Routine (is what you take for granted)

Desperate and helpless - that's how I feel every time I make a trip to the immigration office. I'm sure that anyone who has lived abroad knows the feeling. But there are various degrees to this inevitable experience. I've lived in 6 countries already, and nowhere does it get as bad as in Malaysia.

I was about to make this posting last week, after my first visit. But a little philosophy, some fretting and complaining had done their job, and I put the wasted day behind me. Today, was another wasted day - this time, Vishen joined me in the experience. To give some explanation - if I want to stay in Malaysia for over 30 days at a time, I need to apply for a wife's visa (not 'spouse', but precisely the 'wife'). Last time, after waiting endless hours in a room crammed with people and restless, noisy and tired children, I finally got to the counter, a little past 4PM, only to hear from a very upset officer that he was not going to talk to me. That was exactly what he said: "I'm not even supposed to talk to you unless you come with your husband." Only after showing unprecedented persistence, I got him to answer a few questions, but I left the office with a bugging feeling of hopelessly lost time, which was not in my power to rewind and rewrite anew.

As if the sexist humiliation of the last trip was not enough - this time I had to listen to a patronising lecture on the Malaysian law, just because I dared to question the reasons behind some of the regulations. The officer explained that Vishen had to come along so that he could personally confirm his consent to live with me. With a faint air of irritation (have to admit to that sin, although I was more than reserved in expressing my displeasure), I asked: "Isn't the fact that he is married to me a sufficient proof of his consent to live with me?" That was my biggest mistake of the day! This remark ticked off the officer and pushed him to the edge. It took a while to get back to the question at hand - extension of my wife's visa. But the officer refused to talk to me or even acknowledge my presence with the persistency unobserved in his professional transactions.

Well, the day had a Hollywood ending after all - I got my passport stamped (after paying an awful fine for not extending my last visa on time, as I happened to spend last year studying in UK, and did not bother to come back to Malaysia for that matter). This was my 8th Malaysian visa so far, and the encouraging news is that in 5 months we have to go through the same process again, only to get another half a year covered. There is no end to this process, at least none predictable. There are thousands of wives, some of them from Europe and the USA, who had spent 10, 15 or 20 years in Malaysia, have citizen-children with their citizen-husbands and still no permanent residency permit (like the green card in America). And the cherry on top is that the wife's visa comes without the right of employment. A cheery prospect, isn't it?

A little humor and philosohpy, however, go a long way. Such insults and humiliation, if nothing else, at least teach acceptance and patience. These are a few very useful qualities for an adventurous and restless person.