My heart is pounding as I peer over the heads that make up the crowd at the consulate office. I wiggle and squirm trying to get closer in line. I am surrounded by the most diverse group of people, everyone from men and women in traditional Indian clothing, complete with extravagant nose rings and turbans, to young mischievous looking American girls, like myself. In all my travels, this is the first time I have ever had to apply for a visa in order to enter. It is someone of an insulting prospect, to think that someone would want to pre-screen me before allowing me to enter their country. It was hitting below my American belt. But now I am able to sympathize with the billions of non-Americans who must do this many more times then myself. My nerves are beginning to peak as I watch the consulate employees leaf through piles and piles of applications. Some have pink papers in front, others white, and some blue. Some go in a pile in the right, others to the left. I watch as each person steps up to the counter and hands their receipt. Some leave through the exit, others are motioned off to the side. I dig back into the hidden files of my memory to try and think of a reason why my visa would be denied. Will they find out about the unpaid parking ticket? I hope my credit is not an entry requirement. How thorough is this check exactly? My medical records are clean, not even a cavity. But what about that bad hair cut or my hideous passport photo?
I, of course, waited until the last minute to apply for my entry visa, and therefore, should anything go wrong, it could have serious effects on my trip. Also, I ditched my car in an alley somewhere in San Francisco, which could be towed at any minute at double the cost of what my plane ticket was. I try to distract my pessimistic mind by writing down the names of all the cities advertised around the consulate office. Indian will be just breathtaking! Granted I can get it, that is.
I was granted the visa. So much for all the drama. I'm double relieved to also find my car still wedged safely between the garbage truck and the group of gangsters in the alley.
This trip, which has been in preparation for two years, and in my heart since birth, is closing in so quickly I can hardly breath. I'm starting to panic thinking that it's practically over already! 2010 was a tough year for me, which, in and of itself shows the abundance of God's grace in my life, as there were no tragedies, no job loss, and was full of great friends, relationships, and fun. However, for me, it was a year of growth. I was stretched and pulled in so many ways and directions, I felt like a piece of salt water taffy. I did mature, learned paying off debt and save money, taking on bigger responsibilities at work and in my personal life. I said goodbye to some people, learned more about what I did and did not want in life, and attained a deep sense of spiritual well being. So it would only make sense that now would be the perfect time to seek out the next phase of life.
I rented out my beloved room in our 1960's apartment in Little Italy, gave my notice to my very first real job after college, and said goodbye (temporarily) to my extremely supportive and ever faithful friends, roommates, family, and church. The majority of my belongings were given away, sold, or on loan to friends (or broken or lost in between). The remaining pieces that survived were crammed into my little blue Honda, and driven to my parent's attic.
The remaining preparations are small, however, driving me to both exhaustion and insanity. I spent two hours on the phone, calling to cancel my car insurance, cell phone, and health plan. Each call comes with a tug-of-war argument as my providers try to persuade me to stay, which always ends in them begging and myself getting irritated. It's as if I went through 12 breakups in the two days. The only relationships that survived are with my credit cards and two banks (my main bank is not aware I have "the other bank" on the side, and hopefully the unfaithfulness will not come to light anytime soon, as it may have negative financial effects on my trip)I try to explain my trip to the automated system, and am so frustrated with her bad hearing and constant politeness when requesting to "Please repeat that" that I'm soon screaming "REPRESENTATIVE!!" so loud the entire Starbucks staff is aware of my trip and is asking for the details.
Unfortunately for them, between the bank representatives, doctors, car insurance, and visa office, I am burnt out on talking about it. All I want to do is to crawl onto my plane, take a long nap, and wake up to this year of adventure. Five more days to go!
