News on the Immigrations Front

Now that the process is nearly over I can quit being so scared to write about it.

Immigrating to Canada is hard.

My application was submitted in early November, 2004. A year ago. In order to submit that application, my husband and I had to answer millions of questions about our relationship and how we met. You know how telling people that you met your husband tends to get you this look, the one that says, “Oh, aNUTher one…” That look that says that no one actually believes that you met a man online and he somehow ended up being The One. The look that goes along with stories about how they hear that many people are turning to this sort of dating scheme “nowadays.”

I don’t bother explaining to most people that we didn’t meet on a dating site.

Anyhow, try explaining that on paper in a sincere, yet not overly-enthusiastic manner. Try getting that certain tone accross in your immigration application, communicating the fact that you aren’t as crazy as this story makes you out to seem. I can just hear the Immigration Officer reading the application to herself, “You met him WHEN? And got married HOW LONG AFTER!?!” Because, you know, surely I, an American girl from Hawaii, of all places, am marrying a canadian from the tundra in order to flee my oppressive country. Of COURSE that’s it!

In addition to the questions, I had to get police clearances from every state I’ve lived in since I was 18. And a medical clearance that included a chest xray. It’s quite thorough. I guess they want to make sure I’m not spreading Tuberculosis here or something.

The whole process is very lengthy and there are certain forms that certain people fill out for certain situations, so I’m not going to go into all that. What I am going to expound on today is that after a year of waiting and hoping and waiting, and breath-holding, I am now a landed immigrant. On Thursday, December 1, Jim took me down to the local Immigration office to finalize my paperwork to become a Permanent Resident. (We call it PR around here, not to be confused with Puerto Rican.)

Back in October I received authorization to work, so I’ve been working on and off since then. Shortly after that, we got a letter that asked us to report to my “Landing Appointment” on December 1. I gathered more photos (I swear they asked for like ten passport-like photos in different parts of the application,) and put on my respectable “landing outfit” in preparation for the appointment. The only thing I couldn’t find which was listed on the letter was my passport.

Yeah. Who loses their passport? I convinced Jim that we could do without it, as the letter technically said “Passport or other form of identification.” We soon found out that “Passport or other form of identification” actually means “Bring your damn passport, stupid American girl!” The woman was kind enough to tell us that if I could dig the passport up that day, she’d take us again.

We went home and tore the house up.

I gave up and collapsed in a depressed heap on the couch. Jim, however was not ready to give up. He was mad and upset and mad and wanted to have this whole landing thing over with. When we had looked in every corner of the house twice, overturned every stupid pile, when I had apologized more than enough for being the non-neat freak that I am, he finally looked over at the stereo and said to me, “Hey, what if it fell under there.”

I remained balled up on the couch, crying over how stupid I am for misplacing my passport, convinced that I had dropped it in a parking lot, or left it on a shopping counter. Jim walked over to the stereo, bent over, and said, “come here.” I said, “No,” and cried harder for no good reason. He pulled that damn passport out from under the stereo, and as soon as I could dry my silly tears, we were on our way like happy little immigrants. Well, a happy little immigrant and her husband.

So, all is well in immigration land. Now all I’m waiting for is my shiny new card that says that I can come and go to and from this country as I please. After over a year of waiting, it’s finally over.

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