My Journey: Why I Decided to Leave Brazil

Man, I need to be honest with you from the start. If you’re looking for that nice little story of “I planned for two years, did Express Entry, landed in Canada and everything worked out”, that’s not my story. Mine has three visa refusals, a fake job scam, demolition work at 4:30 in the morning and bread with Nutella for lunch. But it also has faith, an incredible wife and a God who is so good.

So pull up a chair. I’ll tell you everything.

From Presidente Prudente to the world

I’m from Presidente Prudente, in the interior of São Paulo state. I have a law degree, did an MBA, and went to work at Deloitte in data analytics. 100% remote. I had never worked in person in my life, I didn’t even know what it was like to sit in traffic to get to the office. I earned well by Brazilian standards, R$3,800 a month (about CAD 950), and I saved something like 90% of my salary. Yes, ninety percent. I lived on minimal cost and saved everything.

And then in 2021 I met Clara at a church camp. Civil engineer, carioca, from Rio de Janeiro. We got married on December 18, 2022. And from the start, we shared this dream together: to leave Brazil.

The Dallas dream

The original plan wasn’t even Canada. It was Dallas, Texas.

Clara wanted to study at Christ for the Nations Institute, CFNI, a Bible school down in Dallas. And me, man, I spent hours a day watching videos of people driving through the streets of Dallas on YouTube. Those “driving through Dallas 4K” videos. I memorized the whole city. I knew the highways, the neighbourhoods, the restaurants. I had never set foot in the United States, but I knew Dallas better than a lot of people who live there.

We saved everything. We planned everything. Clara applied for an American study permit. On the DS-160, I was the financial sponsor, I was going to fund her studies while she did the course.

The first blow: visa refused

November 2023. Interview at the American consulate.

Forty seconds. Clara’s interview lasted forty seconds. The officer asked who was going to pay, Clara got nervous and said it was her stepfather. But the form had my name on it. Contradiction. Yellow paper. Refused.

We left there almost in tears. Forty seconds to destroy months of preparation. The feeling is one of total helplessness, you know? You did everything right, filled everything out, gathered the documents, and then in less than a minute someone decides no.

The second blow: refused again

We didn’t give up. Within ten days we reapplied. December 2023, back at the consulate.

This time the officer looked at the financial documentation. Saw my salary of R$3,800. Did the math in his head. Didn’t believe it could cover it. Refused again.

It was a very, very big reality check. Two refusals in less than a month. The Dallas dream died right there. I had memorized the whole city watching YouTube and we weren’t even going to set foot there.

The pivot: Canada in three weeks

And then something happened that changed everything. In the Uber on the way back from the second refusal, literally in the car, still processing what had happened, we decided: Canada.

It wasn’t a decision thought through for months. It was right there, in that Uber, with red eyes. “If the United States doesn’t want us, Canada will.”

In two, three weeks we sold everything. Everything. Furniture, appliances, whatever we could sell. I contacted some 10, 15 immigration consultancies. We enrolled in courses, mine in data engineering cost CAD 16,000, Clara’s in digital marketing came to CAD 4,000, with a 50% discount. We paid for everything.

The third blow: refused by Canada

You think it’s over, right? It wasn’t over.

Mid-2024. Clara applied for a Canadian tourist visa. The agency we hired made errors in the application. Serious errors. The immigration office accused us of lying. Lying! We never lied about anything, it was the agency’s incompetence. But in the moment, the one who pays is you. Refused.

Three visa refusals. Three. At that moment I seriously thought: “Man, God doesn’t want us to leave Brazil.” Clara thought the same thing. We almost gave up right there. Almost.

The miracle

End of July 2024. We changed strategy. We hired a new law firm. We both applied straight for a study permit, not tourist, study. The two of us together.

Approved in three weeks.

THREE WEEKS. After months of refusal, of crying, of almost giving up, three weeks and it was approved. Except then came another problem: we had less than a month to leave Brazil. Less than a month to sort everything out. Goodbye to family, closing things up, packing, buying tickets.

The arrival, each by a different route

September 3, 2024. The day we flew to Vancouver.

And here’s a detail few people know: we couldn’t fly together. Clara couldn’t transit through the United States because of the visa refusals. So she flew São Paulo, Montreal, Vancouver. And I flew São Paulo, Dallas, Vancouver.

Dallas. The city I spent months memorizing on YouTube. The city that was supposed to be our destination. I had a layover there. I looked out the airport window and thought: “Man, the plan was for me to live here.” Life has these ironies, right?

Week 1: demolition

First week in Vancouver. No job, not knowing anyone, in a new country.

We found an apartment for CAD 1,500 a month through a church contact. Market price was 2,300, 2,500. God provided, simple as that.

And a friend of a friend from church had a construction company. He offered me demolition work. CAD 23 an hour. I’m talking actual demolition, knocking down walls, hauling rubble, heavy work. I’d wake up at 4:30 in the morning, two hours of commute, get to the construction site and work all day. Lunch? Bread with Nutella that I brought from home.

Me, with a law degree, an MBA, ex-Deloitte, knocking down walls in Vancouver. But you know what? It was paying the bills. And no job takes your dignity away from you.

The scam

Then came the part I’m most ashamed to tell. But I promised to be honest, so here goes.

A data analyst position showed up. Selection process, interviews, all proper. They offered me the job. I quit construction. I was finally going to work in my field, you know? I was so excited I didn’t see the signs.

Clara saw them. “Caio, this is strange.” She got suspicious. We went to check on LinkedIn, the recruiters were fake. They were using the name and photo of real recruiters from a real company, but it wasn’t them. Scam.

I had quit my real job for a fake one. The shame I felt, man, there’s no way to describe it. You feel like the biggest idiot in the world. In a new country, no safety net, and you fall for a scam. Because you wanted it to work out so badly that you let your guard down.

500 resumes and door to door

After the scam, we started from zero again. Clara and I, each of us, sent more than 500 applications. Five hundred. Resumes everywhere. And when online didn’t work, we did it the old-fashioned way: printed resumes and went handing them out door to door.

I landed at Banana Republic, CAD 17.50 an hour, retail. Then I went to Tumi, CAD 18 an hour. Honest work, but far from my field. And every day I applied for data jobs. Every day.

Clara grinded just as hard. Handing out resumes, doing interviews, dealing with the frustration of being qualified but not having “Canadian experience”, that invisible requirement every immigrant knows.

December 2025: rock bottom

December 2025. Clara’s visa was close to expiring. I still hadn’t landed anything in data. We’d look at each other and the question was: “Go back to Brazil?”

There’s no light at the end of the tunnel. That was the feeling. You do everything right, you grind, you save, you endure cold, you endure homesickness, you endure humiliation, and it seems like it won’t work out. That maybe you were wrong to come. That maybe Brazil was the right place.

This is the moment nobody posts on Instagram, you know? Nobody makes Reels about the day they almost gave up.

The turning point

Beginning of 2026. An AI startup hired me as a data analyst.

I won’t romanticize this. I didn’t “earn” this job. God gave me this job. After everything we went through, three visa refusals, a scam, demolition, retail, five hundred resumes, it wasn’t me who got it. It was providence. I did my part, of course. But the timing, the door that opened, the guy who saw my resume at the right moment, that was God.

And look, I know that to a lot of people this might sound corny. But I don’t care. For me and Clara, faith isn’t a factor in the plan. He is the plan. Always was. Since Dallas, since the visa refusals, since the Uber crying on the way back from the consulate. We didn’t know where we were going, but we knew who we were going with.

What nobody tells you

There are things I wish I’d known before coming. So I’ll tell you, because that’s why MorarFora exists.

Job scams are real and sophisticated. Qualified people fall for them. I fell for one. Verify everything on LinkedIn, call the company, confirm the recruiter. If it seems too good, it probably is.

You’re going to work in something you didn’t plan. Demolition, retail, cleaning. It’s not shameful. It’s survival. And dignity isn’t in the job title, it’s in how you work.

The first months are brutal. High cost of living, low salary, deep homesickness. But it passes. Hang in there.

Church and community save you. We found an apartment through church. First job through church. Friends through church. If you have a faith community, connect when you arrive. If you don’t, find some community, Brazilians, sports, volunteering. Don’t try to do it alone.

Your wife/husband/partner is your biggest ally. Clara saw the scam when I didn’t. Clara lifted me up when I wanted to give up. Immigrating together either strengthens or breaks a marriage. Ours got stronger. Because we cried together, prayed together and grinded together.

Why MorarFora exists

When I was in Brazil researching immigration, I found two kinds of content: the guy selling a “how to earn easy dollars” course and the guy who was already doing well telling only the good parts. Neither of them helped me.

I wanted someone who would say: “Man, I got three visas slammed in my face. I fell for a scam. I worked knocking down walls. And even so I’m still here, because it’s worth it.” I wanted truth. I wanted someone who would treat me like an adult and tell me it’s hard, that it hurts, but that it’s possible.

MorarFora is that place. It’s the blog I needed and couldn’t find. No selling a dream, no hiding the ugly part. With real numbers, with practical documentation, with the story as it really is.

For anyone thinking about coming

If you’re reading this late at night on your phone, wondering “is it worth it?”, I’ll tell you: it is. But it will hurt. There will be days you want to go back. There will be days you cry in the bathroom so no one sees. There will be days you think you made a mistake.

But there will be the day you wake up and realize you’re building something. That your life has changed. That you’re stronger than you thought. And on that day, everything makes sense.

If you don’t have a plan, make one. If you don’t have money saved, start saving. If you don’t understand the visa process, study it. One step at a time.

And if they take your visa, apply again. If they refuse again, change your strategy. If you fall for a scam, get back up. If you have to knock down walls to pay rent, knock them down. Because in the end, the story that matters isn’t the perfect story, it’s the real one.

Mine is this one. Full of mistakes, full of crying, full of bread with Nutella. But it’s mine. And I’m here. And Clara’s here. And we’re building.

I got your back.

If this story touched you, come walk with us. On YouTube @morar-fora I show the real day to day of immigration, no filter. On Instagram @morarfora.ca there are quick updates and stories of life in Vancouver. And here on the blog, I’ll keep telling everything I wish someone had told me.

See you in the next article. I got your back.