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My Diary

What do the remnants of religion mean today?

I was sitting in the university computer room, typing away my notes from a book on Postmodern Jurisprudence. To my far right, was a gaggle of girls. They were working on some sort of scientific or statistical project – one quiet American and one verbose red haired English girl with glasses and a hoodie.

It was quite a cold room. I was sitting with my coat on and my scarf wrapped around my neck. Occasionally, I could hear the sound of someone dropping an umbrella. The day promised rain.

The conversation of the girls was sporadic and tangential. They had been talking about Muslims, funny accents, the Asian population in the university. Some Chinese people didn’t like being referred to as Asian apparently. How an American understood the various types of English over here. Whether Donna had a funny accent and what part of London she was from.

The English girl was speaking away at a rate. There was a faint quality of boredom in everything she said. Just a little trace of it drawling interlaid with everything else. It constrasted with the natural perkiness of her voice. She was saying something quite ridiculous along the lines of: It’s not like remembering, it’s like going over the stuff over and over again. I don’t know, it’s like repetition, repeating stuff.

It was at this point that I remembered the remants of religion. I silently mouthed the word God, with an exclamation mark at the end clearly formulated in my mind.

Was I praying that he would transport me from the workstation? Was the masculine entity I referenced simply a misogynistic response, an identification with the male at the expense of the female? Was the trace of disgust I had experienced at the stupidity of the girl’s statement counterbalanced by an ideal of infinite knowledge? Maturity? It was a question to ponder at some length.

I was struck by a thought. Perhaps my silent mouthing of the word ‘God’ had been in opposition to the profane stupidity of the girl’s babble. The word of silent and invisible power against the dross of what she had said – the act of remembering well rather than the simplistic analysis.

But then I went back to my book. And read more about Postmodern Jurisprudence.



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