ones, campings, day-outs and other activities. I loved the church. I loved the people in it. I loved the warmth and welcoming feeling they give. I loved the lessons they teach.

But everything changed.

It was the part of my life when everything was just a mess. No. I was a mess. When I was silent. When all I could think of are bad things. When all I could focus on was my mistakes, the dark side of almost every thing I see. Too focused, you see, that I was able to unravel and see behind those pretty smiles, see through those eyes, hear them say unpleasant things about the people they were supposed to help, and feel the anger in every embrace they gave.

I realized that that church was a fake. I know, nothing’s perfect, but why pretend? Why act like so oh-holy and righteous? “Life is much easier if you are real,” I pounded in my head for so many times. And I laugh at them, because they seem not to figure that out. They attend these masses and talk shit after crying over sudden remark of Christ’s death? They go for the sake of going, not really putting in mind what they’re headed there for. I laugh at them because they expect me to do things that will please them yet I do the opposite. I laugh at them because they think they can save me when actually they have the least chance of doing so. I laugh at them. Because they’re stupid and pretentious. I laugh at them, because I know they’re all wearing the same masks –masks that look pious at any angle for those who doesn’t care enough to examine.

But I don’t hate them. They taught me a lot, after all.

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