I have renounced my faith in you, and come back so many more times that I know the way with precise perfection. It always happens like this. One time yes, one time no, a few prayers, laziness takes over, then I’m considering something crazy, then I find my way back to you.

It’s exhausting.

Now you’ve placed me in a pretty stressful position. Or, I don’t know, maybe I’ve placed myself here, and you’ve just been watching with curious amusement. Either way, I’m here, and I don’t like it very much.

I haven’t talked to you much about it because I’ve always assumed that you hated me for some reason or another (they say that we tend to see you the way we see our fathers). So I never told you how I felt, how things are, how I want things to be. I never dared ask you for anything because the things that I asked you for that mattered the most to me, you never gave: My father remained violent, my mother remained hostile, I didn’t get accepted to the university I wanted. All of these have one thing in common: I prayed tirelessly and believed that you would help me if I just wanted it bad enough, if I believed enough in it, in you.

But no.

Anyways, that’s all old beans. No point in hashing out the past. But the fact still remains that I’m not going to ask you for help with my visa; that it may come soon, that I may already have a case handler… No. Instead, I’m going to ask you for something else, totally different, and separate.

I’m going to ask you for grace.

Grace involves a lot of things, and previously I was going to ask you for patience, but since I’m also practicing ballet dancing I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone.

Hahaha. No but really. Grace, because patience doesn’t exactly cover it. I want to be able to have compassion for the people that are stuck in the same process as I am. I want to be able to have patience, to be humbled by this experience, to have the composure it takes to get through these critical days, to not be a pathetic nocturnal creature living just for those precious 6 hours at night when the Swedish migration agency is open and can give me my decision.

I trust you. Even after all these years, I trust you. It might be my childhood conditioning that won’t let me run away from you, it might be something more special altogether. But the fact remains the same. I’m still here.

And in this moment of weakness I need your help. I’m tired of standing on my own. I’m falling, crumbling, turning into the dust I came from. I’m extending what’s left of my hand to you.

I will wait for as long as you need me to wait. For as long as you want me to wait. For as long as you order me to. All I ask, is that you give me the grace to do so, if not happily, then at least in peace.