At the age of three, my parents coaxed me into playing their favorite sports, badminton. Thus, I started having regular lessons under the wings of my coach. He was extremely good at playing and teaching badminton. Most importantly, he liked me as his pupil. Perhaps it was because I was always praised by others playing in the neighboring courts; or perhaps my mum and dad had gradually become friends with him and his wife, our relationship was forged closer and closer. One day my mum and dad asked them to be my godparents. Not surprisingly, they agreed.
In the beginning, I thought nothing of it, just did what my parents taught me. Just laughed it off every time when they spoke about it.
“It was called respect”, my parents said, “people believe in different religions, and some are just very passionate it, like your godparents.”
My godparents were Christians and they were very devoted. During my practices, he would always wear that silver cross necklace and take out the racket of his that had a red cross lining. Occasionally, my godmother would join too. Then, they would wear matching t-shirts, sometimes with bible lines or a cross printed on them. They were grossly in love, with each other and also with Jesus Christ.
As they became my godparents, my family and them had more dinners together. The food was always wonderful, the conversation was mostly handled by my parents, I was only there to devour the plates. However, there was this topic that my parents could never seem to get rid of and always come back to the dining table.
“Does your daughter believe in Jesus?”
Silly laugh and stay silent, pretend to be distracted by the wonderous food in front of me, so my parents could divert the conversations. These were all effortlessly accomplished by me until I got older. They started asking more frequently and directly, in practices and dinners, that I realized I had to give responds somehow.
“Have you believed in Jesus yet?”
“I don’t know,” I always shrugged awkwardly, hoping they would not ask again. Yet one time they asked, “Do you want to say the prayer before meal for us?”. I was so taken back that my eyes almost popped out of my sockets as I redirected them to my parents. They smiled awkwardly, which meant I could not be saved by them.
“Yeah, sure”, I said unconvincingly. Not until after dinner, did my parents told me that my godparents thought I had already believed in Jesus. “It would be fine.”, I convinced myself, “They already half thought that I believe in Jesus before, so what difference will it made if they actually think that I am Christian anyway?”. Despite not believing in Jesus, I believe that they were my godparents and they were doing what they thought was best for me. Despite being discomforted by their constant probing, I would be their ideal goddaughter and respect them of their wishes. Plus, it would not be beneficial to our relationship if I completely denied the chance of me being Christian, right?
Diving into DSE and getting into university forced me to stop practicing. Adding that my parents and I were all uncomfortable with their questions, it vastly reduced our chance to meet. Till one day, I decided that I was free enough to go back to practicing. Naturally, I asked my godfather if he had time available.
The practice went well, I was a bit rusty, but my godfather was happy to see me playing again. Then, he asked if I was free to join him for dinner. I panicked at the thought of being alone with him for he always grilled me the most, but without any excuses coming into mind, I agreed. The dinner went peacefully as I strived to talk about anything and everything. When I thought I was about to go, he asked whether I would go and pick up my godmother with him. “I have not seen her for a long while anyway. Why not?”, I thought. Thus, I started walking alongside with him, and he said,
“Your godmother is having a fellowship. Maybe you would be interested too.”.
“Oh.” I realized I was stepping closer and closer to a place I wanted to be further and further away from. Yet a few more steps, we arrived and got into a small apartment. Swiftly, I scanned the surrounding and looked for a way out. Around ten people in total with a guy hosting, my godmother was sitting next to him. Excitedly, my godmother waved me over. I hesitated as I waved back, buying more time by slowly putting down my bag and started ruffling around to find my earphones case. But I was soon whisked away to join the table.
“Welcome. Welcome. Today we are going to take turns talking about our recent problems, and we will pray for you.” The host said.
Unsurely, I sat down next to my godmother and I started slightly coughing. The turn seemed to be in fast forward mode, as I was put under the spotlight very soon.
“Hi, I am Gladys.” I started, as a round of welcomes echoed the small living room. “Uh. I want to pray about the sickness that I had. I have been having coughs since these two days. I actually don’t very well right now.” I coughed once more for effect, hoping that I could get away soon by this excuse.
“We pray for you, Gladys.”, they said. Then, it was my godmother’s turn.
“First of all, I am thankful for having my goddaughter here. I have not seen her in a long while. I wish to pray for her health. One more, I know that she is a recent believer in Jesus and has not been baptized yet. Thus, I wish to verbally clear her name and baptist her.”
“Amen”, the group answered, as they all turned to me with their eyes turning green. “Do you wish to be baptisted?”, they asked.
With so many eager eyes staring at me, I convinced my heart to once again be the goddaughter. I nodded. Then, the world seemed to go blurry and somehow, I was in the middle of a semi-circle as my godmother’s hand was placed on my thigh.
“Close your eyes and let us pray. I am here to clear your name and declare you as a disciple of God. May God give me the power to do so and comfort the uneasiness in your heart. I could sense that you had troubles at the age of thirteen, right? Something happened that shaken you as you …...”
“Thirteen? What happened when I was thirteen?” I thought hard about the question, hoping it carried me away from this situation. Yet, waves of “Amen” echoed in my eardrums, and the hand on my thigh got tighter as I heard sniffling next to me. My godmother was crying, I realized, as my godparents each said a prayer on how they were so glad that I was finally Christian. I squeezed my eyes closer and closer as I tried hard to focus on that ridiculous statement that came out of nowhere, in order to force myself to think lightly of this situation. “It is just one lie, just one for the crowd and I would be free to go home.”, I persuaded myself. Finally, the host’s speech reached its expected destination.
“Are you a true disciple of God?”
I swallowed, my throat felt tight and dry, but I uttered, “yes”. Then, another wave of amen sounded through as I opened my eyes. My godparents had teary eyes as they stared at me proudly, like the treasure they dug up in their long exploration. Yet, my heart was heavy. Too heavy that as I squeezed out a smile and “thank you” to everybody, I could hardly swallow down the lump in my throat. Desperate like a bird trapped in a cage, my heart wanted to burst out of my chest and threw myself out to the door. I managed to cough twice more before claiming I was too sick to stay.
Once again, it was a blur. The thought of fleeing the scene flooded my mind as I hastily pressed the elevator button to trap myself in a safe and confined space. I heaved, once, and twice and the elevator tinged. A sweet, brisk wind hit my face as my mind finally registered that I was safe. Then, I started balling. My heart contricted from the pain as I could finally let go of the heaviness in my chest. I cried and cried as though it could wash away the memory. The word “respect”, “ideal” kept crossing my mind, my brain was saying that I did the right thing. Yet, my heart clenched every time I replayed the “yes” that I said. It protested, it protested against all my will and yelled “no”. Each pump of it seemed to remind me of its existence. How many times could I lie to my heart and to others anymore? Truly, I respect their religion, I understand that they believe this is good for me. With each “yes” I said kept the relationship stronger despite each “yes” I said made my heart bled a little more, and the guilt of lying built higher and higher. For a moment, just once, I wish I could tell the truth. But I thought of the faces of my godparents when I opened my eyes, I had become the daughter that they expected and wanted to have.
“Why?”, I wondered, “Why couldn’t I be a Christian just like they want me to? Why couldn’t I just try and actually be the daughter they wanted?”. Then, I would not need to pretend, but I cannot. I could give arguments and questions against Christianity. In the end, I just didn’t believe in it. Does it matter though? What matter is that I become the daughter they needed. It hurts to lie, but it is best for the relationship. All I need to do is to harden my shield, toughen my cage, so it doesn’t hurt again, right?