If God decided to have a quarter life catch- up session with me next week, I would assume it would follow a similar format to my prayers but the protocol would be to:
- firstly meet up in His office,
- talk frankly face to face about how I’ve been doing the past 21-22 years
- debrief on a couple of things I am very thankful for
- ask some questions
and then maybe I would listen to His response.
In terms of a couple of things I am very thankful for, the list is as follows:
- Letting my skin soak in semi-hot sand in Summer and Instagramming it in winter.
- Returning to good terms with Auckland Transport when I saw their USB ports on the NEX buses.
- The silent banter between me and the person on the other side of the pedestrian crossing. We both know we could totally cross it even though the little man is a flushing red, but we don’t want to be those impatient millenials who don’t save unwanted gifts like our parents.
- Conversations with café customers. They would ask me what the muffin flavours of the day were and I always would have a pointless squint at the cabinet followed by a quick freak-out because I couldn’t keep telling them it was chocolate and pear.
- Self medication via meme tagging
- Incredible best friends. Especially a soul sista who let me vent every Sunday night, nap in her room, draft friendzoning messages together and eat non-stop. I borrowed her parents and siblings who treated me like family, and deserve far more than high-calorie brownies.
My interview with God would most likely end then. I would be ushered out. Its not that He wouldn’t want to keep talking, its just that He knew what questions would be asked next and it wasn’t the right time to tell me the answer. So I would walk out of that interview room, take off my heels and half-heartedly wash the makeup I had carefully applied before locking my bedroom door, laying there on the pilling carpet for days. I would ignore the fact that I was putting my face where my feet treaded and yearn for an answer, swallowing my screams at Deity for some sort of sign.
“If I’m supposed to be learning something here, could you please tell me what that is? Because I don’t want to keep doing this anymore. I’ve had enough. Game over. I’m ready to walk out.”
I waited for a couple of minutes. No answer.
That was it then. No more talking to God.
I remember I ran outside to sit on the stretch of grass infront of the property in the middle of the night. Why couldn’t He answer me? He had answered me before. I’m sure of it. I testified of it. I spent 18 months trying to tell people about it!
I leaned into the cool grass, which provided me more security than my room with walls that seemed to be made out of crepe paper. I would watch as one or two cars would cruise by, unscathed by the events of the day, silently passing through neighborhoods that weren’t theirs.
And then I would close my eyes and cup my hands together and try asking Him. Maybe?
Just one more time.