FROM ROSE

Agape & Philia

Everyone reflects who I was, am and would like to be. But what if I am surrounded by many or none? To be honest, I too have lost face in the game of love. I often wonder about the love I had, have, need and want.

As a child, I recall learning about types of love. Whatever I learnt, was situated in different factors of my livelihood e.g., culture, education, family background and societal norms.

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For example, love between the source and its beings- Agape Love. I was taught that his kind of loving is limitless, and even fair to those I found unbefitting of its mercy. I often wondered what kind of loving stood for massacres of whole races, enslavement of coloured people, or withstood the hunger in Sub-Saharan Africa. Apparently, this is the type of love that either enslaves one to doctrines of destructions or saves one’s soul from condemnation.

When one falls into this kind of love, one is required to give it their 100%- ’Not in perfection but in spirit and in truth.’ A ‘man of God’ once told me. This love surpasses any materialistic or physical nature and is more concerned with the insides. Even the earth is made to abide by this law of ’from within’. Its nurturing or destruction starts from within itself.

#For me, Agape love came in my earlier years… even before my self-awareness. My parents so it only natural to baptise me in their faith i.e., Pentecostal church. However, the youngest memory of my religious self, is that of me attending children’s Sabbath Day Adventist with my aunt.

My friends and I would run within the church’s barbed wired fence avoiding the main gate, so that the gateman would not report us to our parents after service. We would use the offering we were given by our parents, to buy ginger biscuits and sweets from hawkers that sold snacks through the church’s fence. Our understanding of the phrase ′man shall not live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God…’, was totally different. None of it mattered to us as children really. All we cared about was memorizing the sabbath’s Bible verses, dancing to children’s hymns, getting excited about being little church scouts and of course... the ginger biscuits and sweets!

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Then came my brothers’ phases. I now had to accompany them to their churches. During their era, the Holy Day changed to Sunday. This was so cool as it meant I could watch Cartoon Network on Saturday. God also became more lenient! Females were allowed to wear trousers and make-up, and the males were allowed to braid their hairs and pierce their ears. Some daring ones even had visible tattoos showing!! God’s concern for the insides rather than the outsides couldn’t have been clearer.

Even praise and worship felt different. The church services felt more like an Afro Party. God…! They even had Sunday deejays who played various genres of Gospel music. Agape Love however, seemed to remain the same.

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I met my first group of little bandits here. We became masters at stealing church offering. It was not in any way a Grand Theft Auto scale thieving. It was a cookie-out-of-the-jar kind of theft. I was already using my own to buy snacks anyway. I only upgraded to stealing from the offering box instead of using my own. Candy still tasted great. I even levelled up to popsicles and street fries. For a church called Deliverance, it sure delivered me into the world- materialistically.

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Soon afterwards, I joined my half-sisters in the Roman Catholic Church. The system of hierarchy and patriarchy dominated the city of God. Unlike the previous two, here God had his own sidekicks. One of them, a human being, solely male. He is chosen ‘‘by God’’ through the burning of random ‘holy’ old men’s names. The smoke must be white for ‘‘God’s number one’’, to be chosen. The position is a lifetime post.

The pope is meant as an ‘overseer’ on God’s behalf and ... as well as being one of the most powerful people throughout his lifetime, he is supposedly the holiest man alive!

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To be crowned POPE, one must be the holiest,

Since most are chosen when they are oldest,

Does is it mean that a ‘POPE-TO-BE’ is merely holier,

until the death of the reigning pope??

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Here, God was like a liberal dad or, the ’enjoy life’ kind of uncle. He, however, suddenly became very conservative regarding issues ’he’ considers ‘immoral’. For example, He allowed people to taste but not drink alcohol during service-.

Oh! Apparently, Jesus’ mother was the Queen B... Jesus suddenly became a mama’s boy. You were better off asking the mom to speak to his son on your behalf and, you better ask her repeatedly for at least 50 times each time as this is the way she likes it best.

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Then there were the saints. These is a bunch of ‘Good Samaritans’ who helplessly and whole-heartedly did some awesome stuff for others, or in the name of Christ way back. The things Wowed people so much...that the church had no better option than to give them accolades. These accolades gave them the same respect as the chosen lieutenants of Jesus i.e., apostles. I was advised early, to find a saint that I related to, make them my friend and ask them to intercede for me. Like summon them…

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There was an exclusive membership subscription in form of brotherhood or sisterhood i.e., monks or nuns. This subscription forbade one from sex, romantic relations, marriage or family. They also didn’t like much colour in their outfits...let alone designs. I used to think it was because they ‘were always cold’, but my catechist said it was just descent dressing.

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I guessed.

The shame, Adam and Eve felt when God saw them naked had really intensified.

The nakedness had become so vivid that it could only be covered by long cloaks and robes.

I mean, Why would God give hair only for him to ask them to cover it?

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God seemed to enjoy a lot of tests here. Though, He was all knowing and omnipresent, He preferred when you told Him what you have done through the priest in a dark room. I recall having to tell my souls secrets, or when I had been a bad girl, to an anonymous man who seemed to have more power than myself in begging God for forgiveness.

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I guessed.

It was God’s way of offering therapy to his people.

Furthermore,

a problem shared is a problem half solved.

Just like a therapist sworn to an oath,

to the grave the priest takes your secrets.

The best part is,

he doesn’t even know your face or name…

or who the secrets belong to.

Priests might be some of the best story tellers that can never speak!

I guess God’s ways are truly secretive.

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In the Catholic church, Jesus and his disciples seem too involved with Politics and societal morality than they were with preaching. With pre-set laws, teachings, rituals and constitution, the church focused on building more houses for God despite, every, body already being a temple of the holy spirit. They built schools and hospitals and made donations for different charities.

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Their ways, unlike God’s, were open and loud.

They ensured name tags and detailed monuments.

Saints, bishops, holiest men…, even Jesus’ mother,

Received customized statues posters and banners,

As compliment.

The only common ground they have with their protestants, is that offering is of great importance to God.

While Jesus despised commercial activities in the temple,

The churches for both the proposers and opposers of Christ,

have become fundraising events for materialistic gain and wealth.

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I am glad however, that I got more time around my peers. The collection of boys was rather broad! It was especially inviting to a pre-teen with activated oestrogen, burning sexual curiosity and daring mind.

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Still partly influenced by my half-sisters, I followed them to an Anglican church. A bit like the Catholic church... though, Mary was not as badass, and the priests could marry. Also, there was no crazy indoctrinations into various forms of patriarchy, or anyone made to cover their heads.

To be honest, this newest church is still a bit special. It introduced me to another love, philia. I also had my first ‘manly’ crush! I could say it was my raging pre-teen hormones bursting my brain into committing the sin of coveting another woman’s man. At least that is how it started….

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I have always had a kink for the cloth. This could be because I admire the acts of service roles, the leadership, care, mentorship, motivation... I could go on.... or it could be the idea of the innocence and purity, and the curiosity of their wildness in bed;)

Then, Motivation; by Kelly Rowland and Lil Wayne made me imagine things that my society and most considered abominable and taboo for a girl my age to even conceive. But then, I was no typical teen, let alone innocent of the experience.

This new love had me front row every Sunday, leading in every church activity and as it progressed, it had me spending long days and hours in an office with my then guardian angel.

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See,

Taking my lessons from the Catholic church,

and whole heartedly yearning for someone to know me,

I laid my confessions to the man in cloak.

Only this time,

I had upgraded the course outline.

Both confessors knew each other deeply.

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This angel had popped in while my soul had just realised that I was seeking something... an image... maybe a mentor... let’s just say.... life was a little bit fucked up!

Every day, I yearned and sought the comfort of the presence of him who had seduced me. He had not done it by a physical touch but by his integrity and the oomph he had in his faith. Despite my perverted thoughts, he instilled in me passion, self-worth and determination. The way he loved his woman made me long and wish for something just like that in my future partner. We sang, prayed, watched and discussed countless YouTube videos on spirituality and music, made inside jokes in public and even shared secrets that no one else knew. He gave me my first touch of philia intimacy.

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The phrase, you never forget your first couldn’t have been truer for my childhood. My luck in philia love had mood swings that made my friendship status complicated. My status read, ‘known by many but considered by a few.’ I guess my guardian angel went back to heaven and mistakenly carried his blessing with. I just never seemed to fit, let alone allow myself to try.

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The girls’ boarding high school only complicated things further. I seemed to be unable to just befriend people without being sexually attracted to them first. Both girls and boys, either fell victim or benefited from my inability to form no strings attached relationships.

Being labelled a troublemaker halved my other associations and the age gap between my siblings and I made it difficult to relate to people my own age…

Or maybe it was the guardian angel experience? I was unable to form healthy bonds with females.

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Earlier childhood friendship experience had soured my trust in people.

My 1st girl best friend believed a lie about me stealing money! I know right?! I know what you think. I must have… surely. Didn’t I just mention I used to steal offering in church when I was younger?

That was then though! Childhood games! Also, there is something that hits different about being accused of the wrong crime. Even if I was a thief, it didn’t mean that I had stolen this one in particular!

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Considering that we had spent the said theft weekend together, I remained broken.

In reflection, I do hold trauma from the punishment I received when it was believed that I had stolen the money. Funny how such incidences get imprinted in your character. The disgrace and the shame of being paraded as a thief in front of the whole school…, both students (all girls by the way), and staff felt less painful of a memory, than when SHE said she never wanted anything to do with me again. The incident shaped me… first for the worst, then after mature forgiveness, the better. At the age of 14 however, it left me unable to trust in girls.

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With maturity glasses on, I don’t blame her. She too could only act according to what she had witnessed and experienced. I had told her of my childhood and that knowledge made her see me as an eligible suspect.

Also, while we both were academically gifted, teachers saw us like water and oil behaviour-wise. She had been made a class president from the 1st day, while I was busy being caught in trouble by the nun- principal on the same day. To top it, I appeared in the list of troublemakers frequently.

I gave my teachers polarising feelings towards me. Though they admired my academic brain and ability to get shit done, they despised my ability to fuck shit up. I was the class’s advocate, clown, ghetto diva, freedom fighter and entertainer. This means that my classmates watched me like followers on social media following influencers or even celebrities. I was only a hit when trending.

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Apart from the childhood traumas, I made matters worse by hiding my true self to people, because of my insecurities, low self-esteem and the need to be liked.

The vibe carried on to high school. There, I familiarised myself with squads and confirmed to myself that loyalty had an expiration date. My philia love had remained unexplored as I had gone on full defence mode. My tongue became sharper, my lips moved quicker, my emotions were in full gear and all a bitch had to do was try me! Ironically, I have never fought a day in my life, neither have I bullied.