In my youth, before turning my life around, I was a wild woman that embraced a carefree and spontaneous lifestyle, living by my own rules and desires. In doing so, I inadvertently deceived not only myself but also many others into believing I was someone I truly was not. I remember the times when I meticulously prepared myself before going out—be it to a lively party, a sophisticated restaurant, or a gathering with friends. I invested considerable time, sometimes hours, in perfecting my makeup, selecting and reselecting outfits, fueled by the anticipation that these moments held the key to filling the void within me. However, whenever I walked through the door, a sinking feeling encircled my heart, accompanied by a resounding realisation that what I sought to find was conspicuously absent. I left my parents’ house and joined an artistic community, where Duncan became a part of my life. Despite dating someone else, Duncan and I clicked, especially during our discussions about evolution. Back then, Christianity wasn’t on my radar, and atheism puzzled me. I’d often tell Duncan, “How can you not believe in God? It’s just beyond me.” Despite my lack of religious fervor, Duncan and I engaged in civil debates for months. He’d bring in science books on evolution, but honestly, none of it made much sense to me. We enjoyed exploring our differences, discussing the missing link, and dissecting the evidence he presented. Admittedly, I was clueless and had no idea how to counter his scientific arguments. I’d throw questions like, “What is love?” and “How do you explain things like the soul? How did that evolve?” Duncan had his answers, attributing love to chemical reactions and delving into neurotransmitters like dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin. He’d get technical, describing oxytocin as the “love hormone,” associated with bonding, trust, and attachment, while serotonin regulated mood. According to him, forming emotional bonds, including love, had adaptive advantages in human evolution, fostering cooperation and increasing survival chances within communities. Despite his explanations, he didn’t convince me, and I lacked the tools to convince him otherwise. Nevertheless, we remained friends. During my wilder days, I experimented with marijuana and embraced a carefree lifestyle, free to do whatever I pleased without anyone dictating my actions. Those times taught me valuable life lessons and provided opportunities to connect with creative individuals and experience life in its raw form. Good times, for sure. One night Duncan and I once took a ride up a mountain named Kleinriviersberge on the South African coast, a charming town famous for whales giving birth annually in Walker Bay. This mountain wasn’t just a regular hill; it was a towering peak on the town’s side. From there, we had this incredible view of Walker Bay and Hermanus below. The town is sandwiched between the Indian Ocean to the south and the Kleinriviersberge to the north. There’s this scenic drive, Rotary Way, snaking along the mountain range, treating us to breathtaking views of Hermanus, Walker Bay, and the Kleinriviersvlei lagoon. Those two lookout points offered mesmerizing perspectives. You could spot whales, watch the male whales vying for females, displaying their moves, and witness them mating or giving birth to calves. Duncan and I climbed up there, shared a little joint, and pondered the probability of all this happening by mere chance. He had this cool VW Beetle, and we were chilling inside with panoramic views, on a fantastic summer night. Doors wide open, joint rolling, and he’s still trying to sway me into atheism. According to me, it’s a religion; you need quite a bit of faith to buy into it. He humorously described abiogenesis, like, “A long time ago, rain on rocks made a weird soup. Over time, it got more complex, and bam, tiny creatures with legs.” We never argued, but I couldn’t grasp his strong belief in this theory. I felt helpless, wondering how to debate with him, how to make him see the impossibility and I had such a deep sense of the impossibility. So in my desperation I traced with my finger on the frond windscreen of this little Beatle in big strokes: YHWH. I don’t know why, I don’t think I knew then that it was the name of the creator of the Universe, I don’t think I was ever exposed to the theology that I would have known that, and within an instant both doors of the little Beatle slam close. It was bizarre because if the wind blows from one side towards the other side, one door would generally slam close. And it was a windless night up until then. Both doors slam close, we both just sat there in silence for the next half hour, and we did not discuss it further on what just happened. We did not have another word, or another discussion after that, that was the end of that.
