Back-Log

Thus we conclude the things I wrote to myself (as you probably guessed) some time back. Going forward, we will be working without a script – to quote a line from a well-known musical – maybe I’ll get some inspiration, instead of my usual schite.

My VISA was approved after many trials, tribulations, missteps, back-tracks, zigzags… you get the idea; it was long and tedious, but we’re finally ready.

VISA in hand, my bags are packed (no more stuff, please, seriously: I love you guys, but I  cannot fit one more thing in my luggage; I already had to purge other personal belongings twice to make room for the things you wanted to send me), I’ve got all of my affairs in order on this side of the pond. All that is left is to shovel out the room I’ve been living in to get it ready for the person who will be taking my place, work one last week at the office, get my things out of the room and then I fly on the 4th of February.

The VISA I am on is good for only 6 months, from there, we will need to apply for another VISA once I am married. Finances will be tight to start with, but we’ve crunched numbers and we’re pretty confident that we’ll manage. In theory, it should be smooth sailing, but I’m nothing if not a realist – I know better than most that plan rarely work out exactly the way you hoped; even the most simplistic ones have their fair share of complications.

“You look like someone who should be in the UK already.” <– that was a line from a good friend of the family the last time I saw him, his wife and kids. It was very true; this was a long time coming, we planned to be married already before the New Year. Oops, but that is exactly my case and point.

The most common questions I am asked can be so funny, when I explain the events as they happen, as well.

“Have you guys met before?” No, I’m  a mail-order-bride — Of COURSE we’ve met before. Oy.

“Bet you’re excited.” Duh.

“How is your family reacting to you leaving?” Like most people would, my family is happy for me, sad for themselves. They’re doing the best they can, as you all know.

“So are you moving to London?” No, actually; I’m moving to a little bug-of-a-place that most Americans have never heard of in England. Norwich – two hours from London by car and one hour from the coast on the South-eastern bump-out of the country.

And my personal favorite, “So he’s from London, right?” You would think that England drops off sharp at the edge of London with the way that people assume that everyone from there is automatically from London as well. Honestly, with the way that we fixate on London, you get the impression that, beyond it “thar be dragons.”

I can’t wait until I get to experience the UK version of these questions. I wonder how many assumptions the average Brit will make in casual conversation. Actually, this will be a fun comparison.

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