How I’ve missed you.
At times I’ve felt lost without you. Somehow knowing that you are not in the little passport folder or in the maroon folder I keep all our most precious items, amongst medical records from the children’s births, and the certificates of birth, divorce and marriage, has left me bereft. Inside there is even love note letters the girls have written to me: To mum you are beautiful just like this flower, but unlike this flower you are beautiful inside and out…
My passport photo of me doesn’t speak of incomparable beauty. Rather, it shows a teeth gritted not-smile (you’re not allowed to smile in passport photos any longer) snapped in the curtained box at the local supermarket. I hate having my photo taken at the best of times, and that was definately NOT the best of times.
I look tired in that photo. Worn out from fighting for a place to be. For a place to belong. And then last December I bundled you up with every identity document I own and sent you away to faceless bureaucrats at the UKBA.
It’s been a long three months. Through the snow and the cold, and the rain and the tears, I’ve waited, hoping, not altogether patiently.
Will we be moving soon because we cannot afford to try again for the sodding Indefinate Leave to Remain? Do I need to organise the pets’ rabies shots which need to be sorted six months before we leave, sell the house, look at universities Down Under for Son?
A drum, a drum..
Sod Macbeth, when will my passport come?
A mantra I tapped inside my head for three long months.
I’ve missed you passport. You are my ticket to ride and without you I cannot travel on in my life. I cannot travel. Full-stop.
If I have learnt anything in this life of mine it’s that life is for travelling through. It’s not about the destination, it really is about the journey. I long to tell those travel tales, for storytelling is one part honouring the past in memories, one part honouring the present (in living in the present), and one third dreaming of the furture.
And now, you are back!
Thank God you are back, all stamps in place, all visas renewed, extended, fulfilled.
Is it ridiculous to be tearful with gratitude?
NB/ Thanks to my Englishman, all my family, friends, blogging mates and Twitter pals for your support. And thanks to the Right Hon. Sir George Young, our local MP who I am certain helped hasten my our visa applications. Thank you! Now, where shall I send the Vegemite?