Tuesday, 30 October 2007
why i think i am the way i am.
In Ireland in the 1600’s, it was a sin to kill a white butterfly, because they thought that each butterfly was a soul of a child who had died there. Now, most people mistake cabbage moths as butterflies. Little girls have them as clips in their hair, and people wipe them off windscreens to improve driving visibility.
Whenever I see a butterfly, there’s a little part of me that gets filled with warmth. Because I imagine that the souls of people I once knew, or people I could only hope to know, are watching me. In those moments when I cry with my head in my hands, they’re there, understanding a little more than the person who made me cry, understanding a little more than I most likely ever will.
No matter if it’s really a moth, the hope they give me, seems to mean more to me than any ugly truth.
When I was little, I stopped believing in Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth fairy and God within a few months. The first one was the tooth-fairy. Because, honestly, do many children really believe in a microscopic flying woman who barters without your knowledge for body parts? The next was the Easter Bunny, because I was sleeping at my nanna’s house at Easter-time, and she crept in next to my bed, placed the goods next to my bed, and in the morning told me that Easter Bunny must have come, and how lucky I was. I pretended to be happy and laugh a lot, because my older sister had been sound asleep in the bed beside me, and she still believed. Santa was a logical step after that, especially because my father suggested we leave a beer out for Santa instead of milk, because he thought that ‘Santa’ would prefer that. We also used to leave a carrot out for Rudolph. That year, the beer was gone, and a bite was taken out of the carrot, and I knew the difference in a human bite and an animals bite.
Because all the adults in my life had lied about all the mythical holiday personalities, I assumed that they had been lying to me about heaven and God too. After this realisation, I would often cry myself to sleep, worrying that when I died, there was going to be nothing there, and I began to fear death more than anything, but even more than that, be afraid of a life that would lead to that nothingness.
But as children do, I grew out of that phase, and began to change my ideologies, coming to conclusions myself rather than trusting what other people told me. I found out facts, and based my abstract theology on those suppositions. So, I guess that explains to you why I never know what to say when asked what I believe in, and also perhaps, why I ask so many questions. Because I’m always looking for information that will guarantee me a belief of the world that contains, in a way, a trace of honesty that I didn’t find when I was little.
Whenever I see a butterfly, there’s a little part of me that gets filled with warmth. Because I imagine that the souls of people I once knew, or people I could only hope to know, are watching me. In those moments when I cry with my head in my hands, they’re there, understanding a little more than the person who made me cry, understanding a little more than I most likely ever will.
No matter if it’s really a moth, the hope they give me, seems to mean more to me than any ugly truth.
When I was little, I stopped believing in Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth fairy and God within a few months. The first one was the tooth-fairy. Because, honestly, do many children really believe in a microscopic flying woman who barters without your knowledge for body parts? The next was the Easter Bunny, because I was sleeping at my nanna’s house at Easter-time, and she crept in next to my bed, placed the goods next to my bed, and in the morning told me that Easter Bunny must have come, and how lucky I was. I pretended to be happy and laugh a lot, because my older sister had been sound asleep in the bed beside me, and she still believed. Santa was a logical step after that, especially because my father suggested we leave a beer out for Santa instead of milk, because he thought that ‘Santa’ would prefer that. We also used to leave a carrot out for Rudolph. That year, the beer was gone, and a bite was taken out of the carrot, and I knew the difference in a human bite and an animals bite.
Because all the adults in my life had lied about all the mythical holiday personalities, I assumed that they had been lying to me about heaven and God too. After this realisation, I would often cry myself to sleep, worrying that when I died, there was going to be nothing there, and I began to fear death more than anything, but even more than that, be afraid of a life that would lead to that nothingness.
But as children do, I grew out of that phase, and began to change my ideologies, coming to conclusions myself rather than trusting what other people told me. I found out facts, and based my abstract theology on those suppositions. So, I guess that explains to you why I never know what to say when asked what I believe in, and also perhaps, why I ask so many questions. Because I’m always looking for information that will guarantee me a belief of the world that contains, in a way, a trace of honesty that I didn’t find when I was little.
# posted by Hil : Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Comments:
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i read an article that suggested Gen Y'ers actually ask so many questions because they are over stimulated. They have a constant need to have the mind buzzing.
Not that I would ever want to label you to a group.
I loved that post, thankyou
Not that I would ever want to label you to a group.
I loved that post, thankyou
Gen Y'ers. Hmm. The same people that watch t.v shows like 'big brother' day in and out are o-v-e-r-s-t-i-m-u--l-a-t-e-d? are you sure?
i would think it'd be the other way around. Or perhaps the wrong kind of stimulation... (and i'm not talking about sexual stimulation either.) Though, now that I think of it...
Man, i'm bad with going off on tangents today.
I can't believe it's November and i have a jumper and gorilla slippers on. Crazy.
Hope you're feeling less bluish-grey.
x
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i would think it'd be the other way around. Or perhaps the wrong kind of stimulation... (and i'm not talking about sexual stimulation either.) Though, now that I think of it...
Man, i'm bad with going off on tangents today.
I can't believe it's November and i have a jumper and gorilla slippers on. Crazy.
Hope you're feeling less bluish-grey.
x
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