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Two days before I am set to complete a religious pilgrimage to the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. I have a craving for Soju which my boyfriend helps me to quickly satisfy. We drink up, scoff down our pan Asian meal and then head to his place to have quick and desperate sex. Our bodies are saying goodbye to each other before I leave to go on a journey of penance and reflection. Pilgrimages to Mecca warrant such sentiments. On my return, I will not have a boyfriend, delicious sex, or cravings for potato vodka or any alcoholic drink. I am to come back a new person. As a Muslim visiting the house of my Lord, I want to shed the skin of my sinner self. I don’t know if I will. I find that Saudi Arabia is a country unbothered with efficiency. But ironically, to gain entry, one must go through a meticulous process which includes, like travel to many countries, vaccinations and a visa as well as other religious obligations to perform the annual Hajj pilgrimage or its smaller cousin Umrah. I am performing the latter. Performing seems like an apt word considering how I go through the motions of millions before me who carry out the exact same actions every day of the year. Mecca is truly the city that never sleeps. The journey to Umrah begins on the plane. One must enter ihram - the sacred state for pilgrims which includes a clean set of clothes for women and two white cloths for men. The intention to complete your Umrah or Hajj is recited on the plane while passing Miqat stations - areas dotted around Saudi Arabia that have special significance for Muslims. Conveniently, the airline staff make the announcement of when Miqat is reached so you know to declare your wishes. You have now entered the state of ihram. This means no swearing, no sex, no perfumed scents, no damaging plants, harming animals, carrying weapons. The men mustn’t cover their hair but the women must. We arrive in Mecca after a long bumpy journey on roads that pretend to be smooth. A quick breakfast stop later, filled with much, much bread, we hurry along to Masjid Al Haram - The Great Mosque of Mecca - which encapsulates the most important focal point for Muslims - the Ka’ba, credited to have been built by prophet Abraham (yes, that Abraham). There are few monuments in the world that take your breath away as the Ka’ba. My eyes catch a glimpse of it in the hotel room and the thirst to keep watching endures throughout the trip. Without taking permission from my brain, my eyes search for the Ka’ba - a formidable black cube that contains literally, a piece from heaven - the Black Stone. You know when you’ve reached the area leading up to the Black Stone because Muslims lose all composure. We all feel compelled to touch this angelic relic. To wish, desperately, to be reunited with heaven upon our deaths. I am not blessed enough to witness it. The bodies are too vast and too determined to let me in edgeways. I settle to touch another part of the cube instead, prostrating my head on it and praying, with every fibre of my being for forgiveness. Nothing else matters. I am not thinking of the life I left behind thousands of miles away. I am thinking only of God. How thankful I am to be invited to visit His house, how fortunate I am to witness it with my family. How my faith was at its lowest and this has injected exactly the spirituality I was in dire need of. When I’m back, I don’t romanticise the experience - I sincerely pray I am invited back. At least, I know that there is a version of me that loves and worships God unconditionally. I find it comforting. I try to limit my sins, which most would probably just refer to as living, but I am comforted knowing whether my sins were as high as mountains, God will always be willing to forgive. This trip was written for me.