The one about the guy upstairs, or fairy tales

I’m not a closet atheist. Never was. I’m not agnostic. I’m not sitting on the fence. I’m an atheist. I grew up without religion, without the notion of god or a superior being. I’ve always questioned things around me – from the everyday mundane to the great mysteries of life – and I’ve always found rational answers. When I’ve not found answers, I’ve found credible explanations of why an answer may not exist.

I respect others’ religious beliefs, but by announcing the lack of mine, people assume I’ve opened myself to scrutiny at all times by all and sundry.

Only a few times have I met people who have accepted my beliefs without questioning them, who have chosen to value our friendship and ignored the lack of harmony in our religious beliefs. Mostly, I’m questioned relentlessly – for years, in some cases – to the point of intrusion of personal space, to the point where I am left with the only option of choosing my beliefs over that person. People are downright disrespectful, and taunt ­– oh, yes, the taunts! They never stop – me forever.

I’m not being defensive about my beliefs. I will defend them until the day I die. At the same time, I don’t go about questioning others’ beliefs, and I don’t understand why I should be at the receiving end every time I meet them.

One’s fairy tale cannot be better than another’s. Some people don’t believe in fairies.