90 minutes of American soil

Our agenda yesterday was to visit the US Embassy to apply for my permanent residency. Dressed up in a suit for the first time since the wedding, we first visited our lawyer’s office to pick up the documents. We bathroom-hop our ways to Akasaka, and arrive at the gate of the embassy at 14:15. There were about 20 people lined up for the entry, but with our appointment ticket, we are immediately at the top of the line. Going through the security much tighter than Narita Airport, we go inside and were given a number.

The first step of this application is to submit necessary documents, and answer a few questions regarding our marital status. The stress level kept rising when we were told us to sit and to arrange all documents in exact order listed on a piece of paper until the number is called. Shuffling through 40 pages of letter-sized paper, our number 047 was called.

So it was our turn. We are here to apply for, so called “green card”. As our lawyer did not elaborate on what the interview was going to be like and what kind of question will be asked, our only reference was the 1990 Peter Weir film. We know we have been married for 15 months, and hopefully forever. We just have to prove that to the government. So, we rented and watched it again, and then, we prepared a set of likely questions to be asked, 3 pages long, and we quizzed each other. That’s how prepared we wanted to be.

We go up to the booth 3, which reminds me of a bank teller ‘s counter. Shoving documents through the narrow slot, we answer a few non-threatening questions and were told to be seated and wait to be called again. Taking a deep breath and finally got my eye sight back. I looked around to find other couples, some searching for documents in their backpack, and others explaining the situation to the officer loudly with arm-throwing gestures, while their Japanese wife quietly standing next to this performance.  Seeing these reminded me how prepared we were; it definitely was worth spending a couple months reviewing documents with our lawyer.

We sat and waited for 45 years, hoping that our interviewer will not question us. No. 047 was called, and we are told that today’s interview will mostly directed to the petitioner. Sahe’s facial expression disappears and her voice becomes tone-less. She comfortably answers the first question, “when and where did you get married?”, but the interviewer questions her reply. He pointed out our document stated the year of marriage as 2010 instead of 2009. Here goes our few months of preparation down the drain. Luckily he was able to amend the date and the rest of the interview was fine, but of all things we could have written wrong, it was one date that we swore on. 

At the end of the interview, he congratulated us on passing the first part of the process, explained the next procedure, and we were back in Japan. A pint of Kilkenny and a shandygaff definitely helped us to wash down all worries, and never tasted better.