Dear universe… I address this letter to the part of the universe in charge of foreigners and immigration. you have no idea how scary it is to not understand how things work. simple things become complicated. language issues, go through this door but only on tuesdays. if you’re late on your payment you cannot just send in the cheque late, you have to wait until you get a late notice from a different department at a different address. If you arrive for your visa meeting, the agent may ask for something not on the list. something they’ve never asked for in the last 5 visits you’ve had. they will make you feel incompetent and alone.
dear universe. i’m sorry for blaming my husband for the paper work visa issues. i’m sorry that he’s down there dealing with immigration this morning while i’m at home doing catering. i could have gone with him but i felt he wasn’t taking enough responsibility and i wanted him to share the stress. (my visa is fine, it’s always his that’s in question and requires more hoops.)
dear universe. he just called to say they’ve made him wait 2 hrs, looked at his documents and then they’ve gone for lunch. he won’t be home for hours. he has no news yet but he feels they aren’t interested in making him jump through more hoops. they were bored with his paper work.
dear universe. i told my husband last week that if he didn’t sort this out, that i could not stand the ongoing stress and we’d have to go home. but you know that i didn’t mean it, right? we’re not going home. i like it here. i want to never leave here. my worst nightmare would be to have to leave.
but please, universe, sometimes it’s so hard to know what to do. it’s like as immigrants we just make mistakes, and then we are corrected. and then we make different mistakes and are corrected again. i’m a smart girl. i cannot navigate this without a huge amount of terror. we do not want to leave here. but we live in a low grade continuous state of fear that we’re doing – or have done – done something ‘wrong’.
yes it will all work out in the end. yes moving wouldn’t be tragic. but really universe, i’m trying really hard here. i don’t have any of my regular crutches. i’m even blaming my husband. dear universe. i’m really crying for some good news today, OK?
in return i promise the following:
we will find an office for my husband outside the home. two years of both of us working at home in the same 450 sq.ft. apartment is long enough.
we will begin our paperwork early and have it filed better and we won’t argue about who’s in charge of which pieces of paper, and i won’t blame him when we can’t find the right corporate tax form from 2011 (we found randomly in his bookcase, argh.).
i will clean off my desk, get my paperwork and taxes and dental work and everything up to date. really. i’m tired of leaving things … i’m tired of procrastinating. i can’t be on vacation from my life any longer.
i promise i will not again buy champagne for a client event (like i did this morning) and cradle the bottle in my arms like it’s a baby. that bottle ain’t no baby. and that shit will ruin me. put the bottle down. grow up. turn and face your life. fear is not a good reason to be a jackass.
and i promise i will hug my husband when he comes home, no matter what the outcome.