I’ve always been a curious sort of person; I used to ask a good many questions when I was growing up, whether I was at school or in college. Even when I started working, I used to ask a lot of questions.
The problem with society is that some people are not able to digest your questions and don’t have the patience to answer them one by one. Some who are put off by it often tell me to shut it. Others just pretend they didn’t hear me. And then there are those who cook up some story just to make me go away.
It is probably how I stumbled upon the ‘Q’ in LGBTQ (of course there is the other abbrev. known as LGBTQIA+). I looked up online and found that the ‘Q’ stood for questioning or queer. Because sexual orientation is fluid, you don’t really need to label yourself and there is no rule that says you must choose a label or forever be shunned by society.
Perhaps that is the case today.
My wandering mind and huge appetite for curiosity may have something to do with my sexual orientation. I may have chosen to be who I am because of how I feel about myself but all those years ago, I didn’t know. Hadn’t known.
Still, the insatiable urge to look around and find out what’s going on beyond my oyster shell is oddly embedded in wondering what goes on within the four walls of a church.
I wasn’t born a Christian and have not converted either, despite having married one. But I was always curious about what goes on in a church. What do people do? How do they talk in tongues? Who are they praying for? Why do they sing? Basically, just to get a feel of the atmosphere and likely find one where I could settle in. Maybe.
Over the years, I’ve attended a fair amount of some church events; whether it was a Christmas party, or a Sunday prayer, or a concert, or maybe just lunch and learn sessions. Some left a bitter taste in my mouth with me vowing never to return. Others made me feel comfortable just by being there.
There was even one that made me feel like I was forced to say yes to all their invitations!
It took me a good many years to overcome that fear. I stayed away and stopped being curious. Until last year. When I was down and out on my luck and having lost two jobs in a row. A friend suggested I attend a Sunday service with her just to see what it’s like and if it suits me. I liked the atmosphere. But still, there was something missing.
My curiosity sated, I stopped again. Until I rediscovered myself. And the need to go on a wild goose chase for a patch to the hole in myself abruptly ended. I thought religion was the answer. It wasn’t. All I needed was to listen to myself and be honest with myself. I knew who I was. I know who I am. And this is the girl I will always be.