One thing about the church that I’ve come to realize throughout my membership was their unwavering use of parables to get a point across. Among the many that I grew up hearing, “The Prodigal Son” was a story as old as time, and one that is constantly thrown around by parents and church elders alike. Going back home meant that I failed, and in many ways, I felt the church thrived on the failures of those who leave it. It’s fuel for their initiative, scaring active members into believing that never trying is safer and the right thing to do. “This is what happens when you leave us”. For most of my youth, I had been groomed to take a vow of poverty to serve the church exclusively, and using my skillset in the world was not only a betrayal, but made me satanic in their eyes. With all of this in mind, I had no choice but to vacate the apartment in Fresh Meadows and return home to Bushwick. It hurt my ego like hell, but I was back to square one. I kept finding myself in predicaments, primarily based on my own actions. I had no one else to blame, and the harsh reality of my situation was starting to sink in. To live at home is to abide by the rules, one of which was to attend church, which was not on my agenda. I walked in understanding my time there was limited, and I had no other options.

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