It was at the age of ten that I realised that there is no God. I remember that moment clearly; as if yesterday. When the devil popped into my head and uttered that abominable thought: there is no god.
At first I was taken aback by the audacity of the thought. The sheer cheekiness of it to think it could invade my privacy like that, and to be honest, in the beginning, I was expecting it to go away; to disappear like an echo. Or like a ripple in a pond; to melt into the placid ocean around it. But no. It kept itself in my head, like a headache, or a Polyp attached to coral. But slowly, gradually, I got used to it. I began, dare I say, to live with it and learn to get along with it. My guilty little secret. I would go to the Mosque with this thought in tow – defiling the house of God with it and everything I touched. In classes I would put it to the back of my head lest it disturb the rhythm of my prayer. Lest it show through on my face and in my eyes; for the eyes are a window unto the soul are they not? So I kept it there, in the back, for it had built a cosy little nest there. And to my surprise I continued to win prizes in mosque: oh yes! I always came top of my class. My teachers thought I had a bright future. They were proud but little did they know the secret I cossetted.
Then I hit the age of twelve and the floodgates snapped open: the floodgates to my hormones. They caused a riot. The teenage outbreaks had begun. It was then that I realised, upon astute questioning of my fellow friends, that they (unlike me) harboured no such ungodly thoughts. It was only I, with that little nest in the back. I was alone. Only I carried that devilish infection. It worried me. Oh yes! I began to see myself quite apart from the others. But I also, began to take delight in it too; a delight borne from harbouring such a dark little secret – forget smoking in the playground or drinking behind the shed, this was the ultimate crime! And it gave me a buzz. I started listening to heavy metal and Judas Priest; gothic, moribund and for my parents, rather worrying.
And then when I turned thirteen the thought grew legs and guts and migrated to my lips and they spake: 'there is no god' It was a scary moment to utter such blasphemies aloud for I seriously expected to die there and then – for God to strike me down with lightning or something. I waited. But nothing happened. So I repeated again but a little louder this time: 'there is no god' And again nothing happened. Maybe God can’t hear me I thought. (which was silly because God has super-hearing but maybe he doesn’t believe me?). So I went to my local park and stood in the centre of the grass and after looking around to ensure nobody was near me, I shouted at the top of my voice: 'there is no god!'. The voice echoed around and mingled with the wind and the trees and the bees. I looked out for any changes in the wind or in the air. No change. I shouted again: 'there is no god!!!'. I listened for the beat in my ribcage. For a second I thought it had stopped but, on closer inspection, the beat was still there.
And you know what? Nothing happened. The earth did not cave in and swallow me whole, the skies did not darken in apoplectic rage, the pigeons did not turn nasty and attack me in droves, and I did not die of a heart attack. My heart kept beating. It was strong. It was a big moment for me, that day, in the park. It felt like a release from the years of self-inflicted guilt. A weight and burden had lifted and I knew my future. I’d finally shaken the hand of the man I was to become and he’d approved and welcomed me with open arms.
