Transitional Life: Migration

You may not know this, but moving to another country is more than just hopping on a plane and getting registred in the new place. Evidently, the United States is still deciding whether they want me. If only it were a movie wedding and people would be asked for a good reason to not allow me and, because nobody could think of a reason, then forever hold their peace, that would be great. Also because getting all the way to the airport would make things so difficult that they would have to have a great reason.


Unfortunately, this immigration part is the one thing in my life that doesn’t align with the average romantic comedy. It’s mostly paperwork. A lot of paperwork. The initial request to start the whole process was about as big as my manuscript at the current time, and a lot of forms are pretty repetitive. Now that I’m moving into the latter stages of the overall process, the more exciting parts pop up. Not that the paperwork is out of the way, I am still asked to bring a lot of forms to my upcoming meetings, but at least there are meetings instead of envelopes.

desk job

My next appointment is this Friday (upcoming Friday). It’s a doctor’s appointment where I’ll be checked on tuberculosis, measles, chicken pox and probably cooties. I have no idea what to expect, because my life has had pretty much a minimum of doctors involved until now (I think that’s a good sign). I’ve been practicing turning my head and coughing, just in case. Also, in my work at the pharmacy, I take even more care than usual with old medication. When times are quiet, I start handling the stuff people return. Normally it’s just removing the patient information from the boxes, throwing out the pills and recycling the empty boxes (as in: put them in a paper recycling bin, I don’t fill them back up), but I have heard horror stories of people putting used needles in the bags. Therefore, I am examining each bag as if there could be a IED in it, and carrying the needle containers as if they were my roommate’s dirty underwear. Side anecdote: I have found no loose needles lately, but today I opened a box that had used bandaids in them. You’re welcome to just throw these out yourself, there’s no regulations on that one. It smelled really bad. So, next Friday I’ll be physically approved to enter the United States of America, and then it’s just the application interview next month. Wish me luck (and good health)!


15 thoughts on “Transitional Life: Migration

      • The forms are hilarious, too. I remember being asked if I had committed crimes against humanity or prostituted myself or others. I wonder if those who had done so ever left honest answers. Like “Yes, I have massacred a crowd of innocent people on three occasions. . .”

      • I remember a few questions that really triggered my sarcasm button. One of them was whether I intended to work in the US, but ticking the yes box meant I had to provide future employer information. Evidently students looking for a job are just leechers, sucking the system dry and coming to prey on the abundant social securities that the US have to offer.

  1. Poor guy. I’ve heard stories but most everyone gets into my country. One friend married her childhood sweetheart in Egypt and had to wait almost a year for her husband to come to her country. She visited him a few times in the meantime and had a baby by the time he arrived. Sounds like a movie script, doesn’t it.

    You’ll be fine, I’m sure. Good luck.

    • I’m sure I will be. People tend to delight in telling me horror immigration stories, but most of the times I can tell that they just made mistakes in preparing (like not filling out even one form and just showing up at the border announcing the intent to get married). I know we’re not getting a baby, that’s for sure.

    • I am afraid that’s spot on. I remember hearing ‘merci beaucoup’ in an American tv show once and having to rewind it. In all fairness, my French isn’t that good, according to the lovely French themselves.

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