Bliss in its Own Time

Going back and forth between two “homes” is bitter-sweet. Be it your newly adopted land and your old, or the soon-to-be-new-abode and your current one. About the only thing that could possibly be more difficult to bear is to be in a new place, disconnected from all that you knew and no way to return.

If for that reason alone, I have a great deal of sympathy for those who have fled their old nations for safer lands. As hard as it is for the locals to adapt to those who left their homelands unwillingly (as these seem to be the least likely to embrace the customs of the new culture), it is three times as challenging – not to mention heart-rending – for the transplant because it isn’t necessarily by personal choice that they are now on foreign soil. Nine times out of ten, if they were given the choice to be happy and safe in their old country, they would say they would go back.

And who could fault them for that? Who would actually want to completely sever all ties with the place they were born and raised? Most of us, if we are honest, have strong memories associated with our places of origin. Even if by some fluke that there was a soul that was so abused and hard-done-by in their home country, they would still have things to look back and think fondly about. Or so I reason; I still hold that there may be at least one other person who will go against that.

For most of April, I was in my soon-to-be-adopted land; enjoying some much needed R&R (see: Rest and Relaxation). In that time, I was often swept up in the excitement of my Fiancee’s new business venture(s), leaving me to now pause and consider just what our future lives will be like. This mode of contemplation happened many times throughout my visit; thinking to myself “welcome to the rest of your life,” I recognized that this wasn’t something so typical. But, then again, I suspect my Fiancee had the same thoughts when he last visited in 2011. Had we decided to settle in the USA, that would have very likely been our daily routine.

A part of me wonders how typical (or anti-typical as the case may be) such a notion is. It is times like these that I wish that I had someone who was closer to me that has already walked this path. It would be nice if I had some insight. As it stands, I am pioneering to a certain extent; making it up as a go along.

Is it a good thing? I can’t honestly say; again I have no reference. At this point, I’ll file it under “good to know.”

Beyond this, the trip was ho-hum. Though it will prompt me to do some additional research on Fiancee Visa. At this point, we think I will be able to come over by Christmas this year at the latest. To say that it is exciting would be an understatement.

I was proud of myself; I was able to negotiate the grocery store without any help (well, almost – there was a small mishap when I called “Refuse Bags” by the more very-American “Trash Bags/Garbage Bags”). It doesn’t seem like a lot, but it is a big step, as much for me as it was for my Fiancee – he wasn’t accustomed to coming home after work and me not being there… oops. Thankfully, he hadn’t gotten to the point where he was going to call the police to let them know I was kidnapped before I got back. No harm done.

With a work contract extension that will cover me until the end of June; I may find myself with the time needed to redistribute my accumulation of personal belongings. Even as I make a rough mental list, I am amazed by the sheer amount of… well, stuff that a person can collect over the years. Even when the last three of those years were spent consciously working to -not- collect any more new things.

Ultimately, there will be four boxes:

One full of the things I will be shipping over,

One full of the things I will be giving to family,

One full of the things I will be giving to a charity;

and One to be hauled out to the trash.


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