five things i learnt about myself every time someone forced me to pray
#1: sarcasm is real
and my mother is witness to it. unfortunately, my mother is not only witness to it, but also sometimes victim to it. all of those sarcastic remarks that blossomed within my 14 year old heart every time a distant relative told me that god would make tandoori human being out of me in hell if I didn't pray at every opportunity I got, came out directed against my mother. my mother tells me I need to sleep for more than three hours a night, sarcastic remark! my mother tells me to take a day off and use a face mask, sarcastic remark! my mother tells me to eat my dinner, sarcastic remark! my mother tells me not let the distant, judgmental relatives get to me, sarcastic remark!
#2: mocking the devil is a talent i possess
i'm four years old when my grandmother clicks a picture of me, my golden brown curls cloaked beneath a scarf, sitting on a prayer rug. at age eight, i stand on the same rug five times each day and try to pray. at age thirteen, i'm friends with an atheist and fiercely defend her beliefs.
#3: a quiet corner at my new school is where i find temporary solace.
#4: god is nothing more than a comfort zone
because every time i see the ballet slipper pink of my mother's dupatta, one i've always loved, one i've begun to associate hope with, all my heart can feel is the warmth of a comfort zone. all my heart know how to feel is the warmth of a comfort zone. then, I am a wildflower, with petals of this same ballet slipper pink, and with petals fluttering beneath my fingertips like my mother's consistent heartbeat. then god is a wildflower too. and when god isn't a wildflower, god is a rose. or a bowl of japanese rice. sometimes, god is seashell on my favourite beach or my favourite lip balm or a constellation of stars in the night sky because
#5: god is in the small things
