Sitting at the end of the pew, with the communion being passed around, I had little time to debate whether or not I should ingest this metaphor. Receiving communion used to be a normal ritual that I would go through almost every Sunday. It took my free time on Sundays to earn the ability of taking communion, through Sunday schooling and being baptised. But as the tray of grape juice and crackers advanced closer in my direction, the ritual became more foreign to me than ever. It wasn’t until recently that I was confronted with a belief that I have had for as long as I can remember. I have never been entirely invested in the Catholic church even though I underwent the whole processes and expectations of being a good little catholic child.
