It’s strange. I don’t feel much sadness and grief at the moment. I do feel one thing: Anger. I hear that’s pretty cliché of me. 12 steps of grief, or maybe it’s 6, who even cares. I do know that it makes me angry to be put into one of those boxes. It makes me angry to think about God and Jesus and all those other guys who thought they knew it all. I feel like calling them terrible names and spitting at them.
When I meet new people I’m usually nice to them. I do them favours. If they ask for something I don’t want to do, I’ll say no in a friendly way. I don’t run around like a maniac, screwing up their families and killing their sisters. God wants to be my friend, my Dad? Well, how about being nice to me for a change? Maybe then we can talk about it.
I’m at a point where I’m thinking that I’d rather spend my entire afterlife in hell with the devil than in heaven with a God who is, frankly, quite a choleric, angry old man looking for revenge on people who didn’t even touch that godforsaken apple.
I’m angry because I ended up in a screwed up family with screwed up values, ruining my entire childhood and teen ages, the ones of my siblings, and last but not least, for taking away my sister, for taking away the life of an innocent child who spent her life doing nothing but desperately trying to please him.
I remember the first time when I heard that some guy (forgive me not remembering the name) who said that religion was nothing but a OCD. I laughed at that. Another idiot who didn’t see the light. Right now I’d say I’m the idiot who didn’t see the light. I was way too busy trying to please that old guy with my OCD-like behaviours. Pray daily, wear this, do this, say this, think this and magically he will take care of the rest. My sister did everything. In my mind it feels like I see her obsessively washing her hands again and again and again like those stereotypical OCD patients do. Praying, wearing, thinking, saying, doing all the right things. I feel like saying “Sweetheart, your hands have been clean for hours now.” Clean hands don’t save you at the end of the day.
My friends are making me jealous, people around me are making me jealous, the customers at work make me jealous. I see a group of young girls coming into the cafe around lunch time. They’re about 14, maybe 15, attending a girl’s middle school right around the corner. They laugh, giggle, talk. They drink some juice or a coke or maybe even a milk coffee together, doing everything girls their age should do. It makes me so jealous to see them enjoying this together. I catch myself staring at them obsessively, picturing myself in that scene, wondering how it would have been for me. Would I have worried about math homework? Would I have spent some of my pocket-money on a new drugstore eyeshadow? Would I try to fit in going to the movies that night? I don’t know. That’s where I start wondering why God didn’t let me have this.
I’m so ashamed of myself for screaming in my head that it wouldn’t be much to ask for. Just coffee with friends. No riches, no fame, no great island or job or brains. Just coffee. And then I remember that the majority of the world population wishes for just the same thing. I was born in one of the riches nations in the world, I live in yet another richest nation in the world at the moment. My problems are luxury. People starve every day. People lose siblings every day, in the most cruel way. It calms my spirit a bit to know that my sister didn’t have to suffer. She died, quiet, silently, in peace and a clean environment. An image of the news shoots into my head: 6-year-old raped, maimed and murdered in forest. And I’m starting to think that dying the way my sister did isn’t all that bad. Falling asleep, not waking up is a luxury most of us won’t get a taste of.
PS: I just now remembered tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Weird how quickly you forget traditions when nobody reminds you of them.