“A canon event is a critical, unavoidable life experience that shapes a person's identity or a fictional character's storyline.”
If you ask me about my first childhood memory, a
couple of moments contest fiercely for that esteemed honor. Dancing with my
mother in the evening in her bedroom. Later that evening, my father explaining
how the dinosaurs in my mouth can only be destroyed by brushing my teeth twice
a day. And most importantly, and most vividly, the memory of me crouched on the
ground next to a tree in our garden, feeding bread to squirrels, before I was
tucked away into a bus towards school. A very private moment, even if my father
had much influence and involvement on this ritual. After that, I remember much
of my childhood being similarly private, like watching my life from a camera buried
deep inside my body, observing everything around me. Circumstances, for
instance, the birth of my brother, or the fact that both my parents were (and
are) working people, led to me spending a significant amount of time on my own.
Something I never feel bad about; rather in solitude did I fully understand or
discover myself. Hobbies often reveal a lot about a person too, and mine were
pretty much that of an introvert; avid reader, lone swimmer, and a piano player.
If you ask me for more childhood memories, I have the intuition that I cannot
weave a lot of them, least the happy ones. It feels like it will consume a lot
of my energy, like pulling a pin out of a haystack. To summarise, I have
realized as well that bad memories leave scars, and good memories feel unreal. And
that was basically my childhood, like a full blackout and with no real meaning to
it.
What I propose is a different question to ask. That is
as simple as, “What was your first canon event?”
Everyone goes through one or two…or even three (if fortunate) canon events in their lifetime. And canon events are often always something bad (unless it’s the birth of a child, I would assume). If you ask me, my first one was at the age of 12, when I woke up one day and realized I don’t believe in God. This was triggered by something that would be touted incredibly childish – not getting the grades I prayed to God for in our several conversations across the country-wide pilgrimage my parents took us to. So just as strong is the calling of a theist, was just as strong the feeling that all of this is façade, make-belief. I did have a conversation with my father about it, I did respect my parents’ beliefs, and I did follow them on their small or big engagements over the course of many years with Him, up until and including my adulthood. But I remained determined on my disbelief. And this has, both to my parents’ and much more to my surprise, never changed. To this date, I feel my atheism deep within my bones.
That was my first canon event. That was the day I was rewarded
with the gift of critical thinking, with the courage of standing alone in my
resolution, and the willingness to be open to change again, if it so happens to be.
