If there be a part of me that bears witness to my recently found Peranakan roots, it’d be my subscription to paganism. I don’t slaughter pigs and offer them to Baal as such, but rather believe in the life force of all living things. I believe in God, but not the God of the Bible or the Torah or the Quran. I acknowledge that I have a creator and our relationship, like all my other relationships, is based on making realistic demands of each other. Of course the balance of power in our relationship is inequitable, Him being the Almighty and me being just plain ol’ me, but we have to make exceptions for one whom superlatives fail to justly exemplify.
The way I practise my “faith” is by being open albeit occasionally unhappy about the new twists or persons who present themselves, being of good cheer even when inside I’m gloomier than Eeyore on a bad day and trusting in divine providence to step in and take my hand when I am at a crossroads in life. It is when I am tested that I remember that ordinary existence is made up of a string of sublime minor miracles, starting with conception right up to where I am today, that makes me think that whatever ails me, I’ll be just fine.