Unt(i)tled 💜

A Gentle Note:

This blog post is not a gentle read. It touches on sensitive topics, including sexual abuse, trauma, and the impact of these experiences on faith and personal healing. Some parts may be difficult to read, so please take care of yourself as you go through it.  It contains descriptions and reflections that may be distressing or triggering for some readers.

If you ever feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to step away or not read at all. Remember, you’re not alone—there’s always support out there, whether it’s a trusted friend, a professional, or an organisation ready to help.

It’s okay to ask for help!

Some say that just moments before you move on to the other side, your life flashes before your eyes. As (i)I kept kicking through the ocean currents, desperately trying to stay afloat, my body grew numb. (i)I couldn’t feel my limbs anymore, and i knew I was going to drown.

(i)I screamed into the void, but my voice felt swallowed by the sea. The saltwater burned my throat, and my vocal cords felt scorched. (i)I wished (i)I had a whistle or some way to make myself heard. (i)I wished (i)I were loud enough-but (i)I wasn’t.

The numbness spread, pulling me deeper. (i)I embraced the salt water; it was mine to drown in. My life didn’t flash by like a movie but played slowly, on repeat. It was harder to face than staying afloat. i tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t. (i)I wanted to drown. 

Faith - The Traitor

As (i)I let the water cradle me, my mind took me to my childhood sanctuary-St. Peter and Paul’s Church in Oman. It was the heart of my childhood, a place (i)I called home. (i)I saw myself running through the corridors, playing hide-and-seek with my brothers and friends. (i)I watched myself sit on the benches, watching the older kids play basketball.

Back then, (i)I believed Jesus lived in Church. (i)I would talk to him in my mind throughout the week, and on Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, (i)I visited him at his home. As (i)I grew older, I went to Church daily by choice. Things are different now.

That sacred space, my refuge, became the setting for my first storm. It was in the shadows of that sanctuary that my innocence was taken. That’s right folks, (i)I am a cliché. I am a Catholic that was sexually abused in Church when (i)I was just a child. Except, it didn’t happen by a priest or anyone that worked in Church. They are family. But it happened in that safe environment, the last place any of us expected.

(i)I remember every detail-the red dress with white polka dots and the white frilled socks that kept my tiny feet warm. (i)I remember begging the stranger to let me go and being told to lower my voice for being too loud. (i)I remember praying in my mind, waiting for it to be over. No, (i)I did not get raped, he couldn’t go through with it because he was interupted, it could have been worse. (i)I thanked god for protecting me from something worse happening. Perhaps, the three women that walked in were angels sent from above. That day, (i)I learned how silence can scream louder than words and how scars can hide in plain sight.

Despite everything, my god still tells me (i)I should trust him. But (i)I’ve been in hell for years and it feels as though there is no god here. How could this god allow such atrocities to happen?

The strange thing is, it was easier for me to forgive the man that committed the crime, but not the god that allowed it to happen. his angels were a little too late, not “on time to stop somthing worse” from happening. (i)I still struggle to look past the fact that it had to happen in a toilet cubical at Church. Even a Satanist would sacrifice a virgin on an altar, but not my god. My god demands more. But lets thank god for keeping the piece of skin between my legs intact.

(i)I went on living my life, but (i)I couldn’t seem to re-wire my brain from the feeling that god abandoned me when (i)I needed him the most. 

Was god too busy basking in the’ praise and worship of his people, munching on heavenly popcorn? What happened to leaving the 99 to rescue the one?

Mattew 8:12 (NIV) -  “What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off?”

Or did he go deaf, dumb, and blind, assuring his angels to stay put because it was necessary for my ‘character development’?

Was god sunbathing on the altar as (i)I cried? Was the guardian angel he appointed an intern that lacked training? Were they fired? Was a new one appointed? Was there a management change or was he busy restructuring the Kingdom? Did he make the angels redundant? Was he short on staff? Or did god turn the other cheek that time?

Is god a sadist delighting in my pain, or have (i)I misunderstood the purpose of suffering? Did (i)I enable god when (i)I still praised him? Am (i)I enabling him now by calling him out publicly because he enjoys being humiliated instead? Or is he indifferent because he isn’t human? A psychopath?

(i)I loved god, a part of me always will. (i)I still talk to him in my mind and have to make the conscious effort not to. It kind of feels like a break up, but much worse. It was easier for me to move on from my ex. That was a clean break, but not with god.

(i)I know that the root cause of my anger is the unrealistic expectation (i)I had of god, to always have my back and protect me. But the thing is, that is what (i)I was raised to believe Faith to be. To expect it all from god. Don’t get me wrong, (i)I was not taught to believe that god was Santa Clause. But (i)I was taught that god is the ultimate source of love and is a healer.

(i)I didn’t feel loved or healed by god. (i)I feel tested, constantly, and it is exhausting. I used to get on stage and lead praise and worship, I used to study the scripture and share it. I used scripture and prayer to comfort my friends and strangers. But i always struggled to trust god and yet, I(i) loved and respected him. I(i) spoke highly of him. I learnt to play the piano just so I could play it in Church. Even the songs I grew up with—my sea shanties of Faith—still linger in my mind. Their melodies etched into my memories. Listening to them now feels like a sharp dagger launched into my back.

*Enough is enough, the tables have turned and it’s my turn to watch and observe him. 

Faith - The Seductive Mistress

When I was 22, I(i) told my parents that I wanted to become a nun. Thankfully, I(i) didn’t follow that path. (i)I can’t say it with a straight face anymore, it makes me laugh even at the thought of it. I wanted to be the “bride of Jesus”.

(i)I’m not here trying to toot my own horn saying that I(i) was a righteous person and still bad things happened to me, quite the contrary. Like I said in my previous post, I was an imposter. But there was a genuine desire and thirst to be close to god. Thats why i believe that I was the one who loved god unconditionally. I kept turning the other cheek. 

Was i expected to endure like Job, trusting that restoration would come, or was i a modern-day Eve, punished for daring to question what I was told to believe? But I obeyed god, I(i) forgave that man and prayed for him. I(i) turned the other cheek.

i(I) began to reflect on the Bible stories I(i) had grown up with. Stories that once felt sacred now seemed cruel. Take Abraham, the founder of my past religion, for example. In the Bible, Abraham is asked by god to sacrifice his son Isaac as a test of Faith. This moment is one of the most dramatic and disturbing examples of obedience to god. Abraham is willing to kill his own child to prove his loyalty to god. This story is often interpreted as a symbol of Faith, but it raises troubling questions.

It’s as though god handed Abraham a blade and said, “Prove your devotion by cutting away your own heart.” Isaac was an innocent child, walking behind his father, not knowing it was to his death. He was Abraham’s joy, his long awaited blessing, his future. And yet, Abraham stood on that mountain, prepared to destroy his soul. What kind of Faith demands that you set fire to your own soul just to prove it burns?

[I Offer My Life - Don Moen]

For some, Abraham’s actions represent ultimate devotion. But, to me, it reads more like blind obedience—a loyalty built on fear, not love. Why was god behaving like Lady Macbeth-if you really love me, you would murder for me, even if it is a child, because I would for you.’

*What was that about? That sounds toxic.

If (i)I were Sarah, (i)I wouldn’t have celebrated Abraham’s "loyalty." (i)I would’ve slapped him as soon as he got back from that hike, booked an appointment for him with his therapist, packed my bags, taken Isaac, and left. (i)I wouldn’t stand by him or his damn god. 

Why do we glorify a god who demands such sacrifices? A god who rewards suffering as though it’s a badge of honour? 

Why was an animal needed to be sacrificed for sins to be forgiven? Why was Jesus required to take the place of an animal sacrifice?

*Again, who made these laws?

Why can’t god just forgive? Why won’t god take his own advice and turn the other cheek?

(i)I’ve been told that (i)I shouldn’t hold god accountable for the mistakes that man makes. Besides, it could have been worse. How could (i)I not? (i)I was in his house, his sanctuary. Trauma is trauma, pain is pain and suffering is suffering regarless of the depth and breadth of it.

(i)I’ve grown tired of apologising for my pain. (i)I’ve grown tired of feeling like (i)I have to make excuses for why (i)I’m not happy all the time. (i)I’ve been told by family, friends, and even strangers to just "let go and let god" as if that’s the magic formula to healing.

But let me tell you—letting go doesn’t come easy when you’ve been abandoned in the first place. Was there anything to let go to begin with?

Fortnight (feat. Post Malone) - Taylor Swift, Post Malone

My god tells me that he loves me so much, he sent his only son to die on a cross for my sins. But it feels less like rescue and more like watching someone jump overboard with a stone tied to their ankle, yelling, “This is for you!” While you’re still gasping for air in the water. 

Why would (i)I find comfort knowing that god sent his son to die a brutal death for me? A son who begged him not to let him go through with it. How is that love? How can someone send one child to die for another; for the unborn? 

Why should (i)I celebrate a criminal offence? If someone told you they murdered their child for you, would you really be flattered by it? Or would you turn them in?

Even the earliest story in the Bible—the tale of Adam and Eve—echoes this tension between obedience and understanding. Unlike Abraham whose story revolves around acts of submission, this narrative shifts the focus to human curiosity and the consequence of seeking wisdom.

The tale of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden presents the idea of “original sin,” where the first humans are punished for seeking knowledge of good and evil. god forbids them to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, and when they do, they are expelled from paradise.

Genesis 3:6-7 (NIV) – “When the woman saw that the fruit of the tree was good for food and pleasing to the eye, and also desirable for gaining wisdom, she took some and ate it. She also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it. Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they realised they were naked; so they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths.”

Eve is often portrayed as the villain for succumbing to temptation, but maybe she was just curious, much like I am. Was her desire for knowledge a sin, or was it just human nature to want to understand more about the world? god’s punishment seems harsh for such human desire, and it raises my next question: Why would a god who created us in his image fear our growth?

Do my questions make me sound like the serpent that tempted Eve in the garden of Eden.? Maybe i(I) am the reincarnation of the Serpant, the fallen angel.

(i)I have been questioning the foundation of Faith as (i)I understood it: Is obedience to god truly righteous if it comes at the cost of morality or love?

My constant resistance to assassinate Faith was numbing me more than the storm. (i)I realised I wasn’t just fighting the ocean. I was fighting myself-and Faith. And in that moment, i wasn’t sure which one i wanted to save more.

Faith - The Immoral Woman

But if (i)I were to challenge the narrative my mind presents, i can’t help but see that maybe I was trying to make up for something I thought i had lost. It wasn’t just my innocence, it was my ability to feel safe enough to trust again.

Even as (i)I write this and am preparing to publicly expose a deep wound from my past, (i)I am afraid of how my life would play out going forward. Will (i)I forever be seen as damaged goods, fragile and unstable? Will (i)I be seen as a flight risk? Will it make me a less desierable candidate for future prospects and investments, both professional and personal in nature? 

*(i)I am not the “MVP”.

Am (i)I beyond hope? Some days, (i)I give into the negative thought. Despite the years of therapy and “inner healing” retreats (i)I’ve attended, (i)I still feel as though it is a scar (i)I need to work on. i feel like I have tried everything.

When (i)I was sixteen, (i)I went back to the scene of the crime, locked myself in and cried out to god begging for healing. Why? Exposure therapy.

*Sorry David Goggins, it didn’t work that time. I(i) am easy to hurt.

(i)I even travelled to India in the hopes that god would find me there and fade the scar to in-existence. But no matter how hard (i)I try to cover it or justify the pain, it keeps showing up. There is no silver lining and my preference is gold anyway. The way my trauma shows up is embarrassing and at times, I feel like i turn into that eight year old girl again, and I feel worthless. 

Every time (i)I dated someone, it was a secret I(i) fearfully shared before “feelings” started creeping in. They have the right to know what they are signing up for. That I am used and the baggage isn’t one they might want to see or know. Some have been kind, some not. 

(i)I used to believe that maybe if someone else could love me despite my scar, it would inspire me to love and value myself too. But that is far from the truth. No one can love your pain away. Not even this mighty force called “god” can love me enough to heal my pain. It is my responsibility to nurture and love myself. In that same light, (i)I can’t love someone else’s pain away either, no matter how hard I try. (i)I learnt both those lessons the hard way.

Rule Number II: Treat yourself like someone you are responsible for helping. - Dr. Peterson

(i)I am afraid that if (i)I expose my wound, (i)I might be taken advantage of. That is a rational fear I sometimes feel crippled by. I am also crippled by the fear that society would look down on my family or think that it is my parents who should be blamed.

Then again, Who are they to tell me what the narrative should be? How dare people make such assumptions? Who are they to rub salt on my wounds? (i)I speak freely in therapy and (i)I have enetertained every narrative my mind and the world has provided me. My parents are innocent in all of this. (i)I have already caused so much pain from exposing my wound to my whole family. It kills me to see them in pain too, that their hands are tied and they don’t know how to help me, when (i)I don’t know how to help myself. (i)I sometimes raise my voice at my parents when they offer me the only hope they have - Faith. i feel their pain, it is deeper than mine. It kills me to hear them blame themselves. They always did their best. Their best was more than enough. It fuels my rage towards god even more. (i)I feel like (i)I have turned into a walking tornado.  

(i)I am afraid that my story & art will merely turn into gossip and remain at that. (i)I am afraid that once (i)I go public with my story, it would hit the nail on the coffin for the hope of being loved. It feels like a suicide mission. (i)I am South Asian after all and the topic of “sex” is taboo on its own, even more so if consent wasn’t involved.

Besides, some things must be kept private right? (i)I am a firm believer of that too. But, (i)I refuse to lower my voice about this. Again, it’s called exposure therapy and Goddammit, it feels good.

*Well David Goggins, it’s working this time but (i)I am still easy to hurt. Thank you Chief 🫡

As much as I would love to get married someday, i shouldn’t have to choose. If you’re wondering if (i)I am looking for a “scapegoat”, don’t worry ladies and gentlemen, (i)I gave consent as an adult. You didn’t expect a 32 year old woman to still be a virgin did you? Respect to anyone who is, but thats not me.

Why? Exposure therapy. And also because I genuinely enjoyed it. 

(i)I also practice abstinence. Why? because the body keeps score📘 not because i(I) think, feel or believe that (i)I’m holier than thou ✌🏽 (i)I lived and learnt 💜

*Sorry boys, not a brand new Porsche here 🍑, just an old fashioned, domesticated and broken Mustang stallion 🥃

Oh, and this horse is a bully 😂💯 - Neighhh, i’m just horsing around.

Then again, (i)I am the girl that opted for a Toyota Aqua over a BMW or Range Rover. i didn’t need to stress every time I got into an accident, although i still did. It was fuel efficient, but more importantly, it made me feel safe and at peace. (i)I must admit, I am that driver on the road that doesn’t know how to drive but still has road rage. The audacity, am i right?

Oh, and the cup holder was positioned perfectly. That was what won me over. My younger brother was disappointed but (i)I was over the moon. (i)I couldn’t understand why that was any different from “the way the car looks”. (i)I guess we all have our preferences. (i)I’ll let you in on another secret, during the economic crisis, when Sri Lanka had a fuel shortage, that car was everyone’s vehicle of choice, it is more than just ‘reliable’.

Yes, my crew is close to me and their voices matter, but (i)I am going to have to veto this one. While this does not define me, it is a defining point. (i)I am the Captain of my own ship and the comforting reality is that (i)I have no ship and (i)I might never set sail in one again, but I will go down proud, standing straight with my shoulders back. Thats Rule Number 1.

*Thank you Dr. Peterson, this keyboard warrior does not believe the rules are “stupid”, she tries to live by it and its tough. It kept me alive Captain🫡 

Unmasked

9th January, 2025 - Reflection after therapy

(i)I am looking for someone to blame. The dark truth is, (i)I knew what (i)I was walking into. (i)I didn’t know what exactly it was, but that eight year old girl heard a loud voice yelling within to turn around and run. (i)I ignored my instincts and kept walking with him- a trait (i)I am unlearning in many ways. Besides, god sent his angels. Help is help regardless of its punctuality. Whether it was because of a diety or a coincidence is a mystery unresolved. 

(i)I walked into the lion’s den and (i)I’m still trying to pay off the debt. My rage towards god isn’t completely justified. Rage is the mask I wear to cover pain and disappointment in myself.

As (i)I wrestle with these questions, (i)I am not trying to discard Faith entirely. Instead, (i)I am searching for a Faith that allows questioning—a Faith built on understanding, not fear. And maybe, like Eve, it begins with the courage to question what we’re told to believe and seek wisdom, no matter the cost.

*Through the fire and the flood, resilience is about reclaiming your voice, rewriting the narrative, and daring to believe in hope—even when it’s hard. 

Healing, is not a destination. It’s a journey—one that requires patience, courage, and sometimes, the ability to walk away from the things that no longer serve us. It’s about letting go of the expectations that weigh us down, and instead, learning to live with the friendly uncertainty that life brings. It’s about finding peace in the chaos, and realising that even in the most challenging times, there is always something worth fighting for.

Captain Vishi’s words, the same cliché uttered by many others and my crew, is difficult to live by, but it does make sense.

(i)I will paint my art, to remind myself and anyone who needs to hear it—that there is hope. Even when it feels like the light has faded, there is always a glimmer of something better waiting to be found. (i)I will keep moving forward, even when the storms are long and uncertain. Because (i)I know that in the end, (i)I will find my way to a place of healing, where the scars of my past will no longer cloud me, but empower me to help others along their own journey.

So, here (i)I am—still wandering through the polarising storm of my Faith, trying to decipher what (i)I’m supposed to believe. (i)I’ve questioned god, and (i)I’m still here. (i)I have cried, I(i) yelled, and I cursed, but (i)I still wake up every morning.
Does that mean (i)I’ve assassinated Faith? (i)I don’t think so. (i)I don’t have answers, but (i)I still trust in the process. The bullet only grazed. (i)I trust that my life is worth living, even if (i)I don’t have the perfect understanding of why things happen the way they do.

That doesn’t mean that (i)I have stopped wanting to understand why god allowed this to happen either. But it’s a little easier to sit with the discomfort of not knowing and…

(i)I still don’t understand why we glorify suffering and sacrifice. Why is it that we celebrate the pain of others, as if it somehow makes them purer, holier? Why are we so quick to say that "everything happens for a reason," when sometimes there are no reasons that make sense?
Perhaps it is the nature of life itself to be chaotic and unpredictable. Perhaps there is no divine plan guiding us, no hidden message behind every hardship. Or maybe, just maybe, we are left to figure it out on our own.

(i)I might never have answers or fully understand why things happen the way they do. But (i)I do know this: (i)I am still here. (i)I am still breathing. And as long as (i)I am, (i)I will continue to fight for peace, for understanding, and for the love that is often hidden beneath the surface.

(i)I also know that, in my search, (i)I have learned to stand tall, despite the waves crashing around me. (i)I have learned to find strength in the vulnerability of my questioning. And most importantly, (i)I am learning to embrace my imperfections, knowing that they are not something to be ashamed of.

If you made it this far, just remember, this too shall pass!

To the ones staying silent, i hear you. To the ones in hiding, i see you. I can’t forget either!

If you have been waiting for an apology to work on yourself, and (i)I am referring to all forms of trauma, however significant or insignificant you may think it is, even if you feel, think or believe that “it could have been worse”, here are the words you have been waiting for:

i(I) am sorry. you didn’t deserve that. A mere apology doesn’t cut it. There is no justification for the pain. To accept it is to hold on to the courage that despite it all, there is hope for healing; it is yours to drown in. Or maybe there is no Hope, but do we have a choice?

Don’t let the narrative against you win. Narratives can be challenged and changed. You wield that power.

Look at you, taking all the punches life throws at you like a pro. You might be easy to hurt, but you are not easy kill. You have more control than you choose to believe.

You deserve kindness, you deserve peace, you deserve unconditional love. It is available to you, if you choose to give it to yourself. i(I) am right here with you, i(I) know it’s tough. But we’ve got to try.

My words to you are not from a place of sympathy, it isn’t empathy either. (i)I am projecting and (i)I hope it helps you on your own journey of healing. Its not much, but its all (i)I have 💜✌🏽

(i)I took one last look back to my past, it did not turn me into a pilar of salt, but too many tears were shed. I(i) am truly ready to let go. (i)I look forward to the golden ray at dawn. (i)I am a walking ray of hope.

I am scared but i am not

Who is confident? I am
Who is confident? i am
Who is confident? I(i) am

(i)I am that I(i) am

Who is enough? I am
Who is enough? i am
Who is enough? I(i) am

(i)I am that I(i) am

Who is resilient? I am
Who is resilient? i am
Who is resilient? I(i) am

(i)I am that I(i) am

Exodus 3:14

Until next time,

X