Visa

 

Come to think of it, we are each after a visa, though our visas vary. What we wouldn’t give sometimes to get out of where we are now into the place we think we want to be, if only we had the visa. Our dissatisfaction, our wanderlust, our special-based needs are such as to be out of here, and over there, as soon as the visa is approved and stamped. Paradise, even a little paradise, becomes available, once we have signed the papers and smiled for the visa camera. Our minds sprout heavenly thoughts. Even a season in hell seems preferable, it seems, for some of us, if only the visa came through, and why is the postal service so slow these days? We should be at the front of the queue. Surely the mail is more efficient in that coveted place we will arrive at shortly. Everything will be different and new on the other side. Some of us would go to any lengths for a visa. Tall stories, dubious signatories, family connections, funny money. For some, fame is sufficient. For others, hunger and thirst are no obstacle. When it finally arrives we bend the visa, flap it, sniff to test it’s real. We make joking remarks about the selfie attached: not my best side. The visa is ours by rights. The world owes us a visa. How can we be truly ourselves without one? Now that we have one. The visa opens vistas. Soon we can step away from the predictable world of home towards the Paradise where our greatest dreams are rewarded. The very name of our destination becomes a synonym for Paradise, in our dreamy heads. We can make new memories, there in that place where our egos are placated, fantasies are fulfilled, and self-serving is a whole way of life. There we can become king of the world, or just blend in with the crowd. We keep our visa close to our hearts and stride like champions into the future. The past is another country, the one that issued our visa. Cancellation of our visa, refusal of our great desire, seems implausible. Surely a person with our kind of credentials should just stroll through the customs gate. These stuck-up bureaucrats with their tiny-minded rules are not mentioned in the tourist brochures. Lonely Planet draws a blank. This would never happen at home, least of all to someone like me. We can choose our moment to read the small print. A visa is a visa. Rules are rules. Money is funny. Hell sounded interesting, before we arrived there. In the detainment room we have hours to study our visa. Tennis, anyone? Who is that person in the selfie? Some of us would go to extraordinary lengths to get a better idea. Others wait for the phone call from their lawyer. As there’s nothing else to do for now, we read the local newspapers, but their opinions seem like they come from another world.