When I first listened to other homo sapiens' personal account with God, I teared.

When I first spoke to the priest about my faith, I teared.

When I realised how small as a mustard seed my faith could be, I teared.

When I had thoughts about not going through baptism this Easter, I teared.

When I wrote a long email to my sponsors about my decision, I teared.

When I heard about The Mother's worry about my pending baptism at such an early age, I teared.

When I couldn't decide on my baptism name, I teared.

When I couldn't confirm a godparent, I teared.

When I spoke to the priest about my doubts, I teared. (I thought I saw his eyes reddened too)

But I don't feel sad. Not the kind of sadness when The Ex left me or when I argued with The Best Friend or when I quarreled with The Mother. Can't really find the right word to describe this emotional build-up within me.

I smiled a lot at the First Scrutiny yesterday. It was the first of the few significant events leading up to baptism on Easter Day. Many felt touched and teared. I just smiled. A lot.