interview by Mike Madrid
I have always marched to my own drummer. Even when it came to God. Growing up I had my own God. He was mine and only mine, and was someone who always listened and understood me. I can't relate to the stories of other people's God and the Bible because I have never read it. I never felt I needed to because I had my own special version.
I was born in Illinois. I grew up in Zion. It wasn’t a suburb of Chicago, it was way on the Wisconsin border. I’m one of the few people that I know who had an amazing childhood. I’m the youngest of five. I have a twin, but I’m still the youngest. We grew up, and it was music all the time. And we all did things together as a family. We laughed and we talked. We sat at dinner together every night. It was the best thing ever.
My parents divorced when I was 11 or 12. And at that point, my mom had cancer, so things were already starting to unravel. Because the older kids had moved out, it was just me and my mom and my brother. My mom made sure it didn’t affect us. And things were still fun.
My mom was an English teacher. Because my mom was mixed, she was very particular about us not being too ethnic, and speaking properly. My mom wanted us to have the benefits of everything—a good education, of growing up in the suburbs. That’s how she grew up.
My mom prayed a lot, but it was very private for her. I view her relationship with God as being extremely private, and that was just her own. After my parents split up, she really started to go to church more. She’d go on Wednesdays and Sundays. That’s where I saw her at her happiest. So I wanted to be there with her. And if you went, you were her golden child for the day. My brother was stupid; he was in his own world. He never really understood that’s what made her happy. But I was fine that he didn’t go, because that was my time.
I was raised Russian Orthodox and you can imagine how many looks I received when people find that out. Especially blacks. People don't get that it's the same at Catholicism. The "Russian" throws people off. I loved people’s reactions. They would ask, “What are you?”
“Russian Orthodox.”
And they were like, “What? What? What?”
I was fascinated by the idea that it was such an unorthodox religion. (Laughs) The whole congregation was African-American. They would do half the sermon in a different language. And I had no idea what they were talking about. I would ask my mother. And she would say, “I have no idea.” No one knew, but that’s just what we did. We loved to get together, but don’t ask what we learned.
I really liked being there. Everybody knew everybody, so it was just a fun experience. It felt more like being at a reunion. I really wish, as an adult, that I had understood the religion a lot more. I didn’t really know what was going on, but I didn’t care. I loved the stories. I loved the idea of someone "up there" watching the lives of human beings like a big 'ole soap opera. I loved the communion. I loved the wine. Shocker. We never had Sunday school. I do remember kids would have their own little confessional. And I was kind of like a crazy perfect kid. I never got into trouble or anything. So I would just go in there and make stuff up.
It wasn’t until after my mom died that I went crazy. And that’s when I just…ugh, hated the world. I hated God. I was the kind of person who internalized everything. It wasn’t healthy. I was having these inner battles, but I would never let it show I didn’t even really cry. But the whole time, I was like, “Fuck you, God.” People at church would beg for me to come back. But I wouldn’t even drive near that church. I avoided that church. Seriously, I didn’t even care if I went to hell. I just stopped believing. I didn’t believe in anything. I didn’t claim I was anything.
That went on until I was in my 20’s. I don't recall what, but something changed and I "took him back”. I think the fact that, when I needed him, he was there. I felt like he had been there the whole time, just kind of letting me work through…whatever. And ever since then, he and I have a little understanding. I now understand why he does what he does for me.
It’s funny, because I kind of view “my God” like one of my “peeps”. (Laughs) It’s definitely my own definition. I can’t explain it, but I just imagine he is kind of like a hippie. Literally, he looks like Jesus, but his father. When I communicate with him, I talk to him more on a peer level. I understand his power. But I feel like I can just talk on the same level. I can have a conversation with God, and he totally understands. I can feel in my soul that he exists, was always there for me, and that he is fine with our private, one-on-one relationship.
I pray every single morning. God and I do our little fist bump. But I try to do it with some sort of meaning. Whereas before I just was like, “Hey, can you help me get this raise?” Perfect example: this morning I overslept. Shocker. I always oversleep. (Laughs) So, I always try to pray in the morning. Not going through the motions, because I really don’t like that. I try to stop. Try to make sure I’m not listening to Howard Stern or any other bullshit. Just silence. I want to have meaning and not just, “OK, you got me? Watch over me as I’m driving.” This morning, it was so rushed. A.D.D. was kicking in. I kept stopping the conversation. And I had this overwhelming guilt driving in to work, because I didn’t have the kind of conversation with God that I wanted to have. So, I literally just stopped in my office, sat down and shut my eyes. I don’t care; they already think I’m crazy. And basically said, “Sorry about that. But you understand. I was really running late.” And it was weird because I just felt the need to explain myself. (Laughs) And it made me feel better, because it was fuckin’ bothering me the whole day.
Obviously I know right from wrong. Sometimes I do have to stop and think, “How’s God going to feel about this?” And I will. I’m not committing crimes or anything. But there are certain times where I will find myself at that crossroads between right and wrong. Then I’ll find myself saying that because I’m actually debating it, I don’t need to be doing it. Do I always make the right decisions? Fuck, no. (Laughs)
I find myself having the same conversations with God. Like, “ I know I said I was going to pay that bill right now, and not go shopping with the money.” And I keep doing it repeatedly, and I worry that he’ll lose patience with me. I’m sure I’ve probably burned through my passes. Honestly, I think I have a coupon book in my mind, of shit that I can do. And then, once I’m out, I’m like, “What do I need to do?” I’ll go donate some more money to a shelter, and some time, and I think we’re clear. It works for me.
I’ve always been hard on myself. I honestly don’t allow myself to get real close to people, because I have a fear of losing people. There are certain people in my life who I have so much respect for, and whose opinions really matter to me. It’s usually those people who get me. Those are the kind of people that I never want to disappoint. And God is one of them. I’m a good person, but I’m always striving to be that better person. For me it’s harder, because he’s always fuckin’ there, no matter what. If he were to ever say, “Girl, that’s not you. I’m really disappointed in you.” Crush.
I’ve had many talks with my brothers and sisters about our mother. I rely on them to tell me stories, because a lot of things I don’t remember about her. I don’t really understand what happens to us after we die. Having lost both of my parents, there’s that part of me that is hopeful that we all kind of get together for a big-ass reunion afterwards. That I’ll see my grandparents. And that, honestly, is a lot of what drives me to believe. That really keeps my faith really strong. But, I’m not going to lie. I’ll be a little pissed if I find out it was just the biggest scam. Because I would really, honestly, and truly hate to find out, when I die, that that’s it. I would be like, “What?! Are you kidding me?” (Laughs)
I’ve been thinking, “Maybe I should start going back to church…” But, ehhh. I think God’s good with what we have. Because if it’s not going to be the way I want it to be, then I won’t do it. I actually went back two years ago. That was probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. Literally just walking up the stairs was such a rush of how much I had loved it growing up. To walk in that church, and to see 90% of the people there were still there. And I swear to God, they hadn’t fuckin’ aged a day. I’m not even kidding you. When I was 10 or 11, there was a woman. We called her “Great Mother” or “Good Mother”…I can’t believe I’m drawing a blank. OK, forgive me, Lord, she was like a fossil. She smelled so amazing, and she was in head-to-toe nun garb. She would sit in the corner, and she would just listen to the sermon. Anyway, she was this figure that you just worshipped…so much. When I was ten, she was…80. And when I looked up and I saw her in the corner. I looked at my cousin and I said, “I’ve got to get out of here. They’ve got a dead body in here.” And then when she looked up and said my name, I almost hit the floor. She had to be at least a hundred. I texted my brother and I go, “Oh my god, she’s still alive!”
Seriously, it was kind of weird. People were crying. I don’t know how much I look like my mom, but I guess I look just like her. And they had a little shrine with her. I didn’t even know she was that big of a figure in the church. When I was in that church, I was ten again. It was really emotional. That’s the thing that I loved about it. And that’s where I thank God that I did this every week of my life. It’s just one of those things where you go through the motions, but when you leave church, it’s the feeling you can’t describe. You feel so good about yourself. You feel so good about the day. I sat through the sermon…it was the same shit. (Laughs)
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