I guess I’ve always been naturally smart; I’ve always been a thinker; always asking why and how. I know so much, far beyond my age. But most of what I know isn’t related to the syllabus taught in school. I want to pass and feel like I earned it. I want to pass and feel like I truly worked hard for it. I want to walk into an exam room feeling so prepared that I don’t even waste time planning my answer or having to re-write my essay 2-3 times before I’m half-satisfied. I want to feel ready. But instead, I procrastinate— put off my work for another hour, or day. Weeks even. I don’t know why I’m like this. I never panic, never feel pressure. It all feels so fake. I feel like I don’t deserve the grades I get, despite not even trying for them.

It makes absolutely no sense.

Maybe I’m so invested in politics and feminism to hide something inside of me. Something deeper. Something that affects my perception, filtering it to view the world in a lens that makes me feel undeserving of my achievements.

Or maybe it’s my parents. Maybe it’s the number of times they’ve told me I’m not doing enough. Maybe my mind is starting to believe it and act on it.

Or maybe, there’s just something major wrong with me. Maybe the lens that makes me feel undeserving of my achievements is something I built for myself.

But why?

I have so much I want to do, but I usually sit down and wonder how I’m going to achieve everything if I can barely get a grade higher than what I usually get. I mean it’s just a grade. How can’t I? Especially when I didn’t even try for my usual grade, what if I tried? Maybe school is pointless. But I need it, apparently. I mean what else am I supposed to do? The world isn’t made for people like me, yet I feel as though I’m not working hard enough to surpass expectations and test the system.

I want to do better for that black girl in Sudan wishing to go to school, for that 14-year-old mother of 2 in Afghanistan whose childhood was stripped from her so early, for that 16-year-old girl with not enough money to continue her education. I have the privilege and the resources. If they were in my shoes they would be so grateful and they would put in the effort. Why don’t I? I’m not spoiled or anything, no, not at all. But nothing motivates me. It’s all easier said than done. I care. I do. So why don’t I act? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll never know.

My mother, on the other hand, is my heart. She has her moments, very bad moments, but she is my light. Truly she is. I love my mother because she understands, she sees, she hears, and she thinks. Sure, sometimes she’d rather not for god knows why and I can’t stand it when she doesn’t but I love my mother because she’s always been there for me. She knows me in ways my father could never. She provides in ways my father could never. She always shows up in ways my father never has and never will. My mother is my refuge against my father. But she has no voice. It is very small in comparison to my father’s. It holds weight but not enough to change my father’s conservatism. It remains small because of her lack of financial independence. It remains small because of the guilt she carries over the good my father has done (and he has done a lot, and for that I am eternally grateful) and how that should outweigh the bad (but it doesn’t). My mother has no voice and so I have no voice. I have no voice because of the fear of being a financial burden, of being the problem child, and of making him love me less than he already does.

But, in doing so, I hold resentment and it builds up. I thought it evaporated in the beginning of 2025, when I had a long talk with both my father and my mother, and I came to the conclusion that I had simply failed to understand my father. With understanding came empathy, and with empathy came forgiveness. I thought it was over. I can finally stand being in the same room with him. But a year has passed, and a new conclusion has been drawn. Understanding does not excuse his actions. My father is a product of his father’s emotional neglect or in other word’s, “tough love,” and this is the method he uses on me and my siblings too. Since I am the last born, you’d expect me to be “daddy’s girl” but it is quite the opposite. I got the short end of the stick. And I am constantly compared to my two older siblings, one more than the other. I am expected to follow in his footsteps, but what if I want to do more? I want to walk differently. I want to have my own unique story. I am not an industrial product that my father can duplicate and the thought of this only deepens the resentment I hold for him. I could almost say I hate him. But I’d be contradicting how I feel because I love him. Can love and hate be mutually inclusive? Dislike is not a strong enough word.

I wish for my father to travel, but if he plans on staying home, I wish he would hear me. I wish he would understand me. I wish he would provide more. Not like my mother, but just enough for me to feel at home. Instead, I feel like a stranger in my own household and this can be confirmed with the fact that he did tell me I am just a visitor in their house. How wonderful!

I do not wish for my father to stay, but if he plans on staying, I wish he would consider and respect my mother. I wish he would share his voice with my mother, so that I can also have a voice. Instead, I have to continue sitting with the fact that this will never happen. I can only hope to leave and travel, taking on the wish I repeat every day about him if he fails to grant it for me. I do not wish to stay with him, I cannot stand him. But oh, my dear mother, what about her?

For those of you that don’t know me, I’m very interested and involved in socio-politics, feminism, and pan-African matters. And at the same time, I was born and raised in a Christian household. I always embraced this. I was a die-hard Jesus supporter. Combine this with my love for debating and you have a mini “Cliffe Knechtle” in the making. This was until I realized that being a Christian while still empathizing and advocating deeply for African identity and our ancestors’ struggle, women’s rights in society, and the dismantling of pillars uplifting the patriarchy is a strong display of cognitive dissonance. It is simply impossible to be a part of Christianity while still connecting to your culture and heritage as a person of color and hoping for a world where women are regarded as human beings. For this piece, I’ll focus on culture and heritage and how that sparked the beginning of my deconstruction journey.

For a couple of months, I felt spiritually disconnected to god. I prayed and prayed to feel some sort of pull like what I once used to feel but it never arrived. And the more I kept diving deeper into colonization and African history in general, the more questions I had concerning this supreme being we worship. Questions that used to seem dumb to me as a Christian. “God’s mysterious, why try to understand him?” “God has his reasons, we may not always understand why but heaven is worth it in the end.” These are just two examples out of a dozen answers I used to provide to myself when the question of suffering and existence was brought up. The more I started embracing the questioning phase, the more open my mind was to possibilities that Christianity and the Christian god are complicit in the suffering of my people and other persons of color throughout history. I always knew religion had major flaws. I rejected it in fact and claimed to follow god and not religion. But the Christian god as we know “him” today is as described and presented through Christianity and the Bible.

The concept of the Christian god being all-powerful, all-good, and still allowing bad things to happen is intellectually dishonest. If an all-powerful creator allows bad things to happen, that suggests a flaw in the values and morals said creator holds which disproves the characteristic of an all-good creator. And if an all-good creator allows bad things to happen, that suggests a limit in said creators power to intervene and reinforce its morals and perfect values thus disproving the characteristic of an all-powerful creator. Sure, you may argue the mystery surrounding the Christian god but there have been human beings who from the minute they were born, all they knew and understood was suffering.

Think about the transatlantic slave trade where African men and women were forcefully removed from their homes and transported across what is considered one of the most dangerous passages to the Americas in order to work all day and get whipped, raped, burned, and even eaten for NO pay. For generations after, this was the system—the norm. So, think about the slaves born on plantations. Their fate was decided, even before they came out of the womb. No choice, no free will, no mighty god to save them. And then they were handed a bible and told to go to church every Sunday. They listened. They obeyed. They prayed. But generation, after generation, they suffered. And that is all they knew. Where was god then? Where was this mighty creator the white men spoke of when they forced their religion on us? Where was the grace and mercy this creator supposedly exhibited to characters in the Bible like Job or even Cain. Job suffered and he was given answers and blessings before his death. Cain murdered his brother and he was given protection and a city. White men murdered, raped, ate, and they were given the world. Black folks lived and died with no mercy, no grace, and no answers. A spiritual genocide. And yet, they were supposed to kneel and pray to a god who blessed their oppressors.

It feels almost wrong to critique the Christian god, but this all falls under blind submission, “a leap of faith.” Under Christianity, questioning god or asking why is deemed “demonic” or that there is a negative spirit troubling me and feeding me “bad” thoughts on god. As Christians, we had become so quick to name anything not of god, demonic. Not that I’m a Christian anymore but I was once a victim to this. Condemning questioning is fostering a lack of critical thinking. A lack of critical thinking makes us slaves to a corrupt system. And that’s what a lot of Christians are these days then they proceed to mask it as being a faithful servant of Christ. If the “kingdom of God” is within me, why should I seek a savior outside of myself instead of looking within? Saying that you follow god and reject religion while still being deeply invested in worldly pastors or prophets and coating your entire perspective on life with the bible isn’t looking within. It’s seeking outside things to fill whatever is inside. Your god is not in the bible. Your god is not in the pastor you listen to every Sunday. Your god is not in the rosary you wear and pray to every other day. Your god is within you, and that is you. Not your flesh, not your body, but your consciousness that makes up the universe.

If as Christians you believe that the tongue has power and thoughts have power and therefore, they create so we should be careful with what we think or say, then doesn’t that make you a god? If we can alter or shape reality through manifestation, then that means that our souls have creative power. Yet manifesting is deemed “demonic” despite it relying on inner power that flows from your soul. Supposedly, the same soul that god created. We are more than just human beings. Our ancestors knew this. They laid the foundations for astronomy, mathematics, history, physics, etc. The first university in the world was in Mali, an AFRICAN country. Yet, look at Mali now. You cannot condemn colonialism and mourn for an Africa where colonialism never interfered, then turn around, get on your knees and pray to the same god that was brought to you through colonialism. If the whites couldn’t even STAND using the same washroom, restaurant, roads, or sidewalks, then what makes you think that they would willingly share the good news and gospel of life after death in heaven to you so that you can go enjoy in the same place with them? They beat, raped, and burned our ancestors into submission—into denouncing their gods and worshipping theirs. The reality is: they wanted control and a tool to justify their imperial expansion. A “civilizing” mission. There is no one out there that’s going to save you. There is no savior. There is no Jesus Christ to protect you as you sleep while he lets a mother in Sudan with children go to bed hungry for the 5th night in a row. You cannot claim god has a plan for everybody and then bring free will to the table the moment you are asked why people suffer and die under the eyes of god. If the Christian god truly exists, he clearly has favorites.

I understand, to some of you, this might be a lot to take in. As a matter of fact, I am well aware this might make some of you angry. Who am I to question your perfect savior right? Well, I see the world for what it is. The injustices, the murder, the bombings, the exploitation, and the continuous oppression of my people. I am not in the wrong for simply asking why. And if you cannot answer my questions as a Christian then maybe—just maybe, question your god. If he cannot provide answers to you then that tells you all you need to know. I will admit though, I do not know everything. And honestly, this piece is messy but that’s what I intend it to be. My raw, unfiltered thought process that takes you along my journey of deconstruction. And so far, my religion has been one of the biggest things I’ve had to deconstruct.

I still catch myself thanking the lord or wanting to pray before my exams and ask god to guide me. Or even when I get scared at night after a nightmare, I try to run to god. Maybe this isn’t proof of his existence, but a coping mechanism. Christianity and some of its teachings are beautiful. And I’ve seen the tremendous changes some people have made in their lives through Christianity. But maybe, it’s not through the existence of a higher power that you are “saved” but because you had something to lean on that was of enough comfort and encouragement, allowing you to fully exert the power you store inside of you. We all feel more at ease knowing someone or something is there with us as we are about to take a big step into the unknown. Some of us have friends or family, while some people rely on god. And that’s fine. Believing in a higher being is fine. But before you fully devote your life to something, learn the history. Don’t let religion stop you from reconnecting with your roots in an unbiased way and learning to accept your traditions, culture and ancestral practices as sacred pieces of your history instead of being quick to associate them with the devil.

Africa is not evil. Africa is beautiful, resilient, sexy, and the standard. Colonialism made you believe that this is incorrect. They stripped our identities, our individuality, our power and replaced it with repetitive practices lacking depth and consideration of our practices. Now look at them now, they’re even atheist and “thriving” while we suffer despite countless prayers, church services and bible studies.

Wake Up Africa.

I’m currently listening to John Legend’s song “All of me” and the love I hold for this song runs deep. I first heard this song when I was just a child. Not older than 4 years old. My mother loves this song and she loves John Legend. Whenever I listen to this song I think of my mother. I don’t want to make this piece of writing political or about feminism (because I usually always do.) I want to dive deeper. On a more personal level. When I listen to “All of me” all I can think about is how love should sound like this. This song is the epitome of how I love my interests, my mind, my friends, and a lover. I love intensely. I’ve always been this way. I invest and give away freely. But these days it’s hard to do so. I always catch myself holding back. Not everyone loves the way I do, and I haven’t met someone that truly loves the way I do. I’m not complaining either. Maybe sometimes love requires compromise. Sacrificing a part of your identity to make space for the other. It gets uncomfortable but I feel as though it’s worth it in the end. But I still can’t shake that feeling away. Am I doing it wrong?

I think sometimes as humans we struggle to come to terms with the fact that love isn’t a human being. We spend our entire lives chasing love and finding love in people. But that doesn’t equate to love being something physical. Love is spiritual. Love is something that exists outside of mind and body. You cannot find love in something if it didn’t come from you. You love your cup of coffee every morning. You love your early morning walks. You love getting your hair done. You love your family. Love isn’t in those things. It comes from you. These things are a reflection of the love you store inside of you. “We accept the love we think we deserve.” One of the realest quotes from one of my favorite movies, The Perks of being a Wallflower. Sometimes we suppress what’s inside of us for the comfort of another person. And sometimes we wonder why we meet such shitty people who treat us a certain way despite us showing them the complete opposite with admiration and commitment. Just because it’s what you usually attract or handle doesn’t mean you don’t deserve better. It’s about unlocking your potential and the true love you store inside you– emotionally transmuting in order to stop yourself from being drained or burnt out.

The concept of chasing love and attempting to find it in people then making it the standard for all grown men and women or the “end goal” is a bit silly to me. I believe that we do not need someone else to complete us. I was not put on this earth to go and find my other half. Some people are not destined to get married and that’s alright. I do believe that love flows from me, and I can find the same love and happiness in my late stages of life that some people find in marriage. Marriage isn’t the ultimate form of love– self-expression and fulfilment is. Everything outside of that is more so a bonus in my eyes, not that it’s insignificant but rather an addition to a life I curated. This doesn’t dismiss my heartfelt gratitude and appreciation to my family, my friends, even some of my exes and past “talking stages” for they have really been insane character developers. But at the end of the day, my soul is my soul. I don’t share a soul with anyone. It is mine, and mine alone it shall remain. Finding activities and things that will nourish and fulfill my soul, ensuring an outflow of love into every other aspect of my life is what truly matters to me. Whether it be the friends that surround me or my future career, I am the love I give.

.