At the age of six, I began practicing Seventh Day Adventism because of my newly adopted mom. A denomination known for observing the Sabbath on Saturday and emphasizing the imminent second coming of Jesus, Seventh Day Adventism brought into my life steadily increasing expectations from adults and peers, to which I couldn't help but succumb. By second grade, I was enrolled in our church's private school, spending six days a week there learning and worshipping. Due to my love of singing, I initially enjoyed the required weekly participation in the school's choir, later joining the church choir and youth group. Singing opening hymns for weekly service and special music the occasional outreach events. 

At the same time, I disdained public speaking. The eyes of so many people made me nervous; it was just easier to sing because I was never really alone.  Still, I spoke in front of the congregation for opening remarks or scriptures for the day's service when profusely asked. Believe me—I tried to say no. While I had no problem participating or volunteering, I preferred activities that fitted me more. Many times I’d wanted to say no, but some members implied that declining participation in proposed activities was akin to rejecting God. So I proceeded to suck it up and read the children's story during service on occasion, publicly read scriptures, lead a couple prayers and even once gave a mini sermon for one year’s Youth day. Which isn't as pleasant to look back on as it could've been. 

For clarity, a Seventh-day Adventist Youth Day is a highly anticipated event. The day’s worship service is tailored specifically for youth, featuring speakers, musicians, and interactive programs that focus on building faith, amidst real-life challenges. Throughout the service, there are opportunities for youth to participate, and it’s not uncommon for some to be baptized and publicly commit their lives to God. Finally, after Sabbath hours (i.e., after sunset), the celebration concludes with a “social,” a relaxed gathering where everyone can enjoy a potluck, play games, and strengthen friendships. These socials provide a chance for youth and families to unwind, connect, and build a sense of community beyond the formal church setting.

Another year, my church teachers and elders suggested I get baptized on that year's Youth Day along with my older sister. Symbolizing a person's commitment to their faith, baptism marks a transformative moment of spiritual rebirth and a promise of belonging to the community—to yourself, to God, and to all your spiritual peers. I was uneasy about this commitment. At 11, I knew how serious it was to be baptised, and also knew that I wasn't ready for it. Already, I constantly felt like I was wearing shoes I couldn’t fit. Nonetheless, pressure from teachers and “mentors” influenced my participation in the ceremony—not out of true spiritual enlightenment, but out of a desire not to disappoint. Despite my inner reluctance, I then continued participating in church activities and extracurricular outreach programs as per usual. I was there almost every day of the week for years, practically an official member. Why would a servant of God turn down surviving Him? How could I not jump at the opportunity? 

Why would a servant of God turn down surviving Him? How could I not jump at the opportunity?

Then, in 2020, COVID-19 disrupted church and all life activities. Early into the lockdown, my mother passed. This profoundly affected my life, in so many ways that I can't even explain it in a couple sentences. But time passed and my church reopened, I then realized I no longer had to attend church unless I truly wanted to. My mom wasn't there, waking me up and telling me to get ready so she can drive us there anymore. It was up to me now. So, originally to avoid sympathy and unwanted pep talks from everyone, I didn’t go and told myself I would eventually. 

As time went on, thoughts about what my mom would have wanted for me started to linger in my mind. I'd be out having fun and then think about how, if my mom was still alive, I wouldn't even be there, how she probably wouldn't even fully approve of it. Soon, I began to grapple with figuring out who and what I lived for. I started acknowledging that my mom's teachings and standards were guidelines, but that overall, I could choose overall what I wanted for myself and how I wanted to live. I began questioning my religious motivations: did I feel a genuine connection with God, worshipping Him whole heartedly? Or did I feel fear of Him, fear of hell? I questioned the relationship between good and evil and the ideas of repentance, salvation and damnation. 

As I navigated this moral and ethical dilemma, I found help in a television show that explores philosophical and ethical questions through comedy: The Good Place. The Good Place didn't allow for the belief of most Christian denominations: that God's grace, offered through Jesus Christ, is the primary path to salvation, and that through aith in Christ, one should naturally begin to live a more ethical life. Instead, the series explained Heaven and Hell as a place all people have a chance of getting into despite their personal beliefs.  

The show follows four humans who initially believe they have been sent to the Good Place, through a cosmic point system that evaluates every action a person takes during their lifetime. Assigning positive or negative values based on the action's impact on the universe, this system determines whether individuals are sent to "The Good Place" or "The Bad Place" after death. In a nod to Jean Paul-Sartre’s play No Exit, which explores the existentialist concept that human relationships can be a form of psychological torture, the four later discover that “The Good Place” is actually a hell of their own making. 

After this, the show's narrative evolves significantly over its four seasons, culminating in a profound exploration of redemption and moral growth for its four central characters: Eleanor Shellstrop (Kristen Bell), who attempts to hide her past misdeeds and become a better person; Chidi Anagonye (William Jackson Harper), a moral philosophy professor who becomes her guide in navigating the complexities of ethics and morality; Tahani Al-Jamil (Jameela Jamil) and Jason Mendoza (Manny Jacinto), both of whom also grapple with their identities in the afterlife. Throughout the series, these characters delve into the challenges of living an ethical life in a modern world where even simple actions can have unintended negative consequences. 

In the first episode, Michael, a demon pretending to be an architect and manager of this neighborhood-esque afterlife, explains the essence of this system to Eleanor:   

"You are all simply put, good people, but how do we know that you were good? How are we sure? During your time on earth, every one of your actions had a positive or a negative value…Every sandwich you ate, every time you bought a magazine, every single thing you did had an effect that rippled out over time… When your time on earth has ended, we calculate the total value of your life using our perfectly accurate measuring system. Only the people with the very highest scores, the true cream of the crop , come here to the good place. What happens to everyone else you ask? Don't worry about it.” (Michael, The Good Place, Episode 1) 

Eventually, however, the show critiques the traditional binary moral judgments of this “point system.” Instead, it suggests that people should be given opportunities to improve and redeem themselves. In highlighting the importance of intent and context in moral evaluations, the show’s numerous comedic and philosophical dilemmas suggest that everyone, though inherently good, needs guidance to make better choices. It also advocates the idea that individuals possess the capacity for growth and redemption over time, echoing various philosophical theories regarding personal development. 

"The Good Place," then, offered an accessible way to explore, and critique, traditional systems of moral judgment. Watching  it offered an alternative perspective I had been craving, a perspective that would form the basis of my exploration of what it means to be a good person. The show's exploration of ethics and the afterlife resonated with my own observations about the flaws in the system I once believed in. After my completion of the show, though, I was left with the question: what constitutes a "good life" that would merit entry into this hypothetical afterlife? Is it possible in current society? 

My search for an answer led me to explore ethical behavior, considering various cultural and philosophical perspectives on morality and the afterlife. This led me to form my own developing framework of what I think will get me into The Good Place.

For the second part of Kai's journey, go to Part II, "The Purgatory of Philosophy; or, Understanding Humans And Their Actions."