The first time I attempted to go back to church, it was awkward. It was the same church I had left, and I found it hard to walk through the doors and into the sanctuary, to raise my hands during worship, to not let cynicism drown out the speakers’ voices. The weight I felt in my chest made it hard for me to experience Jesus as I had before. I saw old friends, mustered pained smiles, said respectful hellos to some of the elders . . . but it just didn't feel the same.

Growing up in church, I watched people testify to what they called, “God’s grace.” From my perspective, what I saw was people sharing about horrible mistakes and poor choices they had made, and how God had seen them through the challenges that followed.

The three years I spent as a student in Canberra were some of the best years of my life. And then, I found out that my student visa was expiring, and it was time for me to head back to my home country, Malaysia. I tried applying to further my stay in Australia, but it was rejected twice. I was heartbroken, but reluctantly packed up my belongings and made my way “home”.