Wait

Graduation is in two weeks: at last! No more papers, no more readings, no more tests, no more -- wait. No more...friends. No more co-workers, no more roommates, no more of those who have shaped and molded my life and my mind and my very being for the past one two three four years -- no more. Wait. No more. No, I'm not ready for no more. Wait.

Christ vs. Christians

Gandhi said, "I like your Christ, I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ."

This, in essence, summarizes the issues that I have with Christians and the Church. They impose their doctrines and dogmas and move away from, and lose sight of, the heart of the matter. Their very name is taken from 'Christ' and yet they are nothing like him. They choose greed over charity, indifference over compassion, judgment over acceptance, and condemnation over forgiveness. Doesn't seem very Christ-like to me.

You see, Christ said, "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Mark 12:31). There was no asterisk attached to that comment, there were no "ifs" or "buts," either. And yet, so many Christians nowadays would rather accept it as "Love your neighbor as yourself if they think the same as you, look the same as you, believe the same things as you, etc." Which really confuses me, because I don't know how that commandment could have been any clearer. Love your neighbor as yourself. Period.

Christ also said to give food to the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, take in the stranger, clothe the naked, and visit the sick and in prison, for "whatever you [do] for the least of these, you [do] for [him]" (Matthew 25:40). In summary: be generous; be compassionate; be sympathetic. He also said to be merciful, to not judge, to keep prayers private, and to do good deeds out of earnest desire to do them - not to be seen and praised by others. And yet.

And yet so many Christians I know are simultaneously the biggest assholes I know. They're the worst because they parade their faith as a spectacle and hide behind it as an excuse for their actions. They seem to forget that Christ spent the majority of his time amongst the lowest of society, loving them, while rebuking the 'saints' of the day.

I have no issue with Christ. I have an issue with so many of his Christians.

Will You Still Love Me On Sunday?

It’s so easy to be head-over-heels under the loud music and the overfull glasses of Saturday night. Everyone loves each other, everyone wants to be best friends. Everyone sees only the best in everyone else. And there is a certain magic in Saturday night, as though you’re so far inside the weekend — so buffered on each side from the unforgiving reality of the weekdays — that everything is possible and real if you want it to be. You say things you might not mean on Monday morning, because for the moment in between the sixth and seventh drink on Saturday, it’s all you can think about.

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But when you wake up on Sunday morning, when your head hurts so badly you feel as though it will never return to normal, when everything that was beautiful and mysterious the night before has been rendered harsh and unflattering in the relentless daylight — will you still want to turn over to me? Will you still be interested in all of the things I have to say, all of the coincidences we took as divine intervention last night when we were only so happy to tell each other how we feel? If the facilitators of alcohol and dim lights and a group of laughing around us are no longer part of the equation, do you still want to hold my hand?

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I will love you on Sunday. If I told you all of these beautiful things when we were standing under the red light of the bar, peeling the label off a beer bottle, it’s because I want you to remember them the next day. I want to pounce on my momentary lack of inhibitions to say all of the things I’ll later want to sweep under the rug, but which I truly mean. I am telling you these things on Saturday because I won’t be able to on Sunday, but I’ll want you to know that I mean them. And I hope you know me well enough to know that I never say anything I don’t mean — even if they’re a bit embarrassing to remember in the morning.

Will You Still Love Me On Sunday? | Thought Catalog

Kisses

"I love you. I love you. I love you." He repeated time and time again, kissing her fists, her scars, her fingers, her wrists, her hands, her knuckles, her palms. Thoughts, feelings, words, hopes and fears swirled in her mind, and her mouth opened - silent. Instead of release, instead of letting her go, they grasped at her throat, clawing, and choked her from the inside out. Her head swayed slightly, side to side, and she tensed fleetingly, unable to bring her exhausted, diffident eyes to the eager, desperate ones that were fixed on her, a mere face-lengths away. Again, she opened her mouth; again, she closed it - silent. "But I love you."

Doubt

It's just one of those days where I find myself doubting anything and everything. Even the things I hold most true, even the things I hold closest to my heart, even you.

I don't know why, I don't have any explanation - I just know I have a feeling of general discontent with everything I hear, I read, I know. And I can't quite decide if it is a feeling of the heart or one of the mind, if it is logic that is telling me to be doubtful or if it is my gut. I'm just unsettled.

And confused. Particularly concerning past decisions - whether I did the best thing in choosing this or sharing that; I just can't seem to determine whether I made the best choices. This is not to be mistaken with regret, I do not regret, I just can't help but wonder the age old question of "what if I had chosen/done/said ____ instead." These thoughts are just as pointless as regret, for nothing will change the outcome or the future that is to come, but yet...

I am generally sure of myself. I am generally confident in what I do, what I believe, what I choose. But yet I am unable to shake this doubt.