April 22, 2008
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When I was a child, I was put into an arranged marriage with Catholicism. From my baptism, a few short weeks after my birth, all the way through my childhood and to the opening of my adolescence, God and I had a relatively happy relationship. He listened whenever I needed to talk, reassured me that everything would be okay, that someone was always holding my hand and guiding me. He let me lean on him, just so long as I followed some basic rules.
And for a long time that worked for me. But then I got to the point where I saw how other people's relationships worked, and I wanted something more. I didn't just want someone to listen forever - I wanted some response. I didn't want my hand held; I wanted answers so I could forge ahead. I was (still am) very proud. I wanted God to hand over some answers, instead of hoarding them all to himself. We had a slow, messy break-up. I went one way, he went another. We still phone and catch up sometimes, wondering if maybe we can get back together - we had some good times afterall. But every time old differences get in the way. I like to think I've moved on.
When I was fourteen, I met Anarchism, and his cousin, Atheism. I flirted with Anarchy for a while, but he was so serious, and I was so young. I didn't really understand what he wanted, and we quickly drifted apart. Atheism too, I've had a few flings with, but nothing serious. Sometimes when he's in town, he'll call me up. I always go to see him, but it's never satisfying.
Sometimes I go out to the bar to dance with Nihilism. Our chemistry is all-encompassing; sparks fly from us as we grind against eachother. It's rough, hard. We're not kind to each other when we get together. We shout and hit, and say terrible things, but the sex is so good, it's hard to resist.
The only one that saves me is Existentialism. Our relationship is a little odd. He's like my best friend, in that he's always there for me when I need a shoulder to cry on after a break-up. He pats me on the shoulder, and tells me not to worry because nothing is set in stone; nothing is certain. I wouldn't be surprised if we got married one day - he doesn't even mind that I'm divorced - but if we did, it'd be simply to have a companion for our old age. We don't make love, it's not like that. He's the one I can eat dinner with, but we sleep in our own rooms, our own beds. He doesn't mind if I sometimes share mine with someone else. He knows that I'll be back. I always am.
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