Wokabout

We have been living at a staccato rhythm for the last nine years of our lives.

Pre marriage, I lived in Australia and Malaysia and spent time in the Solomon Islands.  Jason spent that same amount of time hopping back and forth from the US to Australia.  Sometimes, we even managed to be in the same country at the same time.

Post marriage, we lived three years in the States, 18 months in China, four months in Australia, three months in the States, four days in Germany, six months in China and now six months in Australia again.  We’re tired.

Allow me to further explain.

Our relationship has been a constant logistical challenge from the get go.  We share everything.  Interests, language (of sorts), religious beliefs, love of travel, last name, bank account, email, a bed, lip balm, food (not that he’s happy with that), a child…everything.  Except countries.

We do not share a home.

To begin with, it was exciting and almost trophy-like.  I was the Aussie girl with tall, tanned Californian lover who phoned her once a week and emailed on occasion.  We had a phone card, people.  This (at the risk of dating myself) was pre-skype  Then it became psychologically challenging.  Waiting to pick him up at the airport and vise versa always left me in a quandary.  Will he still like me?  Do I even like him anymore?  With each reunion, it was back to square one, getting to know each other over again.  We learned love is an action rather than a feeling early on in our relationship.

We thought stability was a marriage certificate.  At the time, we were naive enough to think that was that and everyone would be happy we were married and recognise us as being married and we’d live happily ever after.  The end.  HA!  Since we were both due to move out of each of our perspective living arrangements at the time we were married, we thought it would be the perfect opportunity to move to the US and start over.  After all, I had never had the chance financially to spend time in his country with his family — something we considered important to do.  Annnd…that’s when the paperwork began.  Suffice to say it hasn’t stopped since.  Honestly, six years into our marriage and when I look at all the travel we’ve done, I do believe we’ve spent more money on visas and bureaucratic paperwork than we have on aeroplane tickets.

What happens if I get denied when I’m visiting the US because I’m not a permanent resident or green card holder, as they can and have done to various other couples we know?  What happens to us if China suddenly deports all foreigners, with 24 hours to leave the country?  This isn’t enough time for either of us to get permission to enter the other’s country.  Do governments care to keep families together?  Sort of…but not in an emergency.  It’s each to take care of it’s own.

In May last year, I had a major meltdown.  Shocked some?  My parents and sisters had recently returned back to Australia after spending a month in China with us.  Our major avenue of income had suddenly dropped us like a hot potato.  And I was sick and tired of sitting on the steps of the Chinese immigrations office trying to entertain a crawling six month old and stop him from consuming items that would likely give him hepatitis C.  The immigration officer continued to tell us over and over that we could not stay in China together and the university who was sponsoring our visa wouldn’t admit they’d forgotten to inform us of some necessary documentation we’d need for our visas, therefore leaving us in the cold with nothing.  Immigrations’ solution to the problem was for Jason to send Xavier and myself back to Australia so that he could continue to live in China, alone.  I told Jason, I wanted to go home but I didn’t know where that was. Previously, we had tried to make ourselves a life in the US but they had denied my green card renewal and threatened to deport me.  China was now telling us we couldn’t live together there either.  So our next option was to use our return ticket, go back to Australia and start from scratch in my home country.

Failing this, I thought, I’m moving us to France.

We don’t look extra ordinary.  When you see us walk down the street, you forget that we are from different cultures and races because we look the same.  But he needs police checks from three countries and the FBI has at least four copies of my fingerprints.  One begins to feel as if loving someone from another country is considered a crime…

It’s the second half of our sixth anniversary (that in itself is its own story) and I want to pay tribute to my husband.  He has sacrificed so much for our little family.   Dreams, living in his own country, his bass guitar (right, Babe?)…  He is putting in the hard work, time and money now so that in our future, if anything happens, there is somewhere in the world that this family can be together.  You know what the expats say: the family that gets deported together, stays together.

Hopefully, my darling, one day, things will work out to where I can do this for you too.

So we are spending the second half of our sixth wedding anniversary enjoying simple things like breakfast (yes, I have a serious infatuation with the first meal of the day), breathing a collective sigh of relief, savouring the aroma of coffee and sleeping sighs of an active toddler (and the aunties who are graciously looking after him while we eat on our own.  cue heavenly music).  The paperwork is almost ready to submit.  He has perfect lungs and an impressive chest…x-ray collection (although…with all the x-rays he’s had to do in the last two years…).  And I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I did not marry a con-man.

Darling, we’re almost home.

Folks, this is the worst part of the ‘for better or worst’, poor part of ‘for richer, for poorer’, and the left-over-remnants-of-hives part of ‘in sickness and in health’.  This is the best I’ve looked all week!