D DAY

We went to our lawyer again. I was never expecting any good news since I have never received good news from the man who has been my lawyer for eight years and yet I still get tired of the bad news heaped on me every time I see him. I almost want to sit on his office and put my hands to my ears and go “lalalalalalalalala” and avoid listening to what he has to say. But I can’t so I sit there and get ear raped with his words every time I go.

To summarize what he said, there is nothing to do but wait. He wasn’t joking when he said that the office of the WPB branch, where my case now rests, was a difficult one. He gave us three choices: (1) wait and see when they will feel like giving me an interview; (2) sue them for taking longer than the law allows them reviewing my case and giving me an interview or (3) re-file my I-130 with the Miami office which is apparently faster and more efficient.

He also said that if we sued we would win the case and get an interview and then I would lose any hope of remaining here because out of spite they would deny the request. My other choice of filing the paperwork again at the other office is not a choice really since it would entail us coughing up another $5,000 and losing the $5,000 we already spent on having the case in West Palm Beach.

In other words we really have no other choice but to wait. To see and hope that when and if they grant us an interview I won’t be detained like the woman I saw yesterday at my lawyer’s office who got her interview date just to trick her into showing up and then detaining, her just for giggles and to have her walk around with an ankle bracelet to monitor her movements as if she was some sort of dangerous pedophile that needs to be kept on a tight leash. Of course we immigrants are the real danger of this country. Let the pedophiles and sexual predators roam free and “register” and have us illegal immigrants tagged like animals. Makes total sense.

I really wonder what the point of that device is in this case. We are talking about a woman who has, like me, been open about where she lives, has no criminal records and is waiting for her marriage to be verified as real, but while they don’t give her an answer about her case she has to walk around like some shamed whore in a Hawthorne novel with that glaring device at her foot labeling her a criminal.

In the middle of my sympathetic indignation all I could think about was that if it happened to me I wouldn’t be able to wear shorts or skirts, dresses or skinny jeans. I also thought about being sent to Krome and wearing an orange jumpsuit. I was, however, reassured when my lawyer told me they actually made them wear blue.

As I sat there, seething with impotence and wanting to wail, tear my hair, tear my lawyer’s hair, apologize to my husband, I saw him (my lawyer) maybe for the first time really looking at me, and when I said “there is always Canada” he tilted his head to the side and with what seemed to be compassion he told me “You made the decision to stay, you can’t quit now, it’ll happen”. Part of me was slightly reassured about his words of encouragement and then I realized he is just hoping I hire him to get my citizenship if my shit ever goes through.

I really have no hope any longer. I have but only one champion and that is Dear Husband and he is, as I am, powerless against the system. We have to be humble and patient, we are asking for a favor, is what our lawyer said and every fiber in my being rebelled against the idea of being humble and being patient. Why should I be humble? I am smart and I am (according to the letter applying for my change of status) an asset to my community so why in the fucking world would I be humble? Why should I have to beg? There is nothing I want enough to beg for.

While we drove back home, low in spirits and angry I looked at the cars driving by and felt so damn powerless it was as if I was being physically held down. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t talk, I could do nothing but stare at the passing cars trying to tell myself that maybe the passengers of those cars had it worse than me.

So we are deciding what to do by April 28, 2012. That day, D DAY is my ten year anniversary of coming to the U.S. That day we are leaving this country to search for the future that the land of opportunity refuses to give me. We are at the moment looking for a country that will take us.

I told DH that I was sorry that he probably should’ve married some white girl who would’ve popped some children already and made his parents grandparents again. He said “Stop it. I know what I was getting into...Besides white girls have no ass”

I laughed. In the middle of my anguish, in the middle of all that frustrating rage I laughed. Because I have THE greatest husband on the face of the earth who can make me laugh when I feel like utter undeserving shit.

And I don’t give a flying mother fucking fuck whether the INS recognizes it or not.

And here we go again

My immigration woes continue. My lawyer, who for once is getting off his ass to do something, is having a hard time getting the people from the district where my paperwork is to get off their ass and do their job. Apparently governmental offices are full of bureaucratic clerks on a power trip (imagine my shock!) that refuse to bother the bureaucratic immigration officers who are supposed to be reviewing my case and giving me an interview date.

Apparently the branch where my case currently sits is the most problematic in the State of Florida, which doesn’t really surprise me, all those yuppie Polo playing rich people of Palm Beach country is probably trying to keep us spics from getting papers. Who would mow their lawns and keep their horses brushed and pretty all for less than the minimal wage?

Oh the bitterness!

I don’t really think that is the reason, but I do not know what the reason is. My ex-coworker, friend and blog follower called me after reading my last post, to infuse me with a little bit of hope, to lift my spirits and to ask me not to feel discouraged. It took her, after all, six years to get paperwork done. And she is Canadian! I rest my case. I will be waiting for my papers until my grandchildren are fighting about whose turn it is to take care of bitchy grandma.

In a few weeks I will be here for 9 years. April 28^th will be me anniversary of arriving to the country. Nine years here, it seems like it was yesterday when I was miserable and feeling alone, hating my life, this country, the reasons that brought me here, the weather, the language, the fact that I was no longer a spoiled little girl with a cute a car and going to college but a McDonald’s crew member whose bike cost $39.99 at Wal-Mart.

I don’t regret any decision made, maybe I shouldn’t have dated a guy I thought was gay for as long as I did and maybe I should’ve not used my credit card as if it was daddy’s money, and maybe just maybe I should’ve married my husband as soon as I met him just to work this out faster instead of marrying him after I was sure that he was the right man for me. I cannot regret moving here, I cannot regret marrying for love instead of marrying for papers. I cannot regret doing the right things and doing them the right away. What I regret is that bad behavior seems to be rewarded and people who actually follow due process are left waiting for what will never come, closure, solution, papers! I could’ve married ages ago and be legal right now, instead I decided that as archaic as I consider the institution of marriage, I didn’t want to exchange vows based on a lie. I didn’t want to be a divorcee by my early twenties. If I ever made the decision to marry I didn’t want it to be for mercenary reasons. Look at what that got me.

Well…I guess it got me a good husband. That I want to hurt sometimes but that loves me and my family and my evil cat, and my silly dog.

So fuck you! Branch of INS that is five minutes from my house and that refuses to give me the time of day. Take as long as you fucking want to, sit on my case until the end of times if you would like, because I am not going anywhere.

AND HERE WE GO

I knew it would eventually make it here to Florida but I was silly enough to hope it would take longer or maybe wouldn’t make it here at all. Intolerance, ignorance and dislike though are like a pestilence and like any fetid disease it spreads faster than wildfire.

I was watching Jeopardy! last night cheering on Vijay to make it for the final Tournament of Champions when during a commercial the face of Republican Rick Scott took over the screen. I didn’t know what the commercial was about because the miracle of the DVR allows us to fast forward through all those pesky commercials but something in his face made me ask DH to stop and rewind. The commercial starts with Mr. Scott showing a clip of a joke made by President Obama and saying “President Obama thinks our immigration problem is funny” and off it goes to manipulate the viewer by saying that it’s simply logical for the police to be allowed to enforced the law.

What Mr. Scott doesn’t waste time saying and explaining to his possible constituents is that there is a reason why Federal Laws are not enforced by state police. If illegal immigrants, regardless of their origin, do not feel safe to approach the police they can become victims of violent crimes without the possibility of ever being protected because of a fear of being deported. What about that illegal immigrant who is a witness of a crime and won’t testify because his fear of being deported keeps him from approaching a cop with information?

That is only ONE of the many reasons why Federal Laws are not to be enforced by state police. I am sure most people don’t think of this detail. Most people would look at Mr. Scoot bald and shiny head and think just like him. See a trustworthy individual who is worried about the safety of its fellow Americans since according to him we immigrants “endanger” you citizens. I don't really grasp how innocent, little me can endanger anyone.

I was a little alarmed before but now I am really starting to worry. I am not completely out of the woods since my process has not been finalized. Do I want to stay in a country that is so set against me? I wish I could say I can consider Canada but I don’t want to leave. I love it here. Unrequited love is painful but I still love it. I am comfortable here. I like this country and I like its people (not liking some of them at the moment though). I don’t want to have to start from scratch once more. I like Canadians but even though some of them don't like me, I really do like my Gringos.

My loyalties are already so divided. I am a woman with no land and no matter where I go I will always be a foreigner. If I go back to my native Colombia I would be considered Venezuelan because of my accent. If I go back to Venezuela they would consider me Colombian because of my nationality. Now I speak English and live in the U.S. but the U.S. doesn’t want me. If I go to Canada what would that make me? A Colombian national who grew up in Venezuela, married in the U.S. and will move to Canada.

Ugh.

I have been reduced to a sound. "Ugh" That’s all I can say about this.

http://www.politico.com/blogs/bensmith/0510/Scott_in_Florida_attacks_Obama_on_immigration_joke.html

♫ O CANADA! ♫

Maybe Canada will want me.

That’s all I could think about when the whole Canada vs. U.S.A hockey band wagon started. Suddenly everyone in Facebook was talking about kicking Canadian ass and most of them didn’t even know how to call the disk they hit with the sticks (I learned it’s called a puck).

As a U.S.A “resident” (I use the term loosely since the U.S.A doesn’t really want me here and I am at the moment merely an uninvited guest) I felt I should root for them to win. I wanted them to win the figure ice skating competition and the skiing and all the other events that I have no care for, like curling. But once it came to a face to face competition between the place I call home and the place that seems more and more apparent will be my home in the future, I felt somewhat divided.

In almost two months I will reach my 8th anniversary in the country. Almost half the amount of time I lived in Venezuela. I am not really Venezuelan, I am not really Colombian since I lived there only for 3 years and I am not a U.S. anything. I am homeless, landless, kind of like Jewish people, without a country to call their own, sans all the tragic history.

My lawyer told me that I should not despair, that there are people who had been in the country without a legal status for 15, 20, 30 years and the funny thing she meant it as an encouragement! All I could hear was, “You could have 22 more years of this” and believe me, I love this country, I love this place and the people I’ve been lucky to meet and call friends, but I do not love it enough to beg and crawl for 22 more years.

Maybe there is a reason why the man in the sky does not want me here; maybe there is some sort of fate, some sort of path I have to follow that does not involve the land of the free and home of the brave.

I never thought this would happen but I am actually indifferent about my fate. I am indifferent about what will happen. There is absolutely nothing I can do to change it and I can either go crazy with the helplessness or I ignore it and let the chips where they may.

I realized yesterday that I am all alone in this. No matter who will be affected by my removal, husband, family, friends, the reality is it involves just me, only me, yours truly alone. I would be the one sitting in some cell if they were to deport me, I would be the one who would be kicked out of here like a criminal. I guess I would go through with it with my chin up and my nose in the air and with all the dignity I could muster, but what shred of dignity can you hold onto when you are wearing a jumper in neon orange and are being herded into a plane with equally unfortunate people clad in the same ugly orange that does not benefit anyone’s complexion?

It is lonely business indeed. Like death. People want to not die alone, have someone there, but death is lonely, it involved one person and one person alone, nobody else goes with you, it affects only the person dying. No support will make a difference.

Depressing shit if you ask me. But like I said I am feeling beyond fear, beyond depression, as if it was happening to someone else and not me. I feel unconnected, watching it happen, watching affect my life but also if I was floating ahead watching while this happens to my person.

So what if they do kick me out? What if my process hits one more of the thousands of snags it keeps hitting? What if I end up back in Venezuela with no money, no prospects and no wish of being there anymore? What if I lose the one home I have known for almost a decade?

I don’t know. I have tried my best. I have done all I can, I can be accused of many things, but never that I didn’t tried hard. There is nothing else for me to do but await my fate and go with flow.

It is scary at times, when I feel like some little speck of dirt in a raging river, being carted along for a ride outside of my control, not knowing where I’ll end up and without any hands or place to hold onto, no haven to hide into and nothing to lean on.

I guess all I can do is concentrate on the good things that may come from me not being here. Maybe I was never supposed to be here in the first place. Maybe I don’t belong yet because I was never meant to belong here. Maybe I have been forcing a square peg in a round hole.

Who knows, there’s nothing I can do but wait and see.