I had never fully bought into the God thing. At least, not the “big man in the sky” imagery that was presented to me by the private Christian schools I attended in my youth.

I remember one particular moment, when I was about 7 or 8, that I was alone in the kitchen one afternoon drinking a cup of water. I was suddenly struck by a peculiar idea to push the cup over the edge of the table to see if God would stop me. I don’t know why my kid-brain thought this was such a terrible act, but I got nervous just thinking of what the ramifications could be. Surely God could read my thoughts and know my ill-intent, but would He stop me? Curious but scared to death, I checked to make sure no one was watching and started to edge the cup towards the floor very slowly. With each inch, I expected some invisible hand to slap mine away, but nothing happened, and eventually the water fell to the floor. A strange mixture of great relief and vast disappointment filled up my little body.

I didn’t know it then, but that moment would change how I viewed God for the rest of my life.

Fast forward to college. I’m 18, unsure of what electives to take, and decidedly agnostic. God didn’t fit into my life, and I didn’t fit into His. If you had asked me, I would have said that all I cared about was getting my degree. I didn’t know that there was something secretly inside me hungry for answers. My first philosophy class awakened that in me, however. I had never analysed the world around me in such a critical, almost scientific kind of way.

I quickly made philosophy my minor, and every subject within it was like a new turning point in my understanding of life. I went from claiming to be agnostic, to atheist, to existentialist. I was all over the place, but happy about it because each new step felt like growth. Still, a part of me was left unsatisfied. The majority of the philosophy subjects were of Western focus. They dealt with metaphysics, ethics, politics, and society–everything I would need to be a critical thinking citizen and perhaps, one day, a political leader. But it was hardly anything I could apply to my day-to-day life for when I was just human me, alone, and not another cog in the machinery of society. Who was I? And did I even matter?

It’s sad to say that it wasn’t until after I graduated that I realized how shortchanged I had been by my schooling.

Not that I regret one moment of it. In fact, I think everything aligned perfectly to set me up for where I am now. But it was my own thirst to continue learning about philosophy after graduation that led me to the discovery of Eastern philosophy and religions. I had heard of Buddhism, Taoism, and Hinduism before, but never quite understood them. If you’re unaware, Eastern philosophies tend to focus more on our relationship with nature and the question of the divine spirit. Actually, there are a lot of similarities between Eastern and Western religions, but having lived in such a Western society, I was only getting one piece of the puzzle.

I won’t bore you with the particulars. The point is that I came to the understanding of how interconnected we all are and how deep the rabbit hole goes. Sure, society and the governing of society is important, but on a broader perspective we aren’t just one city, one state, or one country. Focusing on only one religion, one race, and one understanding, shortchanges us all. It leads us to war with each other and ban each other from our homes when we get the most benefits from coming together.

Spirituality is more than a belief; it’s a journey of understanding. It’s seeing the oneness of the human race, and its connection to the world around us. Are we God? Are we the love, compassion, mercy, and restraint that we’re all so desperately looking for? Maybe. Maybe it’s all baloney and maybe it’s not. But it’s a question definitely worth asking, and it’s an answer I will always be seeking.

(Written by Ruchi Rohra)

I spent the better part of the day today looking up recipes for various pastas (don’t ask me what I did for the rest of the day; I might be the only person in 2015 still watching The West Wing, and I’m thoroughly ashamed). When I say pasta, I don’t mean pasta dishes. No, I don’t need the Food Network to tell me how to make a bomb pasta primavera or baked lasagna (just my overbearing mother). What I did look up was fresh pasta recipes.

Spaghetti, rigatoni, ravioli, and my personal favorite, tagliatelle (I’m bougie), there are so many different types of noodles, all lovely and carby in their own ways. As I’m sure you know (other people care about this too, right?), pasta making is an art, and there are many mediums on which it can be created. There are endless choices between semolina and white flour, whole eggs or yolks or no eggs at all, hand rolling or pasta machines, the pasta-bilities are endless (will not blame you if you choose to leave now).

As I settled on a recipe (ravioli, white flour, three eggs, hand rolled), I walked into my pantry to get started. The first thing my eyes found, though, was the dried boxed pasta that was already sitting there.

You need to understand something about my family. Actually, two things.

1. We dislike each other very much and agree on very little.

2. We agree on carbs.

My family has reinvented the idea of carbo-loading, treating it as an every day necessity rather than a once-a-month (okay, once-a-week) treat. We eat bread, rice, potatoes, and yes, pasta, like nobody’s business (seriously, it’s nobody’s business, fuck off). So when I say there’s pasta in my house, I mean it. In the interest of journalistic integrity (for the grand total of 0 people who read this), I will go check to see just how much pasta is in the pantry, so that I may present an accurate report.

Okay. I’m back.

In our pantry right now there are 2 boxes of spaghetti (one from Whole Foods because we are fancy as shit), 2 boxes of fettuccine, 1 box of large lasagna sheets, 1 box of “cut rigate,” 1 box of elbows (elbow pasta, freak), and 6 boxes of Annie’s organic macaroni & cheese (I still do not know if I believe whether mac & cheese constitutes “pasta,” but that’s a whole different issue).

So basically, the point of that heinously long list of carbohydrate-based products (Mr. Atkins is probably rolling over in his low-carb, high protein grave) is that there is more than enough pasta in my house. So much so that it would be not only borderline insane to make my own, but also wholly unnecessary. So naturally, I, being a reasonable and rational human adult (lol) walked away, and decided to pursue something more productive and useful (like The West Wing).

Now that I sit here in my kitchen poring over a slice of banana bread and tea (it’s cheat day), I think back to this afternoon, and wonder if I should have made that pasta after all.

I can feel the flour coating my fingers, scooping up globs of egg and oil.

I can feel the dough beneath my palms, doughy and elastic. I can feel the sweet ache of rolling and stretching a fresh sheet over the counter, cutting it with precision until it’s just right. In my head, it seems like a wonderful, fulfilling experience. And I wish now that I had felt these things after all.

Because, honestly, who cares if there’s already spaghetti in the pantry? Life’s way too short not to make fresh pasta.

I’m starting to realize that not everything has to have a reason. Sometimes it’s okay to just do, just live. Sometimes just wanting a feeling in your head, in your heart, in your body is enough. I’m the kind of person that tends to pursue things only as means to an end (I was into Machiavelli).

I rarely just enjoy, just doing something or experience something because I want to. But as I sit here regretting not making my own pasta this afternoon, I’m seeing that not everything needs to serve a purpose. Not everything needs to make perfect, logical sense. It’s okay to want to pursue life around the edges rather than in the shortest straight line from A to B. Sometimes it’s better to go for it just because you wanted to knead your own dough instead of boiling the store-bought stuff for 8 and a half minutes.

Live often and free. Do it because you want to, whatever “it” is.

Reason belongs to the head, but life belongs to the heart. If you let things like pure logic hold you back, the opportunity to experience, to feel, to explore, might pass you by. Who knows? Had I made my own pasta today, my very own three cheese ravioli, my whole life could have changed. Maybe I would have discovered a hidden talent. Maybe I would have had friends over, watched Christmas movies, shared laughs and smiles over bowls of pasta (doubtful: I have no friends). What today might have been has passed me by because I let something as silly as rational thinking hold me back. But there is always a tomorrow.

Who cares what’s in your pantry? Make it fresh anyways.