A personal one I wrote back in September 2013, and has nothing to do with religion or any religious activity. Although it was written for an acquaintance [whose party I (sort of) gatecrashed] this was the motivational piece I wrote for myself as a reaction to the various circumstances that were happening (or not happening) in my life that time, including “joining” a multilevel marketing scheme, the job that I had quit a year before writing this.
In my profession as an ESL teacher, I have collected many pictures. On a student’s last day at school, it’s an informal custom for a student to have his/her pictures taken with the people s/he had a close bond. And it’s a safe bet that s/he either forgot or hated you, if you’re passed over for a photo opportunity (Just kidding).
Most pictures on my cellphone didn’t have a title. Maybe because I didn’t know what to call them, or that they were just mere snapshots of frozen memory in megapixels.
But when we give our pictures a name, they’re just no longer “those” pictures– it creates that lasting impression.
Sometimes, they can take a life of their own and create a story. Just like when Ransom Riggs found the (then unrelated) pictures that would later be interwoven to create Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children.
One particular photo that stood out from the rest was what I called Worship Nite:
An invitation to a party turned up. Even though I didn’t know the host that well, the idea of going there excited me. It was very unlikely for a social klutz like me, but I knew I had to be there (strange enough).
Working in a shitty business, I would come home from work empty handed, feeling like a robot. It was a perfect time for me to make fun of my predicament.
A lot of my co-workers were Christians, and they had this event they called Worship Night (which coincided with the date of the party). One day, one of them asked me if I could join them. But I declined, saying that I had my own worshiping to do. Some chuckling followed.
On the way to the party, that feeling of certainty began to drift away. I started to doubt my intentions. As I entered the room, I saw a bunch of strangers, and asked myself “Why the hell I’m here?” Of course, that was only the lizard brain talking– the voice in the head, that told me to bail out at the first sign of danger or discomfort.
But there’s no way I’d listen to it. “Gotta finish what I’ve started. Hush, lizard brain. Hush”
So, I did it. No harm done.
It wasn’t part of the plan, but the result was the photo, or should I say, this story of my small victories called Worship Nite.