Our tale
Now that Jesus has departed and ain’t returning to her Brixton queendom, I’ll attempt to tell one of the most intimate and moving tales of our extraordinary coexistence. Around that time last year, I had already decided to move to Vietnam. It certainly wasn’t an impulsive choice. I had endlessly gone back and forth through all the pros and cons. One morning, around 4:30, I jolted awake, in the throes of a severe anxiety attack. I had ended a relationship, was about to move to another continent and my life was upside-down. This was proper anxiety with shortness of breath, heavy head and a constellation of creepy syndromes that I struggled to tame. I walked into the garden and sat on my wooden bench. A thousand rocket ships were zigzagging in my brain. Then… the bushes opposite me parted and Jesus appeared. At that time, she was only visiting once day and she’d already had her supper. Confidently, knowingly, she started walking towards me, her eyes fixed on mine. Jesus picked a spot on