I got off the plane in Orly groggy and realising there was a mistake with the phone number for my only friend in France. You know, the one that I was supposed to call upon my arrival. It was January 2012, I was cold, had a pit in my stomach and all my French was gone. It was an adventure that didn’t quite start out how I would have planned it.
How it wall worked out was a mixture of serendipity and magic. A whirlwind season of adventure, of so many emotions and the beginning of my journey to creating a life in a new land. “Why did you decide to move to France?” I’m often asked. Welcome to the beginning of a long story. A dream. Not a dream that you just imagine. It was detailed and I couldn’t shake it. I’d never stepped foot here, but I knew I would be here for the foreseeable future.
I knew I’d live abroad early on but I didn’t know what it might look like or where. I thought I’d probably end up in India or Africa. It wasn’t until I was 18 and passing through Germany on my way to Romania and Ukraine that I knew it was somewhere in Europe. Finally at 27 I had “the dream” and I was in the right place to pack up and throw it all to the wind.
Here I am, 13 years later and I have finally gone ahead to ask for citizenship. Though you might not be surprised when I tell you I actually applied twice. No, I didn’t get rejected, I just applied by the wrong method first, just to keep me on my toes. It’s kind of laughable really. No one in my shoes is without their stories.
I’ve started to become more candid about the fact that asking for visas, residency and citizenship are for me, deeply vulnerable. As I’ve started to share this with friends, it turns out I’m not alone. Asking to be granted permission to stay is a difficult one, I feel anxious, stressed and like everything is just a little off balance. I think it’s part of why it’s taken me so long to finally apply.
But I’ve done it, I’ve proven my language abilities, I’ve gathered my documents, started a business, grown a bilingual family and it’s time. I have wanted to become French from the very beginning. I remember the feeling of the worn stone steps in Arles at the cathedral of Saint Trophime. Visual evidence of the passage of time and people who’d walked here for centuries before me. It had me feeling connected to something very deep.
I’m putting it in the hands of the French administration. I’m excited and nervous but I’ve already got a bottle of Champagne at the ready because this is BIG. I’ve dreamt of having two passports for a very long time. It’ll be nice to have a red one like the rest of the family. And while it’s not a photo booth, here’s the photo from the day the application went in. To mark the occasion of course!
