God's kitchen...

My aunt, and God

My aunt died last night.
At times like this, I feel a stronger need to believe.
It's always been a conflicting subject for me.
The image of God in my schoolyears was of an avenging one.
If I didn't go to Mass on sundays I'd go to hell.
Babies who were not baptised went to purgatory, becaused apparently they carried sins from birth.
And it was shocking for me when I was told only "us", catholics, would go to heaven. If you happened to be born in India or Turkey, well... bad luck. That didn't sit well with me. I told my teacher once that she and I didn't share the same god. I didn't mean to be rude, I was just being honest, but I was punished anyway. None of what they told me fit with my idea of a compassionate god. And the idea that they managed to convey about heaven was that of an exclussive club.
Oddly enought, I pray at night. I need to believe someone rather than just me is protecting everything I love. Are we just star dust? Is there a logical reason to believe there is a creator?
Happiness can be so fragile.
I need to believe my aunt is in heaven. She was a good woman.

Podem posar qualsevol nom a un restaurant???

A l'amo d'aquest restaurant al nord de Bombay, a la India, no se li va acudir millor nom pel seu local que Hitler's Cross. Certament, clients jueus segur que no en tindria ni un. No sabem perquè va triar aquest nom, però es veu que el va canviar després de les protestes de la petita comunitat jueva de la zona.

Passió per cremar

És ben bé que no en sabem, de protestar a occident. En llocs com al Paquistan, tot ho cremen, ja sigui per la guerra, per dibuixos... i en aquest cas ha rebut l'àrbitre d'un partit de cricket. Els de la imatge van perdre contra uns anglesos...

Migdiada...

Els nadons dormen molt, com la meva petita en aquesta imatge... i el seu papa, al fons. És capaç d'adormir-se en qualsevol lloc...

Us estimo

Us he deixat dormint, i he tornat en cotxe.
No m'agrada el pis buit.
M'agrada quan hi sou.
M'agrada tenir-vos a prop i veure com dormiu.