Wow

Yesterday I went to the passport office in another fruitless attempt to conclude an endless series of visits to renew my passport. Over the past 3 months I've literally been there about a dozen times, so that now I think I can drive my car down the winding ramps to the visitor underground parking on level P5 by muscle memory. Ordinarily renewing the passport is automated and takes one day. But I have this curse... I am cursed to suffer in all matters of immigration.

The curse was first realized many many years ago during my university days in Vancouver when my friend's dog made her way into my school bag drawn by the scent of a beef sandwich. Incredibly, the mutt found the taste of my immigration papers that I had kept in my bag more appealing than the sandwich itself. Two thirds of the document was in her belly before I knew something was amiss, while the sandwich was untouched.

I remember that process to replace that document. It took months to replace it because somehow, the process of replacing those papers mysteriously got stalled somewhere in Ottawa. I had to make a visit to the immigration office again after 2 months to inquire about it since I needed the papers to enlist in the Canadian military as a reservist. That delay meant I missed the enrollment for that summer. And that summer instead of learning about armored reconnaissance, I had met my first girlfriend in a nightclub.

Eventually those papers were replaced. The best the Canadian authorities could do was to provide me with a signed photocopy of the original which by then was fertilizing my friend's backyard. And so, the shady appearance of the replacement immigration papers would torment me on many occasions as I traversed the borders into the United States. Each time I tried to explain the photocopy along with the mangled torn corner of the original, the US immigration officer or airline check-in person would typically look at me with an incredulous look that said "yeah, right buddy, couldn't you have come up with a more compelling story?". I actually missed a flight once to return to California because the US embassy, being closed on a Sunday, could not corroborate that the document was valid.

But even when this document became obsolete by the issue of a work VISA, my cross-border harassment would persist. There was that time when my friendly US immigration officer by the name of Gao sought to get to know me intimately, and once again I missed my flight.

As for the current entanglement, I had applied for a new passport in order to attend my younger brother's wedding ceremony taking place in Fiji. I had given myself 3 weeks to get this done, turns out it was not enough. They wanted a whole month because my passport had been damaged by water. I'll take some responsibility for that part, I had inadvertently put it in the laundry. But I think the curse made me do it.

So, thus began a series of visits with lots of ticket pulling, every visit begins with a number on a piece of paper. I wrote a letter of appeal to expedite the process, and then there were interviews, they wanted to see the wedding invitation, then there were phone calls to follow up... more visits... by then I had gotten to know one female officer in charge of my case like family. So it felt natural to tell her in half-jest, half-desperation, that I'd bring her to the wedding with me in Fiji if she could just get the passport to me on time. Alas, it was not to be. Maybe she didn't like weddings, or the sun and clear blue waters; but in the end, I missed my brother's wedding. It was the most bitter moment of 2009 for me.

For over a month I avoided the passport office, then starting a couple of weeks ago I began the trips again. The ensuing visits were often a waste of time - obscenely long lines, counters closed for the day, I forgot the collection receipt, etc. Gradually, almost miraculously, the process reached the final stage, the passport was ready for pickup. But when I went yesterday to collect it with my collection receipt firmly in hand,... my ID was not in my wallet. A meltdown followed, the histrionics included me wanting the curse to materialize so I could go 12 rounds in the boxing ring with it. I simply couldn't find my ID anywhere.

Today I took the day off work to handle a police report for my lost ID, then apply for a new ID, then pickup the passport with my temporary replacement ID AND register a personal business. All involving government offices and worse, on a Friday, which meant a half-day since the offices would be closed earlier for muslim prayers. After the experience with the passport office, I was anticipating a nightmare of a day, maybe even a week or month.

But today, the light was shining on me brightly. There were no obstacles at all. The police officers were kind, and later, the ID office was not overrun by a mob, in fact it was quite modern and relaxing. After the fiasco with the passport office, this place seemed like the First Class lounge for Virgin Airlines. Believe it or not, in a matter of 90 minutes, I had knocked off ALL the items on the agenda save for the business registration.