The Road to McGill: How a Kind Lawyer from Half a World Away Saved My Dream
I dreamed of becoming a cancer researcher.
Growing up in Macau, a small but vibrant city where ancient traditions mix with the flashing lights of casinos, I had seen cancer’s devastating effects up close. My aunt, who had been like a second mother to me, passed away when I was sixteen. She fought a long, painful battle with cancer, and her death left a void in our family. It also sparked a fire in me — a resolve to fight cancer and help families like mine.
A few years after graduating, I applied to McGill University, one of the top schools in the world for medical research, I knew the odds were against me. But when the acceptance letter arrived, I felt as though the universe had finally aligned in my favor. I had saved all my earnings and also won a scholarship that would cover some of my tuition and living expenses. Along with some money left to me by my aunt, my parents, despite running a small congee stall in one of Macau’s narrow alleyways and barely making ends meet, were willing to use every penny they had to help me pursue this dream. It felt like everything was falling into place.
But my joy was short-lived. A few months later, I received a letter from Immigration, Refugees, and Citizenship Canada (IRCC). My study permit application had been refused. The reason? Lack of strong ties to my home country. The IRCC seemed to believed that because my family’s position and finances, I didn’t have enough incentive to return to Macau after my studies. They feared I was not sincere in my studies and was really an immigrant who would overstay in Canada.
I was crushed. How could they think that? Didn’t they see the sacrifices my parents were willing to make? Didn’t they understand that my whole life was in Macau, that my family needed me? My dream, once so close, now felt like it was slipping away. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I couldn’t let everything I had worked for disappear.
Finding Help
Late one sleepless night, as I scrolled through internet forums and websites, desperately searching for any glimmer of hope, I came across Lyon Stern Partners, an immigration law firm. They were based in Canada but had offices all over the world including Hong Kong, just a short ferry ride from Macau. Even better, they offered a free consultation.
I did some quick research, and their reviews seemed good, particularly their success in handling immigration refusals. I immediately reached out to their Hong Kong office and scheduled a consultation. I felt a mixture of nerves and hope as I boarded the ferry to Hong Kong, wondering if this would be the turning point in my fight.
The First Meeting
When I arrived at the Berkshire Building in the Quarry Bay area, I was greeted by a receptionist, who informed me that the lawyer I was supposed to meet was unavailable. My heart sank. But before I could fully process the disappointment, she told me that one of the partners from Canada, happened to be in the office and could meet with me instead.
I had imagined something different — like a big-city lawyer in a sharp suit, the kind you see on TV shows. But when the lawyer, Michael Sigurdson walked into the small boardroom, he wasn’t what I expected. He was dressed casually in jeans and cowboy boots, his hair slightly tousled, and he carried himself with an air of confidence, not the flashy bravado I had anticipated.
He wasn’t intimidating, and that put me at ease. He smiled warmly and gestured for me to sit, immediately diving into my case. When I explained my situation he told me his own mother had died of cancer when he was young and he too was from modest beginnings. He told me that even though he worked in a big law firm, he was more like a small-town attorney and would take a personal interest in my case. He asked me about my family, my life and my ambitions. It was clear he was here to help
“Don’t trust anyone who says trust me but trust me,” he smiled. “We’ll get you to McGill. It might not be easy, and it might not be quick, but we will get you there.”
An Odd Strategy
After listening to my story, Michael paused for a few moments, his eyes thoughtful. “I’m going to be honest with you,” he said. “Your application will most likely be refused again.”
My heart sank. Refused again? I had come all this way, both literally and figuratively, only to hear that my chances were slim? But before I could dwell on my disappointment, Michael continued.
“It’s not ideal but that’s okay,” he said, his voice calm but assured. “getting approval on a second application would be the goal but it was not the most important thing. We’re creating a case to survive judicial review even though that likely won’t happen either.”
I blinked in confusion was he speaking in riddles? “A judicial review that won’t even happen?”
“Yes. We’ll resubmit your application, and when it’s refused again, we’ll apply to take the matter to court.” He explained something about a chinook system that would flag aspects of my application that made it easy for the immigration officer to refuse it with little more than generic reasons. I still don’t understand what a chinook is but he said “we’ll build a file so strong that, if necessary, a court would see the merit in your case and how any conclusion short of approval would be unreasonable. And when the IRCC’s lawyers see our application, they’ll likely settle before we ever get to a hearing.”
I stared at him, unsure whether to feel hopeful or overwhelmed. It sounded so technical, so much more complicated than I had imagined. But Michael’s confidence was infectious. It was as if he could see into the future, already three steps ahead. Despite everything, I started to believe him.
And with that, I decided to put my future in the hands of someone who was a complete stranger just an hour earlier.
Rebuilding the Application
Over the next several weeks, Michael worked tirelessly with me to rebuild my application. He wasn’t just a lawyer — at times, he felt more like a book editor with OCD. When we got to work on my personal statement, he was meticulous about every word, every phrase. He insisted on using very specific terms, explaining that language mattered more than I could imagine. “Why does it have to be so detailed?” I asked him one day, as I agonized over a particularly tricky aspect.
“Because,” he said, “we can’t change the facts of your situation but we can control how the narrative is presented and that is important.” Almost cryptically he added, “You are not the first person to face these challenges and we won’t leave room for arbitrary conclusions in our submissions.
His attention to detail was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was exhausting, but he said it was necessary. We gathered so many documents, letters of support, bank statements from my parents, proof of my scholarship, and evidence of my deep ties to Macau or at least as much as a 21-year-old person can have. It was much more than what the application forms required or what I had included in my first application. Michael ensured that every single document had a purpose and was perfectly aligned with my narrative.
The Second Refusal
We submitted the second application and my hopes were high. But, as Michael had predicted, it was refused again. I received the news late one evening, and though I had mentally prepared myself, it still felt like a heavy blow. But when I called Michael, he was unfazed.
“As expected,” he said. “Now we move to the next phase.”
A Strategic Win
Michael’s law firm filed for leave for judicial review, which meant we were asking the Federal Court of Canada to review the IRCC’s decision based on reasonableness and procedural fairness. I was nervous, unsure of how long this process would take, and even more unsure of whether I could win. But Michael remained calm, reassuring me that even though he couldn’t guarantee what the government or a court would do, we had built very strong case.
Then, something unexpected happened. Before the court could even decided if we would get a hearing, the government’s lawyers reached out. They wanted to settle. They offered to have my file reassessed by a new officer.
I couldn’t believe it. Michael’s strategy had worked. I think the IRCC must have realized they couldn’t win in court, and they had conceded. I remember sitting in his office, my heart racing as he broke the news that we wouldn’t even need to go to court. “Almost there,” he said, smiling. “the new officer can still refuse the application but I’m confident that outcome is unlikely.”
The Final Approval
True to their word, the IRCC reassessed my application, and after what seemed like an eternity, I received the email I had been praying for: My study permit was approved!
I was overwhelmed with a flood of emotions. After months of uncertainty, stress, and sleepless nights, my dream was alive again. I was going to McGill. I was going to become a cancer researcher. I was going to make a difference.
Reflection
Looking back, I realize how close I came to losing everything I had worked for. If I hadn’t stumbled across a law firm that happened to have an office close to Macau, or if Michael hadn’t been in the office that day to take my case, I would likely be working in an alleyway congee stall.
He was my strategist, my advocate, and my friend. His ability to stay several steps ahead of everything seemed remarkable. When I asked him how he knew, he just shrugged and said, “some folks play checkers and some folks play chess.” Michael had told me from the beginning that one way or another he would get me to McGill, and though I was unsure whether to believe him at first, he had been right all along.
As I prepared to fly to Montreal, I couldn’t help but think of my family, my aunt, and the sacrifices they made to get me here. My dream is alive, and the future I’ve worked so hard for is finally within reach.
The road to McGill wasn’t easy, but it was worth every struggle. And none of it would have been possible without a serendipitous internet search and an unlikely meeting in Hong Kong with a so-called small-town lawyer from Canada.
