By: Candace Lu

My fascination started when I was young. I’d always had just one question, one question that no one could answer: “Where did humans come from?”

The first time I asked it, I was a young boy looking up at the woman who’d been paid to teach me, the person who didn’t know anything, as far as I was concerned.

“Cavemen,” the woman replied.

“And where did cavemen come from?” I asked.

“Monkeys,” the woman replied impatiently, tapping her foot on the ground, “Now, let’s get to more important matters.”

For the life of me, I couldn’t think of anything more important than where my ancestors came from, so I ignored the woman’s command. “So, where did monkeys come from?”

The woman replied with one short statement, “God.”

I stopped talking after that, but in my head a river of questions had burst forth. Who is God? How did monkeys come from God? Who created God? Is God real? Will I ever meet God?

After school that day, I stole the Bible from my father and found God’s description. “God is spirit, by nature intangible (John 4:24); God exists everywhere (Psalm 139:7-12), knows everything (Psalm 147:5; Isaiah 40:28), and has all power and authority(Ephesians 1; Revelation 19:6); God created the world (Genesis 1:1; Isaiah 42:5); He actively sustains the world (Colossians 1:17); He is executing His eternal plan (Ephesians 1:11) which involves the redemption of man from the curse of sin and death (Galatians 3:13-14)” It had to be said that this confused me more. How could God do all those things without getting tired? But, there was another question forming in my mind. Does God not Die? God must be immortal, he must have great power, how come he hasn’t freed us from death yet? What even happens after you die? It was that question that gnawed at me for what seemed to be an eternity. Finally, I decided to ask my friends.

“There are many Gods, but they are all one, Brahma, the creator of our universe. When we die, we do not die, we get reborn as another living thing,” The other child told me. “Karma, our deeds affect our reincarnation, until we become one with Brahma. Our souls are immortal.”

I frowned, I believed that humans had no power, so how could their souls be immortal, when another of my companions, a Buddhist, spoke up.

“You will only become one with God after you achieve Nirvana, the end of suffering,” the other youth interrupted. However, someone else disagreed.

“No, when you die, God will judge you, and you will go to heaven or hell,” The adolescent told me, “If you go to hell, you will be resurrected.”

I nodded slightly, their beliefs had been somewhat different, but the concept had been the same. Bad deeds meant reincarnation, good deeds meant becoming one with God, meeting God. That made me happy. I will be able to meet God. Pleased, I went back home. But on the way, a girl I’d never seen in my entire life, intercepted me.

“They’re lying, you know,” she said cheekily, “When you die, it’s like sleep, eternal sleep. You’re not conscious of anything, you’ll never meet God, your soul isn’t immortal, humans don’t have the power, you know that.”

I ignored her. I knew humans didn’t have that power, but I’d come to believe. “God’s the one who gave us an immortal soul,” I said indignantly.

The girl laughed, “Oh, who’s this God? I’ll tell you a secret: God doesn’t exist.”

“Yes, he does,” I replied angrily; I had to believe. For some reason, the thought of eternal sleep scared me.

“Really? Then, where’s the proof?” she asked in a patronizing tone, “There is none, is there?”

I clenched his fists. “God is real, I won’t sleep eternally, and I will meet God after death,” I replied tensely, swinging my arm around toward where the girl was, but she was gone, and her condescending tone echoed in my head. Where’s the proof?

I tried to ignore it, the taunting voice, but it clung to me like leeches, eating at my blood, my brain. God is real, I won’t sleep eternally, and I will meet God after death, I told himself over and over again. But at the same time, the words, “Where was the proof?” rang out like a bell and one day I snapped. Proof, I need proof.

I drove myself mad, deeper and deeper I fell into the questions of the universe. Why do we even exist? Why do we die? Everyone thought I was crazy, insane, and maybe I was, but I needed to know, I needed to know what happened after death, and I needed proof.

And here I was, on the verge of passing, seeing my entire life flash before my eyes, my sad, short, obsessive existence driven by my need to know. I was surprisingly calm, but regret weighed on my mind. What if I’d just believed? What if I’d just ignored her? Maybe, it wouldn’t have ended this way. As soon as I’d plunged the dagger into my chest I saw her, the girl. She was older now, a woman, and she smiled down on me.

“Do you think it was worth it?” she asked in a soft tone. I thought vaguely about her haughty laugh when I first met her.

I looked at the knife, then at her, and was compelled to answer, “No, no,” I managed to choke out, “‘what if’s’ just keep popping up, I just wanted to know, just really wanted to know.”

The woman nodded, “What if I’d still believed, what if I’d just didn’t think about it? Then at least I would have had a chance, right?” It was exactly what I’d been thinking.

It was getting darker for me and I wondered how I was still able to see her, after all, I couldn’t see anything else. “Who are you,” I asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Me? I’m your fears, your worries,” she replied, and as she spoke, I saw her slowly begin to fade away, “And since you’re dying, I’ll disappear too. This is just my last goodbye, as the very thing that killed you, and your only companion. So, I hope your dreams will come true, in your next life or in eternal sleep.”

Then, she faded away completely, and I took my final breath, waiting for wherever my death took me.