Graphic by Asyrique Thevendran/The Gazelle

Faith is a funny thing: you shouldn’t let other people dictate it, but they do. I grew up in a religious family, went to religious schools and somewhere along the line, my relationship with God became other people’s business. It’s not that I don’t understand why this happens; I’ve been a part of religious communities, and I’ve seen how much their support can matter. I just don’t know if I was there because of my faith or because of my desire to belong.

It would be easier to define my faith if I knew what it was. As of right now, I’m toeing the fine line between Catholicism and Protestantism, which shouldn’t be a big deal, but it is. I remember when I transferred to a Protestant Christian school, my mom sent an email to one of my teachers, concerned that the Christian Ethics class I wanted to enroll in would alienate me from my faith. Even though I ended up enrolling anyways, my loving, Catholic family could never understand why I'd approach religion from a standpoint that was anything but faithfully devout. I now have to deal with weekly Facebook messages asking me if I’ve been going to the church service that I haven’t been attending. Somewhere along the line, faith has become a routine.

All of this isn’t to say I’m disillusioned with the divine. I believe in God, I pray, I read The Bible. And yet I know that it isn’t enough. Among the various analogies I’ve heard at either school or church, the one I like best is that God is “your best friend.” At some point, I know I’ll have to stop blaming other people and outside factors for the fact that I’m simply not putting up my end of the relationship.

I know I shouldn’t care about what other people think, but one of my perpetual fears is that I’ll end up in a debate on the existence of God, and I won’t have anything to say other than, “I know He’s there.” Shouldn’t that be enough? As much as I’m confused and trying not to be, I still persevere because of the times I'd felt like I was at my wit’s end. When I felt lost, I knew — and still do — that I have someone to rely on. I’ve felt it, and it feels like what I imagine love does: big, beautiful and better than a Nicholas Sparks novel. It’s beautiful because it’s not something that hits you only when you’re at your worst. I could be walking down the street and suddenly remember that I am loved.

Maybe I need faith because I’m selfish. After years and years of having my religious affiliation one of my default attributes, I’m finally starting to accept the fact that I have no idea what I’m doing. If at the end of this I had to define what faith was, I’d say it’s a call in the dark. And I know what love is because I’ve felt it in my bones. And I don’t think that’s far from what any other religious person would say. I’m lost, but I’m going to keep trying because I know what I’m looking for is there, and I’m just finding my way back home.