As my
first official blog post you’re probably expecting something exciting, a
recount of my new colourful surroundings, adjusting to culture shock and being
bombarded with hot dogs, nationalism and a fear of bombs constantly going off.
But I’m afraid I’m yet to delve into the head-spinning depths of the supposed Land
of the Great. I’m still on Aussie shores but as far as I’m concerned by
adventure has begun; just this Wednesday my VISA for the States was approved.
You’ve got
to hand it to Americans, many may seem aloof at times but their history with
terroism goes to show why they’ve made it incredibly difficult to get into the
country unless you’re the Dali Lama. Or close enough. Bombarded with paperwork,
online applications and verifications of all sorts, it was doing my head in. Here’s
a little taste of what being granted entry into the US on a VISA necessitates;
Q. Do you seek to engage in terrorist activities while in the United States or have you ever engaged in terrorist activities?
Q. Have you ever or do you intend to provide financial assistance or other support to terrorists or terrorist organizations?
Q. Are you a member or representative of a terrorist organization?
Q. Have you ever ordered, incited, committed, assisted, or otherwise participated in genocide?
Q. Have you ever committed, ordered, incited, assisted, or otherwise participated in torture?
Q. Have you committed, ordered, incited, assisted, or otherwise participated in extrajudicial killings, political killings, or other acts of violence?
Q. Have you ever engaged in the recruitment or the use of child soldiers?
Q. Have you ever been directly involved in the coercive transplantation of human organs or bodily tissue?
So, come my interview at the US Consulate, naturally,
I was terrified. I had heard horrible stories of humiliation, stories of denial.
The Consulate wasn’t the most friendly environment, truth be told everyone was
treated with suspicion; we were lined up and let through the door one at a
time. We had to undergo several security checks, stripped of our wallets, keys
and mobiles and our passports were scanned to test fraudulence. We were given identification
tags and escorted by security personal
to the upper floors, were we had to undergo more security checks in
case, I don’t know, somehow we had magically built a bomb, with zero materials,
in the elevator, within 30 seconds, standing next to a security guard. The identification
pass you had determined what floors you were allowed on, like items in a supermarket
we were scanned in and out.
The waiting rooms greeted us with huge framed
portraits of Obama, brandished with American flags. I watched ‘pro America’
documentaries for two hours in the waiting room, anxiety increasing as I shared
nervous glances with the rest of the applicants.
All in all, I stuttered through the questions
they asked, and my VISA was granted. I walked out with a sense of satisfaction in
that I was going to America, it was no longer an idea, a dream or a plan. It
was a reality.
Here’s a cute little something a good friend
of mine from Philadelphia told me, and I would like to share it with you,
because it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside;
“I wouldn’t think it would be too hard for an
Aussie [to get a VISA] you guys are like our cool little brother that stayed with
the parents. Giving you guys a VISA is like letting your little bro borrow your
Camaro for the weekend...you have your doubts but he’s a good kid and you trust
him.”
God bless ‘Merica.
