Photo by Erik Karits: https://www.pexels.com/photo/cockroach-in-macro-photography-11022142/

Writing inspired by the following SWC prompts:

Albedo

Albedo is a scientific (often astronomical) term used to describe ‘fraction of light that a surface reflects’. For example, we see the moon because of its high albedo, not because it produces its own light. Snow also has a high albedo, whereas wood is low. Write a story or a poem using albedo either literally or metaphorically.

Confessions

by Julia Parger

There was a certain quality about her. I never quite knew what it was or where it came from, because it appeared out of nothing. And then again, it was everything. I could talk to her like I could only talk to my dog back when I was a child. Confessing everything because there was no way she would tell anyone. It was way better than having to confess to a priest, confiding in a true friend.

There is the saying: “When stories are told in safe spaces…” that I’ve forgotten the ending to. It was something about shame disappearing. So, let’s say it goes like this: “When stories are told in safe spaces, shame dies.”

Now, I get that.

Back in high school, I went to confession because that meant skipping class. One day, I even confessed twice. No one noticed. To the priest, I was just one of hundreds of misbehaving children, presenting him with their unspectacular sins.

“I didn’t listen to my mother.”
“I fought with my sister.”

Those were my standard crimes.

Something to be told off about. Something serious, but nothing too bad. I still had a Christian reputation to lose, after all. When we were 15, one of my friends claimed to have told the priest some more serious sins.

“I told him I had sex and I’m taking drugs”, Sofie said.

We huddled around her in anticipation.

“Did you really say that?”
“And? And? What did he say?!”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Not much. He gave me a weird look and told me to pray 200 Ave Marias.”

How disappointing. Finally, someone’s got some serious sins and the church’s representative didn’t even care.

I always felt a huge relief after confession. Not because I had been dealt the ultimate salvation but because the whole process was over. I no longer had to be afraid to make the sign of the cross at the wrong time or that an early “Amen” would slip out of my mouth. Messing up during confession, I was sure, was a sin in itself. A grave one.

I think there should be an age restriction when it comes to confession. I was six, seven or eight years old when I first had to confess. My school, a Catholic school of course, had its own little chapel. There were about 30 of us, nervous, pale, clenched in church banks like prisoners waiting for their trial.

“I didn’t listen to my mother. I fought with my sister”, I repeated in my head.
“Grüß Gott, I have sinned, lord forgive me my sins.” Cross sign, Amen.

I repeated the whole ceremony in my head over and over again before the door swung open and it was my turn. The confession was taking place in a small, dark chamber next to the chapel. When you were next in line, you could hear your classmates remorsefully whispering and the priest mumbling his redeeming monologue.

I am sure at some point the priest must have fallen asleep with open eyes, listening to the boring sins of six, seven, or eight year-olds for hours on end:

“I didn’t behave in class.”
“I broke my friend’s toy.”
“I played a prank on my brother.”

Catholicism trains you to be the perfect sinner from a very young age. No wonder I still always feel guilty.

Being educated in Catholic kindergarten and elementary school caused me to believe that all of the bad things happening in my life, I deserved. Not only that, I was also quite sure that I evoked them by my failing to be a good person. But how could I be good when there were so many contradictions in everything I was taught? I, for example, learned that boys and love and kissing are bad, but Jesus is the best and all the nuns are happily married to him… Yes, I know! Just so much confusion.

When I changed to public school, there were no more nuns. No more house chapel. No more daily praying to a dead man looking down on us from his wooden cross. I took confession way less seriously and used it as a tool to escape the boredom of class. When I was out of school, I stopped confessing. There was no use to it anymore.

Over the years, I’ve learned that real absolution is a thing you can only give to yourself anyway. But confiding in a true friend can majorly help you with that. One honest-to-God (haha!) conversation between two people who reflect back the good in one another can change everything.

Imagine the look on my face when I – very reluctantly – confessed the ugly jealousy that crawls up on me from time to time to my friend and she simply answered: “I know that exact feeling”, instead of giving me 20 Ave Marias to pray.

Well, that was just amazing. I still felt bad – but I didn’t feel like the worst anymore. There suddenly was hope that I was a decent person, after all. In the course of that conversation, guilt took on new shapes. It became openness. Curiosity. Connection. I was no longer that small, inadequate being, hoping for a higher power to finally release me. I was a multi-layered person, expressing one of their many emotions. I was not bigger or smaller than the person I was confiding in. We were at eye level. What a plot twist.

And let me tell you another thing: Confessions became a lot more exciting after that…