I Hate Forms

 I would like to start by thanking everyone for their kind thoughts and words of encouragement in regard to the drama that went down in my life on December 2nd.  I am bolstered by the fact that many of you seem to find the entire situation as ludicrous as I and additionally, do not feel that I look like a terrorist.  While that was certainly not the reason Border Patrol held me, I am still glad to know that I will not ever be general cast as 'terrorist'.
The last couple of weeks have been rife with information, misinformation, starts and stops, and paperwork.  Ohhhh... the paperwork.  And I will say that it is somewhat disheartening to have to check the 'YES' box to the question, "Have you been refused entry to the UK within the last 10 years?  If so, please explain."  This is in the list of questions that most of us gladly check down the line 'NO' to.  It's in there with, "In times of peace or war have you ever been involved in, or suspected of involvement in, war crimes, crimes against humanity or genocide?"  So in my explanation to my refused entry, I was extremely tempted to enter: "I was refused entry due to a misunderstanding of the true purpose for my visiting my fiance.  It's not like I committed crimes against humanity or anything!"  But my better judgement prevailed.  If anything, my desire to do everything absolutely right, to the letter, almost paralyzed me.  I sat there for 2 days analyzing the meaning of the word "partner" and how it pertained to J and I.  I began questioning what the application was really inferring when it asked for my mother's 'family name'.  I was so scared to answer incorrectly, give too much information, or give not enough that I found myself retreating and not doing the very things that I absolutely needed to do to ensure that J and I be reunited in the shortest period of time possible.  At one point he made an excellent point.  The rational type of argument that I needed to hear.  J said, "Listen, these things are submitted all of the time and sometimes people just get turned down.  It doesn't matter how comprehensive the supporting documents are, how well the application is filled out, the application gets turned down and that's that."  Well, of course I started to cry because that has become my primary form of communication over the past 2 weeks.  I am fabulous company right now, let me tell you.  But when I thought about it and really took it in, it helped me get over my fear and the obsessive compulsive spiral that I was sliding down.  While still being comprehensive in my completion of the visa application, it helped me relax just a bit to know that in the end, it might not matter.  This may seem counter intuitive, but it worked.  Leave it to the Latin sensibility to trump my American rigidity!  It was Susan Powter coming over and telling me to 'STOP THE INSANITY'!! (Now how's that for a reference?)
Yesterday I put my application in the mail.  Well, to be specific, I sent it Fed Ex-per application instructions.  This is all rather hilarious because the British General Consulate is about 6 blocks away from my office.  But, following the directions, as I am wont, I sent it Fed Ex which means it took a little trip down to Tennessee last night before coming back up to NYC for Priority Delivery today.  I had hysterical visions of the package being lost or the FedEx truck catching on fire destroying its precious cargo.  Of course none of this happened and I received my delivery confirmation this morning.  If you think that sounds insane, well-yeah.  That's just the way things have been the last 3 weeks.
Now we wait.

I would be remiss if I did not mention the fact that the events of last Friday morning at Sandy Hook Elementary certainly helped to put my situation into some perspective.  While all of this has been far from ideal, J and I still have each other.  We may be on different continents, but it is not a permanent situation.  26 families had their lives tragically and permanently changed that day.  No amount of paperwork, no amount of seemingly redundant tasks can bring back to life the people who died in an environment that they surely felt was safe and secure.  As a former first grade teacher, I cannot adequately express how I felt as I started to read the news of what had transpired that morning.  My heart and prayers go out to those affected.

USA-UK-USA

I have been debating about when I was going to be ready to write this post, but as I appear to have found myself a little following and as my friends start to clamor for news on the royal baby-to-be, I find it necessary to simply "take the hill fast" and get this over with.
Simply put: I am not in the UK.  I am on the LI.
It's not that I wasn't in the UK... I was.  For about 7 hours.
But they decided that I couldn't stay.  I am apparently such an unsavory character, that I never even got past immigration at Heathrow.
And so, we begin our story:
Most of my life I have been a little bit "difficult" and immigration to the UK proved to, once again, be a situation in which I was "difficult".  Not because of my attitude, mind you, but because we were a little unsure as to how to get me across the pond on an extended stay.  While J and I know we want to spend the rest of our lives together, we did not want to enter into some kind of quickie wedding for the soul purpose of the move.  So as I was not a spouse and we were not planning on having a wedding within the UK, this made our options for my immigration to the UK rather limited.  We were advised by an immigration lawyer in the UK that I should initially enter the country on a typical American tourist visa.  No paperwork required, a simple tourist stay-which Americans are entitled to for up to 6 months.  After that, J and I would take it from there, most likely getting married back here in the states with my subsequent application for a dependent visa.  We did not, however, really ever discuss this in detail since it was still some months away.  With this settled, J and I went about taking care of the many other things calling for our attention; getting his work visa settled, finding a tenant for our apartment, selling excess furniture, saying goodbye to friends, Hurricane Sandy, moving, and all the other stresses and responsibilities that go with an international relocation.
December 1, 2012.  JFK Airport.  8:00 PM.  I say goodbye to my parents and while we are a little teary, we manage to hold it together for the most part.  My luggage is quickly weighed and taken and I am given a boarding pass with directions on how to get to the Virgin Atlantic Lounge.  As J's work has paid for my trip, I am flying "Upper Class" and feeling quite excited about it!  I truly never realized that the difference between First and Business Class to Coach was akin to Upper Class versus Steerage on the Titanic.  I mean, SERIOUSLY.  They gave me pajamas.  I had a lay-down bed with a REAL pillow and a duvet.  There was a menu for breakfast the next morning and the option for wake up service.  Christy Turlington was across the aisle from me.  I should have known.  Really, I should have.  It was all too good to be true.
We land at Heathrow and are give 'Fast Track' passes through immigration.  Which means that I get 'Fast Tracked' right to a detention room.  Here are the reasons I found myself in a detention room at Heathrow Airport: 1.) I was traveling without a return ticket. 2.) I had recently left my job (as in, the day before). 3.) I was asking to stay an extended time period (6 months). 4.) I was an American woman (apparently we have a rather bad reputation of overstaying our tourist visas in the UK).  At this point I am not worried.  I was half expecting this because I realized that the 'having no job' and the 'staying for 6 months' might raise a red flag.  But.  Things quickly went downhill.
All of my possessions were confiscated, cell phone and passport included.  Fingerprints were taken 8 different ways and my photo was taken 10 different ways.  As one might imagine, after a 7 hour flight and an hour plus on the ground, I was NOT ready for my close up.  My bags were searched.  Unbeknownst to me, J was contacted and interviewed.  And then I was called into an interview room after about 3 hours in the detention room.  I was told not to lean against any wall as there was a red panic strip running along the perimeter of the room.  Comforting.  And who is this panic strip for, exactly?  Because at this point, I was far closer to complete meltdown than the Border Patrol Agent interviewing me.
The questioning begins.  This was perhaps one of the most inefficient ways to interview someone that I have ever experienced in my life.  The Border Patrol Agent would think of a question, write it down, and then ask for my response.  As she had to record everything I was saying, she kept asking me to start and then stop again.  Let's just say, she did not record everything I was saying.  The process was absolutely maddening.  And the crux of the questioning was why I was visiting J and what our plans were after the 6 months were up.  Upon my response of "marriage at some point", I was asked if we planned on marrying in the UK.  My response to this was that we were unsure and had not discussed specifics but that we would get married wherever best suited our purposes.  I was then asked if we would get married at a Registrar's Office.  EXCUSE ME?  What the heck is that and why are we talking about my marriage?  This is not the point!  But as I was soon to discover, it WAS the point.  I responded that if we were to get married in NYC, we would get married at City Hall, so if the Registrar's Office is what they call it in London, OK.  But I reiterated that London was really not something we had considered.  I was then asked if my parents would come to a wedding in London.  "Why in the world does this chick keep asking me questions about our getting married in London," I ask myself?  I say to her, "Well I know my parents would like to be at my wedding no matter where I got married.  They would be there in NY and I know they would be willing to travel anywhere, so I guess they would come to a wedding in London."  If you can see where this is going, great, because I clearly didn't.  At no point had I told this woman that the purpose of my visit was to come to London to marry J.  But at some point during her interviews with both J and myself, this was the conclusion that she drew.  And given the interview procedure and the way that I chose to answer her very narrow question set, she had enough evidence to support her determination.
I was told at this point that from what the Border Agent could conclude, my purpose for entering the UK was to marry J and to marry J only.  Forget Big Ben, forget Parliament, forget the fact that I merely wanted to spend some time with my boyfriend/fiancee/'whatever the hell you want to call him' while we figured out next steps, as advised by our attorney!  I was told that because of this conclusion, I would need a specific Fiancee Visa and that since I did not have this visa, I would be returning to the US that evening.  Well, cue the waterworks.  And we are not talking pretty little drippy tears.  We are talking Niagra flippin Falls.  At this point she asks me to sign the interview, which I do because I am hysterical and confused and upset and I feel almost betrayed, in a sense, by let's just say... EVERYONE because HOW DID I END UP IN THIS SITUATION; and seriously, I need to get BACK ON A PLANE??  To say that I left my body a bit would not be an over-exaggeration.  Then the Border Agent tells me that she may be able to get her supervisor to allow me a temporary exemption so that I, essentially, could see J.  It was most likely not to be more than a day or two, but at this point I was willing to take anything that I could get.  An hour later I am handed a paper that informs me that I will be on a Virgin Atlantic flight back to the US as of 4:50 PM.
I am allowed to speak with J which is mostly me hysterical crying and hiccuping into the phone.  He tells me that he will call my parents as my mobile is still not available to me and I need someone to pick me up at JFK that night.  2 hours later, I am on a plane back to the US.  I arrive back at JFK December 2, 2012 at 8:00 PM.  To say it was a rough 24 hours... well, yeah.
I am allowing myself to get over the absurdity of it all.  If I kept thinking about it, I would drive myself absolutely crazy.  In the words of the Border Patrol Agent assigned to escort me to the plane back to NYC (all the while holding my passport which was then handed over to a flight attendant before given back to me), "Well rules ARE rules, but sometimes you need to be human!"  Even she could not believe the circumstances of my "Refusal of Entry".  But the only thing to be done at this point is to figure out next steps and what visa I do need.  As J and I are NOT planning on being married in the UK, the visa I was advised to get from the Border Patrol Agent who interviewed me is incorrect.  J and I will get through this, we are lucky to have some resources at our fingertips through his work and our own personal connections.  We are being assisted by a UK B.P. Agent based in the US as well as members of the UK Consulate in NYC.  The whole process will be a bit more difficult that we originally thought, but when have I ever made things easy?  As I told J today, "Well, I just didn't want you to be bored these first few months at work."  And how!
Of course, I do have my personal theory on why all of this has happened.  Not 24 hours after my return to the US, the palace announced Dutchess Kate's pregnancy.  And all of a sudden it was clear to me.  Well of course they didn't want the news of my arrival on their shores to eclipse the news of the expected future heir to the throne!  Well played, UK Border Patrol, well played.
Stay tuned for updates.  I am still UK bound!  I have an obligation to report back to you all!  I just need to get there first.