just minishorts.

Some people don't get Taoism. I can accept that. I don't mind talking to friends about it, because I think it is a belief and knowledge that is worth sharing with friends. But what I can't take, are how some True Christians turn the whole conversation into an exercise in evangelizing this lost cause.

A very dear Christian friend asked, 'You mean you worship your ancestors?'

If I were to rebuke, 'And you mean you worship a God that you don't even know exists,' a True Christian will try to make me 'feel better' by saying that the devil has blinded my senses, and has made me said blasphemous things against God. That God is all forgiving, and because Jesus Christ has paid for my sins by dying on the cross, he will love me still, and pray for me to understand the Truth one day.

You tell me, what is wrong with being Taoist and praying to your ancestors?

'It is not necessary to go and do the Cheng Beng rituals, because God provides,' my Christian friend says. ‘And these people are dead, you don’t worship them.’

But what if I WANTED to do the rituals, because I choose to. Because I love the people who cared for me, who came before me, and they were Taoists… and even if I choose to believe that God provides, these people don't, they didn’t because they didn’t have my fortunes to have you care for my unsaved soul and they hoped that their children, including me, and my children after me, would do this for them after they've left me. And because of this very simplistic reason, I perform the rituals, without questioning.

What if I'm doing this simply because I love the past of who I was, and therefore I choose to pay them my respects in this manner? Is there anything wrong with it?

The True Christian who loves to bear fruit for God, will tell me that he will pray for me, for my understanding, and for me to accept Christ. That such thinking of mine is not because of my insane fanaticity, but really because Satan is speaking into my ears and telling me to forsake my One and True Saviour.

My questions:

Have I sinned for not believing that Jesus died on the cross?

Yes. But the True Christian says it is not my fault because Satan is working his ways on me. But if I choose to believe and listen to the Word of God, I will understand things slowly, and later, I will be forgiven when I confess my sins.

Fine. I can accept that I want to hear the Word of God. I choose to honour the Sabbath. Will I go to heaven?

No, not until you accept God. Or so says the True Christian.

And what is that?

You have to confess your sins to God and accept Him as your personal saviour. That all Gods are false except him. And that He is the One True God. Says the True Christian.

OK. I believe that there is a God. Maybe there is One True God. I want to live the Christian way. So, how do I do that?

Being baptized. By Submersion. Or Sprinkling. The True Christian tells me.

Oh, so if I soak myself in the water, I will become a True Christian, like you. Otherwise I won't a True Christian. Because I was not soaked into a pool of water, I am not Christian.

And then after I become a True Christian, I am expected to do this thing that the bible calls 'bear fruits' and 'spread His Word'. For I am a new hope, living proof that even hopeless cases are not forsaken by God, because all it took was a little more time to 'bear fruit' like me.

GAaahhhhhhhYou tell me which part of this kind of evangelism makes sense?

I tell you what makes sense to me, as a person who works with words and plays with words. The Holy Bible is the oldest and longest running publication in the whole world. It has been edited over many, many, many times, over many many years and it is therefore a very thoroughly edited book. It is the one international bestseller that will continue to be an international bestseller for a very very long time to come. It is also the most translated book in the world, its outreach is THAT great.

The Holy Bible is also a BOOK. And a book that sells that well has to have had very very good writers who are very very very very good at persuading you into believing that everything in it is Truth.

And evangelists lap up the words of these people (humans, mind you), like they're the most precious diamonds in the world. They don't question, because to question is to be un-Christian, to be unworthy of God's love. They just accept.

The way I see it, evangelists, calling themselves True Christians have reduced the Almighty God into a cruel entity that jealously tortures and destroys everyone who does not love, worship and glorify Him above everyone and everything else forever.

By the way, coincidentally, 'evangelist' is also the anagram for 'evil agents'.

How apt.

So God will strike me dead and send me to hell for calling The Holy Bible'a book'. And I suppose at the end of this, you evangelists who love God so much will say you'll still pray for my sinful soul and for Satan to be thrown off my back so that I can receive the Word of God ASAP. After all, what am I, but a hopeless case, and even though I deserve to go to hell for denying God, God is patient and merciful, and that He offers His mercy even to the very end. The antidote to my spiritual death is Jesus, and this antidote is available at all times. What I am, but a lost cause, and yet, I should fear nothing because, God shows mercy to all the lost causes, even me.

I don't get these people. I really don't.

I'm offended. Thoroughly. You think that minishorts made this up. She didn't, honestly. There's just no point me going on about Mark, if you keep insisting that I'm all but a fictitious character.

What is fiction? That which you believe to be untrue.

But the fact is, everything is true. Everything. Especially how I feel about Mark. I'm not fiction. He's not fiction. Our love, it's not fiction.

Mark. Mark. Mark.

But if you won't believe that I'm a real life character, if you won't believe that. There's just no point me in telling you. Everything. As much as I want to.

Day Three. The definitive one.

I don't just give my body up to a person easily.

Day Three, Mark was punctual, as usual. He came up, and we had a short conversation about the progress of my rope-weaving. I told him the rope was only about one quarter done. There wasn't enough silk.

'You've to bring more.'
'I've brought a bag full of it. How many knots?'
'Triple braids, and braided again. Three times over.'

I led him to the bed, we sat down. His hands were holding mine and I felt as if the stars in the sky were bursting in fireworks all around me. Just the touch of his skin made me feel like that.

'How have you been?' he asked. Did he have to?

'Missing you,' I gasped.

He kissed me. On the lips, of course. His lips felt like a caress of soft velvet as they brushed over mine. I shivered in delight. My fingers went from his hands, to the buttons down his shirt. I tried to pry a button out of its slot, but Mark's hands came up to stop me.

'No. Not yet,' he said firmly.

Damn.

The day before was so intense, the memories we made still lingered in whispering wisps around the curtains of my chambers. But the day before, we didn't do anything except… because the time was not right. My Mother would be coming soon and Mark needed to leave before then.

And the corset of course. The stupid corset.

Mark said it was not right to deprive me of a truly memorable première fois. I was imprisoned by man-made satin-wrapped ribs and he said making love should be an experience free from inhibitations. Corset-less.

And I listened.

Day Three, I was without a corset. I was my most comfortable satin nightie, the most exquisite piece of thing you could ever see a beautiful princess with long long hair wearing, and underneath I wore the laciest panties I could find in my drawers when Mark came.

I expected him to climb the tower, see the new me, in my barest minimals, the corset-less Rapunzel, there, ready, for him, only him…

I expected him, the moment he saw me, to throw me onto the bed and ravish me like a hungry rapist. 'RAPE RAPUNZEL, RAPE RAPUNZEL!' I felt like screaming. I summoned all the love and desires that I could feel for him, and looked into his eyes with my (hopefully) bedroom eyes.

I was all ready for him to devour me. Why else, why else, why else would I be dressed in that 'come-fuck-me' piece of cloth?

But he just sat there like a freaking, unfeeling piece of wood, saying 'No, not yet.'

'FUCK. WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH YOU!' I screamed. 'Are you a man or what?'

He wasn't angry at all. Oh. 'Rappy, dear. We have all day. Till 4.30 p.m. I want to talk to you first. I want to see you first. We must talk of more important things. I want to talk about our live together, when you get out of here, when I can finally make you my queen,' was all he said, in response to my rudeness.

And then, I knew it. It wasn't just lust. He didn't just want my body. He loved me.

A warm glow overcame my entire being.

Wow. He loved me. Loves me.

Wow.

Previously on Rapunzel Speaks:
RS 1: My name and how I came to be
RS 2: That famous long hair of mine
RS 3: About the silk rope
RS 4: Why Mark
RS 5: Mark and what happened on Day Two
RS 6: At first sight

Believe it or not, I do have a life. The rest of my time, if not spent writing stories or thinking of ways to properly educated the innocent young, I cook!

I can cook!

This is Eric's Favourite Dish. Minishorts cooks her man her very local brand of O-Chien! You guys can see cannot eat because all masuk his big belly already.

This is what I look like. Again. For those of you who wondered.

Yeap. The innocent girl I am. I who wrote that stupid story got that famous princess with the long long long hair to tell you all her secrets. Read already or not? Go, go, go and go and read it… otherwise Rapunzel will be angry!

The same woman cooked this plate of oysters (see the size? Humongous!). And got splattered in hot oil. Eww…

The same person. Yup. Yours truly, the exhibitionist me.

Gosh, its been a long time since I did this sort of thing…