The Asians close the season by talking about life’s ordinary things. Matt insists the meaning of life is steam - the sigh above a bamboo basket, - but beneath it all, what we are really searching for is home.

For migrants, “Where do you come from?” is never a simple question. The answer is layered: birthplace and accent, memory and longing, language half-forgotten at the dinner table, stories carried across oceans in reused plastic bags. But for Christians, the answer becomes stranger still: even those settled in one place are taught they are pilgrims, living between worlds.

So Matt and Dan wander through the idea of home itself — memory, longing, belonging, and desire. Following Augustine like two tired uncles carrying groceries uphill, the Asians revisit the old saying that home is where the heart is, discovering that the heart itself is restless until it rests in God.

In the end, the Asians suggest that the Christian life may simply be a long homesickness: learning where, and to whom, the heart truly belongs.

Resources

Pritvi Prakash & Ashwyn: Home is Where the Heart

Matthew Tan: Catholic Migrant Identity After Augustine, Bonaventure and Ratzinger

In this episode of Awkward Asian Theologians, things get personal - or at least as personal as Asians tend to get: somewhere between offering you fruit and quietly judging your life choices. We begin, as all serious theological reflection should, with the mysterious aesthetics of the Chinese neighbour’s front-yard market garden - equal parts abundance and chaos, bok choy and bitter melon staging a silent protest against suburban landscaping norms. From there, we make a graceful (read: slightly abrupt) pivot into another cherished pastime: contemplating the thinkers who have tilled the soil of Matt and Dan’s theological imaginations.

There are the usual suspects, of course - but also a few unexpected guests at the banquet table. Alongside familiar Western voices, you’ll find fellow Asian thinkers, a hint of French philosophical flair (because what is theology without at least a little existential seasoning?), and a wide-ranging cast of ancient and modern figures who refuse to stay in their assigned categories.

What unfolds is more than a reading list. It’s a conversation about how theology is actually done: how it listens and speaks, how it engages contemporary culture (sometimes like a gentle calligrapher’s brush, sometimes like a wok tossed over high heat), and how it carries wisdom across time and place. As the discussion deepens, something curious emerges - some of the most “Western” influences turn out to be less Western than expected. The lines blur, the labels loosen, and the whole map starts to look a bit improvised.

If you think you can predict who makes the list, the answers may surprise you - like being sent home with Chinese leftovers you didn’t ask for but will digest with delight.

Resources

Simon Oliver: Introduction to Nouvelle Theologie

Matt Tan's book: A Theological Engagement with Pornography

It begins, innocently enough, with the weather – autumnal and aggressively mundane. The kind of long-weekend observation that should go nowhere.

And yet, set against the quiet gravity of ANZAC weekend with its memory of sacrifice, service, and a national story marked by both courage and cost, it doesn’t stay small for long. In trueAwkward Asian Theologians fashion, the conversation spirals into something far less containable: a meditation on power.

Not the obvious kind - titles, authority, or who controls the group chat - but the subtler force that lingers in the background of things. The kind that shapes identities over time: habits, expectations, instincts you never consciously chose. Power that forms even as it limits, that is carried, absorbed and endured.

Drawing from both cultural experience and Catholic imagination, Matt and Dan circle this idea of power as something more than oppressive – as something quietly productive, even creative, shaping who we are beneath the level of awareness. Like calligraphy ink bleeding just slightly beyond the brushstroke, it works subtly, persistently, almost without notice – far more feng shui than force. Especially on a weekend like this, where memory itself becomes a kind of power, the question isn’t just who has it, but how it settles into us, rearranges us, and lingers like the last sip of tea gone cool.

Naturally, this leads to Scripture, which refuses to leave power comfortably defined. In Jesus Christ, power is not discarded but transfigured from the inside - expressed through self-gift, humility, and a disarming refusal to play by expected rules. Strength looks like surrender and divine authority looks like service. What emerges is not a denial of power, but a far more demanding vision of it – one that presses into the texture of our everyday Christian lives.

Somewhere between the crisp autumn air and the Gospel, it becomes clear that power is not just something we talk about. It’s something we’re already participating in.