Words by: Ash Dowling
Art by: Ash Dowling

people are surprised when I say

that I am more religious than my parents.

some believe that religion is being gradually 

stripped away, passed down through  

generations like pass-the-parcel,

each one ripping off a crude layer

of wrapping paper, until it’s all gone.

I don’t exactly know where my faith came from. 

I know that I started to feel

achingly empty at seven years old.

I nibbled on an apple-flavoured fruit roll-up 

and craved something more. 

my school was a poisonous ground for faith

in anything other than being popular.

we tussled to be liked, to fit inside the 

revolving door of teenage idolatry.   

I waited outside for long enough

to begin to hate myself and look for

something better, something bolder, something louder

until I realised God was quiet. 

when I lost it all – when everything I held 

was gone and everything I knew 

was wrong – I found it all. 

we live in a world of thistles and thorns,

of disease and drought, and concreted lawns

but faith does not need earth to grow.

So, do not be surprised.