For the purpose of protecting myself from unwanted gossip and drama, I chose not to disclose a critical piece of information in the post below. And I hope that you will honour that purpose even if you guessed what “that” is and keep everything to yourself.
In the short span of approximately a year, I have become completely detached from my family at church. And I have no plans of ever getting back together again. I just don’t care that much about those friendships anymore. I mean, yes, they are still friends… not CLOSE friends, but friends none the less. So I suppose I should still put in some time to nurture those relationships.
The way I make them sound disposable is almost cruel. I was pretty close with some of them. I was pretty attached to my family. But the emphasis is on the past tense. I WAS a happy member of that group in which we so shared an unspeakable bond. Now? I just want to get away as far as possible. It’s not them, it’s me.
About a year (or even longer) ago, when I started to doubt “who I am”, I inched away from church because my heart told me that what I was contemplating cannot co-exist with my religion. Christianity does NOT accept that kind of people (contrary to what some churches have done/been doing or claim). So I turned the other way and found comfort in the arms of theatre and film. I slowly let go of the life I’ve lived for the past 3 to 5 years.
I start to despise group activities at church. Whether it be choir, fellowship or other kinds of gathering. I start to see things from the outside. I realize that one can be really blinded by the “goodness” that this home presents. I don’t understand how I was so ignorant before. There are many “faults” with this home, and when there are “faults” (aka politics) I feel disconnected with the people living there. The differences between me and the people who belonged to this home grew wider. Eventually I disregard myself as “one of them”.
(Why didn’t I try to repair those differences? Well, I didn’t see a point to “fixing” anything. Or rather, it was something no one could fix. I was starting to become the kind of person I didn’t want to be; the kind that just couldn’t care less about anything. So I was unhappy at that home. I decided to move —in secret. Why in secret? Okay, first and foremost, I didn’t want to disappoint my mom. That “home” was what she built her beliefs on. She lives a Christian life and that’s what she expects me to do, too. I keep living a lie to make her happy. But I also live this lie around the friends who I pretend to be close to. I don’t feel we have a special connection anymore. That bond where we all have a personal relationship with God just doesn’t exist in my life right now. So friends who were my big family once have become strangers with a familiar face.)
I move on. I find a resting place in theatre. Folks there are so much less conservative (in a good way that helps me sort out my issues) and open to all kinds of discussions and people. I make a choice to stay there. I continue on the journey of figuring myself out, and I start to grow as an artist (I think).
To sum up: my education (theatre and film production) caused my sweetest downfall from Christianity. (Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean that the two can’t play out in harmony. For me it’s far more complicated than what it seems — there are details that I feel unsuitable for examination here and now. I just find the former world much more to my liking than the difficult Christian life.) And so far so good… except I hate the “living a fake life” part…
