When we moved to Colombo five years ago, he learnt the ABC’s of Buddhism. He used to go to the temple with my sister, he was fascinated by the little rituals. He loved to light the oil lamps and joss sticks, he liked arranging the flowers on the offering table at the temple and he loved to sit around the Bo tree scribbling in the sand, watching people chanting aloud. An occasional firefly or a bug would draw his attention and distract him, but he was a well behaved kid once set foot in the temple premises.
Then he moved to Dubai to live with the mother and came back an atheist a year later.
So I wondered how did he become a Christian, out of the blue.
Apparently, every evening he follows his boarding-school mates to the Chapel where he gets a chance to pray. He says he likes to kneel down and ask God for all his wishes to come true.
And he loves the fact that he gets blessed at the end of the service. “Paap, the father keeps his hand on my head and says ‘God Bless You my son, Rafael!’ and it makes me feel good...” he says in a cheerful voice over the telephone as I enquire about his new-found life in the boarding school.
As long as the religion teaches morals and provides him with guidance in life, as long as it gives him hope and instils faith in him, I wouldn’t care too much about the label it carries.
When it comes to one’s faith, does the label really matter? Either way, I’m just glad that my son is in safe hands. ;)