My Story, Part 1: The Beginning

I was born into the Anglican brand of the Christian religion on the island of Jamaica, to a father of Lebanese extraction and a mother of British (hence the Anglican, or Church of England affiliation). My family was white and relatively wealthy in a country with a population of mainly African descent, so I was part of a small, but privileged minority. The schools followed the British tradition of school uniforms and gender segregation in secondary institutions, so I was decently educated and, despite being in a boys-only school in my early teens, had a hot and heavy relationship with my on again off again girlfriend.

Though my family went to church every so often, and I was ushered through the appropriate rituals (christening, confirmation, etc.), I had a decidedly irreligious mindset. My two best subjects in school were Math and Physics, so I tended toward a rationalistic worldview.

My family moved to the US when I was 16, so I spent that first year in the States going to a regular, American 12th grade. During this year I told my mom for the first time that I didn’t believe in God or the Bible. In my mind, that was all a human-invented fantasy. She was dismayed, but probably hoped I was just going through a phase.

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