A Little Child's Philosophy

My mother always thought of me as a meddlesom child. "Where do I come from, how do I exist, who am I?" These were the questions my little mind pondered. I was barely 10, when I gained consciousness of myself. Fascinating as it sounded, i was scared. Scared, to know that I had a soul inside me and my body, was mine, was different from my mum's or my dad's or my siblings'. Bewildered to know that I was created by God, or so they said. Scared to know who this God - whom we can't see or hear or touch - was. Or how He existed - "shhh... we do not question God or His existence." My mum would always scold. Even more scared to know that one day we'd all die. And we don't even know where we'd go. One day, my mum or dad or siblings won't celebrate Christmas. Or me. My fears never left. My questions, never answered. Now, I walk around with a cloak of self-awareness, a burden I've learned to live with. An unspoken (forbidden) mystery. No one knows where we come from, or where we'd go when we die. We all live by our faith, hoping when we die, we've chosen the right side.