I’ve got a golden ticket!

i never thought my life could be anything but catastrophe, but suddenly I begin to see a bit of good luck for me

The more expensive solicitor humoured me with a little back and forth regarding citizenship matters. (For free!!!!)

I think I’ve mentioned this before, but that lovely (really fragile) little piece of paper up there, written completely in German, and referencing a German city, may allow me to claim German citizenship.

If I can claim German citizenship, we might be able to bypass the Tier 2 sponsored employment bullshit.

I’ve written the German Consulate in Boston, and am going to push this as hard as I can. My mother was not a US Citizen until 1966 which means that for 20 years she was a citizen of… somewhere else. The country she was born in, perhaps? I think they moved to the states in 1949-ish, because (supposedly) she was three when they came here. I can’t find any proof of that and the last time I checked Ancestry.com, they couldn’t prove it either. (Even with the wicked expensive top tier membership.)

I’ve done as much research as I can, but the legalese starts getting ridiculous and then there’s the whole World War II / concentration camp / forced (railroad) workers issue that my grandparents had to deal with. I cannot figure out how that ties into citizenship, but I’ve seen it brought up once or twice.

We’ll see what the Consulate has to say.

In the meantime, I’ll be over here kicking myself for choosing French over German in school…

——

According to my father, the only thing my mother really did right by me was to encourage my love of writing, but right now, I think that’s a distant second to her being born in a European country.

The amount of love I can find for this woman in my shriveled little black heart is directly proportional to how successful my attempt at German citizenship is. I’m not going to lie. So, that said…

Dear universe, I’m sure you understand that she OWES me this.

Consider it an even trade for the cigarette burn scar between my eyes (not a chicken pox scar like I tell everyone).

Consider it an even trade for the other scars on my body.

Consider it an even trade for all the mental abuse (and let’s not forget the fucking bipolar).

I really don’t feel like I’m asking for too much - I just want to prove that I’m “German” even if I come from Ukrainian and Polish blood. 

——

In other news, one comment, eight kudos and six subscribers (and a partridge in a pear tree) for Hartford.

Fuck. Yeah.

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