I have a friend who doesn't hesitate one bit in telling me when he thinks I'm wrong. A part of me admires that about him, another part just wants to explain things. He, as myself, is an atheist. But he believes that I live by a radical atheism, that I take things too far, that my "hate" towards religion is limitless.
Maybe he's right. Maybe he isn't. The thing is: my atheism and his are completely different and that is what I think he fails to understand.
I don't know the reasons that led him to be a non-believer. Maybe his family are sceptics as well, maybe he didn't have to put up a fight.
I did.
Being raised in a catholic family and having your own doubts towards religion is not easy. The time comes when you have to decide what you choose to believe. That time came for me at the age of thirteen.
Since then I have had countless fights and debates with my father regarding the existence of God. He believes. I don't.
You see my friend, my atheism comes from fighting. It comes from rebellion. It comes from a feeling of oppression that keeps you on your feet for years and years of unanswered questions.
That is why, I believe, my atheism is as strong and defiant as it is.
Because it is a response against something.
It is a cry for freedom.
It is a part of me. I can't change it.
And most importantly: I don't want to.
Paula.
