It Will Not Break. It Broke.

By Mike Flynn and Shikha Dalmia
From here. Not at all depressing or scary... 

When they say 

The immigration system

Is broken

It needs fixing 

I can tell you

First hand

It is a red hot 

Stinking mess 

Of hell

Like having the privilege 

Of being with my love

Took eleven months

A few thousand dollars 

Endless reams of paper 

That repeated the

Same information

Over and over and 

Over again 

Name. Age. D.O.B. His Name. Age. D.O.B. 

Parent’s names. Parent’s birthdays. Parent’s place of birth. 

Copies of birth certificates, police certificates, medical certificates. 

Every address I have lived at since I was sixteen 

(I am currently residing in my 24th abode in 30 years. I hate that question.) 

And once the system

Decided

In 2013

To make everything virtual 

We had to re-submit

Every single form

From scratch. 

At one point,

There were six different numbers 

Assigned to my case 

Now I am a code. 

I am never asked for my name

Only my number 

Because I am not 

Luisa Lyons, Australian/Spanish citizen 

I am a ten digit code with an 

Alphabetized prefix. 

And once I got to the USA

And arrived at the border

The immigration official

Had to go through every piece of paper

In my packet

Stamp it

And determine it was ok for me to go through

Once we were married

More paperwork

The same information

Over and over and 

Over again 

Name. Age. D.O.B. His Name. Age. D.O.B. 

Parent’s names. Parent’s birthdays. Parent’s place of birth. 

Copies of birth certificates, police certificates, medical certificates

Certified marriage certificate

Every address I have lived at since I was sixteen 

Everything must be submitted in hard copy, most forms are filled in by hand

This is to “Adjust Immigrant Status” 

And apply for “Employment Authorization” 

More exorbitant fees

That ensure

You will never be able to speak to a human

Months of waiting 

And zero communication

With the department

The system is broken 

Because between us

My husband and I 

Hold four university degrees

But my husband has to work his butt off 

To keep us afloat 

Because I’m not allowed to work

Either to contribute to the economy 

Or to our household 

I’m grateful I speak English

I’m proactive 

I volunteer at a local bookshop

Am volunteering with a local theatre company 

Writing my one-woman show 

But 

In a society whose primary currency is 

Cash 

I cannot thrive

I hate not being independent

I hate having to ask for financial help 

When we have worked so damn hard. 

I hate living in a system 

That is so crushed by bureaucracy 

And fear 

That it is not able to function 

The system is broken

And it’s breaking me down 

Every time I have to call the 

“Helpline” 

To ask 

Why haven’t we heard anything?

I’m tired of being a number 

And waiting

The end. 

Seeking the Silver Bullet

We want 

A solution

An answer

A pill

A medicine

A magical being

To make suffering end


In order 

To be 

Skinnier 

Healthier

More wealthy

Successful

Lovable 

Make life easier


If only we could wave a magic wand

Or stick to the diet

Or do the affirmations

Or follow the right guru 

Or read the right books 

Or do the exercises

Or make the bad people go away


We desire 

Quick fixes

Instant solutions 


We wanted to be better yesterday

Last year 

Ten years ago

And still we’re waiting.


Meditation 

Doesn’t make you better

It doesn’t provide 

The silver bullet

To curing life’s ills

It is not the be all and end all 

To achieving happiness


But it does take the edge off 

Allows for moments of clarity

Moments of peace 

Moments of stillness 


It is free

You don’t need any special skills

You don’t need to be any kind of person

You don’t need to believe in anything or anyone


Just pay attention

Without judgement 

And repeat.

This post originally appeared at my Vivalu Meditation site. 

New Year's Eve (2013)

The year started twirling a “glow sword”

Because in the land of the free and the brave

It’s easier to buy a gun than a sparkler 

We applied for a fiance visa. 

I flew back to London.

In February, I started house hunting,

Visited Brighton

And saw A Chorus Line at the Palladium

I watched women in black t-shirts and bright red lipstick

Rise and dance outside Parliament House. 

We had a bake sale at the theatre.

I wandered the streets of London 

Trying to feel at home. 

In March, I saw Liza Minnelli at Royal Festival Hall.

In the midst of a snow storm

I moved to Ruislip. 

Saw my friend’s play 

Nights of Enchantment,

And over noodles, had a long and delightful conversation

With an old friend. 

One bright chilly morning

I walked from Covent Garden to the Thames to Islington. 

In April, I did quite the unthinkable

And quit my job ushering

At a west end theatre

And prepared to walk 780km across 

Northern rural Spain 

I saw the Lichtenstein retrospective at the Tate Modern

On the 30th April I caught the Eurostar

From London to Paris

And spent the day on trains heading 

South across France to the Pyrenees

On the first day of May

I walked up and down the Pyrenees 

Crossed into Navarra 

And spent the next 31 days

Walking the width of Spain 

Until I reached Santiago de Compostela 

In June, I saw War Horse at the New London.

I flew over the Atlantic

To spend the summer with my love

We went to a wedding

And a Wesslmann pop art exhibit in Richmond 

Drove through Washington DC, Jersey, New York, and Connecticut

And arrived 

Home 

At summer camp 

We staged 2 full-scale musicals 

In 8 weeks 

I taught singing and voice

And melted in the heat

Watched Yo Yo Ma and the Boston Symphony Orchestra

At Tanglewood 

And walked a rainbow chalk labyrinth

Smudged and glowing from rain 

In August

I saw Matilda, Once, and Peter and the Starcatcher in NYC

And wandered the streets of Manhattan praying for a miracle. 

I unwillingly flew back to London

And moved to the south east. 

I worked as a temp

At an international commercial property research company

Two finance firms

Two publishing houses

And spent my days behind reception desks around London

Writing and researching my play.

I saw Blue Stockings at The Globe.  

In September, I quietly turned 29

In one of the offices of London

And in the evening saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at the 

Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, with my big brother

I saw Grounded at The Gate Theatre

And did a workshop on writing solo material 

I traveled to Bath to audition for a play 

I saw Once with my Australian singing teacher 

And remembered why I was doing what I was doing. 

I saw A Doll’s House at The Duke of York

And had to talk myself into staying for the second act. 

I went blackberry picking in Southminster 

And made a blackberry pie. 

In October, I had my interview with the US Consulate 

And was rejected

I waited for a piece of paper

Declaring my lack of criminal record

To be sent from Australia to the UK

Via snail mail

I waited for my file to be lifted from the hundreds of other files

In someone’s office

I saw Trevor Ashley perform

Liza on an E 

And Malala Yousafzai speak at Queen Elizabeth Hall

I went to the London Dungeon and SeaLife Aquarium with my first London friend 

I saw The Light Princess at the National Theatre

And a debate between the founder of No More Page 3 

And three playboy bunnies 

In Carnaby St. 

I went to Brighton with Mum and

Rode the carousel on the pier.

The next day I was the sickest I have been since moving to London

Ten months of waiting catching up with my stomach. 

In November, I saw Matilda at the Cambridge

One last time 

Walked along the Thames  

Saw the Christmas lights in Oxford St and 

Bid farewell to London.  

I flew across the Atlantic 

To be with my love

And, finally, 

We were married. 

In December 

I worked on my play

Went to my first American audition

And was cast in my first Shakespeare  

I discovered I could run in below freezing temperatures

Volunteered in a second-hand bookshop

Learnt to play the ukulele

Went to a Warhol exhibit

And wandered through Old Town admiring the fairy lights.

We started our happily ever after

The end. 

Getting Married (Part 3)

An artistic representation of what I looked like. From here.

Part 1  Part 2 

Forty dollars,

And another form where I fill out

Every address that I have lived at

Since I was 16,

And twenty-four hours later

I receive an email to say my police background check

Is clear

And the certificate is on its way.

A week later it arrives

I book the courier

To collect my passport

Police certificate

And prayers for a speedy return

The courier collects the parcel

See you in 4-5 weeks

He says.

No.

I say.

I want to see you walking in that door with my passport and visa by the end of the week. Got it? 

He laughs. 

He doesn't get it. 

It takes the Embassy three days to process receipt of my passport.

Then nothing changes for almost three weeks.

My status reads "Ready"

It has been "Ready" since before the interview.

I lose my voice

Develop a horrible cough

I want to stay in bed and never get out.

I must be miserable to be around

I don't care.

Get me out of this limbo. I'm done. I've been waiting for 10 months.

I feel pathetic. Ten months is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

I take my first sick day since arriving in London.

I cannot face work or people or getting out of my pajamas.

Every time I've skyped Aaron in the last few days I cry. Sob uncontrollably.

I'm sick of my love being trapped behind a screen.

At 5pm the status changes.

"Administrative processing"

The stories on visa journey* are frightening.

Some people have gotten to this part of the process

And waited another year.

I feel utterly hopeless.

Another week rolls by.

Everyone is being optimistic and supportive

The system doesn't care. I am nothing. I am not human.

I am six numbers and an alien.

"Approved".

Wait, what?!

We check the website repetitively to make sure it hasn't changed.

Two days later I receive a tracking number from the courier.

My passport is on its way.

I'm headed to my love.

And after 10 months, and three weeks...

I'm on the plane! I'm on the plane! I'M ON THE PLANE! 

In ten hours I'll be with my love! 

The head of the cabin crew announces that we'll soon be landing in Denver

It is minus 10 degrees celcius outside

Every passenger does a double take

We are the only plane landing at this time

The customs queue is short

I have read that I may be taken to a separate room for my customs interview

I am called

The officer doesn't make eye contact

I hand over my passport

And a thick sealed envelope from the embassy

Containing all my documents

X-rays, police certificates, birth certificates

And every address I have lived at since I was 16. 

Right thumb on the screen please Miss Lyons. 

(Right thumb on the screen). 

When did you last leave the United States Miss Lyons? 

I left at the end of August...

Silence. 

I was here on a J1. For camp.

I know. 

I laugh a little. He has still not made eye contact. 

Four fingers of your right hand please Miss Lyons. 

(Four fingers of my right hand on the screen). 

You know you have 90 days to marry.

Yep! 

He doesn't look up. He stamps my passport, places the envelope in a pile. 

Congratulations. Thank you Miss Lyons. NEXT. 

The world is covered in snow

And I'm with my love

Everything is going to be WONDERFUL! 

Now we just have to get married! 

Read the final installment of Getting Married HERE! 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4

*VisaJourney is an immensely useful, and free, website about the American immigration process.