truth be told, i’m not very religious. a little ironic considering how, once upon a time, when i was about 8 years old, i’d wear a skirt on my head and pretend it was a habit. i wanted to be a nun.
nobody knows this but i used to have this diary where i would write down the prayers that i would say every single day of the week which i copied from my mom’s prayer books. no one prayer on repeat. my mom had a lot of prayer books.
of course i never stuck to them. the ritual of writing them was more enjoyable than the penance of actually following through.
and i wasn’t exactly a saintly child either. i guess i just liked the novelty of writing things down.
i was a pen and paper kid, you know what i mean? but the extreme kind. i was that kid who secretly saved papers from the rubbish bin because i felt sorry for them. watching them move clumsily forward as i swept the floor felt like a funeral procession and i didn’t have the heart to throw them away so i’d lovingly pick them up like you would a child and stuff them in my mom’s tupperware cabinet.
i know it sounds pretty mental. i probably was. probably still am. probably always will be.
anyhow, back to the business of religion: i don’t really go to church that often here. i know i should but i don’t. for a myriad of reasons. but if there’s one church i would consider my favorite, it would have to be st. francis’ catholic church in the city. for the simple, unexplainable reason that it feels church-y to me — the stained glass windows, wooden ceilings, the paintings on the ceiling — the general feeling of oldness and solemnness about it.
most of all, i love their prayer room. and the fact that you can light candles in there. because it’s rare to find churches here that allow people to do it, obviously for safety reasons. but at st. francis’ church, you can. and i miss that.
i should probably take better, and more recent photos of the church. the next time i go there, i will. for now, these will have to do.
*26 weeks pregnant