In Queensland, rain sneaks up on you quick. They say the kookaburras are a giveaway- they’ll hoot and holler before and after a storm. Others argue that it’s magpies that herald the downpour- but either way, the birds seem just as surprised as everyone else when the sky cracks apart to dump the ocean inland.
On the other hand, days like today tease us with nimbostratus clouds in shades of slate and graphite, wind tearing cold through screen doors. A storm may rage over us at any moment. Or, maybe it will drizzle, perhaps we’ll get hail- chances are just as good that it will blow over and leave us with 90° heat and sun by dinnertime. We can’t plan based on what we expect- because its liable to shift at any moment.
Living in visa-limbo is quite the same. The word “when” is replaced by “if” as we wait to hear back from the tight-lipped bureaucrats that hold our paperwork. On an official level, they (as yet) wage no verdict and no date at which they will release one. Kind-hearted administrative staff offer encouragement: “things are progressing”; “everything looks to be all in order”; and “it shouldn’t be too much longer now before they get back to you.” But these platitudes don’t help us resolve the fact that two very different sets of expectations are waging war on our everyday lives.
We are on Week & of our estimated “4-8 week” timeline. Over this time, wish lists (and their sinister siblings: dreadlists) have built up. We need things, but are worried about amusing more stuff that may prove redundant in the next month. Do we buy the boys shorts? Or wait until we have more information? Summer is practically here… unless we have to return to a place where it’s Winter.
In addition to the material crap that clutters our day-to-day reasoning, we are also tabulating conditions for what we require for our next place, if we can’t have this one that we want so much. We investigate weather, employment, transportation and schools in select cities- building our own acceptability quotient tables of next-stop possibilities. Day by day we add to the lists- wishes on paper, and dreads in our minds- while we wait.
There should be no reason the paperwork won’t go through, but what if someone has a bad day, or decides that all Americans are like *thatelectedofficialoverthere* and pulls the red stamp to prevent our staying. Do we start looking for jobs in the States, or double down on what we’ve got going here? When every day feels like a slow-motion anxiety attack, it becomes difficult to determine what are expectations- and what are fears.
At the same time, there is a freedom in giving oneself over to the not-knowing place. As the lolly-voiced woman that answered my last call said, “not much to do now but wait.” And we’ve finally become too exhausted to keep thrashing around in the uncertainty.
And so, I photograph the sunsets and dig up rotten tree roots in the yard, bottle home-brewed beer and purchase week-sized portions of laundry detergent. We muddle through the days trying not to look too hard at the lists. I want to focus now on the good thing we have here, to not let uncertainty drive these days into melancholy. Instead of entertaining that morbid tendency of mine to mourn the loss of what I still have, I am focusing on keeping a regular routine and planning trips to places we missed- or loved so much we want to return to. Meanwhile, I am keeping an eye out for that determining email but, as much as I am able, keep my phone out of sight. Except for the 200 times a day I scan my Spam folder, just in case it got filtered there.