I was raised under catholic moral principles. My parents weren't strictly professing though, but I remember my dad taking me to church on sunday mass more or less steadily at a given point (around 10 y.o. I think). I also read a lot of religious stuff (Old Testament stories for kids, etc.) which I liked a lot. My parents had many jewish friends into masonry and rosicrucians, but never did delve much deeper into that though there were several books around the house (my dad had done some rosicrucian studies by correspondence I think) and my mother used to recount weird "secret spiritual stuff" in our daily endless conversations at that time.
At around 13, I had to change schools to pursue my high school education - finished the first two available years at one of the only two French-based schools in town - and this new one was being run by French more or less liberal catholic priests at the time. There was a chapel, and activities for us students beyond formal mass (choir and music band, informal group conversations, etc.). I always liked the peaceful, silent atmosphere of that very minimalistic chapel (as opposed to the overwhelming baroque and somewhat "noisy" and borderline-to-scary, dramatic spanish sculptures scattered everywhere at my home parish church).
All my non-french close friends had already done their First Communion (with fancy white dresses and all the goodies) and always asked my mother about it but always received a vague answer. Sort of an endless latin-american styled "mañana" that I never really bothered to see as much important. When it was the time of the year my school fellows would be prepared for their own FC, and given that one of our priest teachers was curious about seeing me almost every day spending playtime recesses at the chapel, but never in line for communion despite my "older" age (here the ceremony is usually performed at around 10) - I tried once but was told I couldn't do that - he had a talk with my father and thereafter the "mañana" thing became "HOY" and, surprise! I discovered I hadn't even been baptised.
So I was baptised and "first-communied" all in one at 13 - funny thing my baptism godmother was my best friend at that time, 2 months younger than me ... (a bit tweaking of the rules hmm) and a few months later also did my formal Confirmation with another best friend as godmother - this time my own age.
I guess I just wanted to be confirmed as part of the group I felt the need to take sides with, perceiving it as the statistically strongest one in my small world of human relationships. I had a lot of Jewish friends myself and was even once invited to a bar-mitzvah, but I was told by my parents that this was definitely not my group ... though I remember my mother recounting that one of their former Jewish friends had told them once - referring to me - "she is Jewish" so I've always felt a mysterious connection to them, somewhere out there in the Cosmic Plan.
(I also have a memory of a Chinese waiter, when about 5-6 y.o., staring at me deeply for a few seconds while tending to our table, then afterwards commenting very secretly to my parents that "I was Chinese". They didn't seem to like that much, though, despite the certainty of his expression. Me I was like "Wǒ fēicháng róngxìng" feeling in 7th heaven.) In short, both Jewish and Chinese potential spiritual identities led me to think I was a really special being indeed. Add this to me being a single child, to explain my stubborn and narcissistic delusion(s).