I'm an Immigrant

I'm trying to figure out the routine thing. Luca's got one. He naps at the same time every day, eats at the same time. It's incredibly hard to fit in my own time in between his routine. But now that we've been in Rome for a week (post vacation) it's time to figure out how to split time with Lorenzo. Currently we are doing things at random. A little work here and there, at least one trip each day to some municipal office to put together a piece of the citizenship/residency puzzle, some shopping or a walk; all fit in between feedings and naps of course.

The residency puzzle has been an interesting eye opener to Italian bureaucracy. While in the states we had to complete some paperwork to transfer our marriage to Italy. We completed the packet and sent it off to the consulate in San Francisco. San Francisco then sent it to the municipal office here. We went to the office to check on the status of the paperwork. We stood outside of a door that said, "please for the privacy of others wait outside." But we didn't know if someone was inside. We saw another woman waiting and she told us there was one person inside. Good to know. Once that woman left, we entered the empty office. There was one desk by the door and a table by the window with a messy pile of papers stacked on top. We gave the woman our names. In Italy, since 1975, it has become illegal to take your husband's last name. This makes the name on my official documents a little complicated. They couldn't figure out which was my first name and which was my last.

Once we made it through the correction process the woman got up from the computer. She walked over to the table by the window. My jaw dropped as I saw her begin to dig through the pile of papers. I guess the whole idea of organized filing systems didn't make it to Italy. It will come into fashion just as paper finally makes it's exit in the states and everything becomes electronic. Luckily, since we had sent the paperwork in rather recently, she was able to find it close to the top of the pile. I hate to think about what would have happened if we didn't show up in person.

We are now officially married in Italy. That was just one piece. Now we have to go to the immigration office (an hours drive) and be prepared to wait in line with the other one hundred immigrants, to process the next chunk of paperwork.

I'm an immigrant. The minister of education decided that there are too many immigrant kids in the schools. They want to limit the number of immigrants to 30%. People don't like immigrants. Most have never been one. I wish they knew how isolating it could be. I wish they understood that some people have no choice. I dohave a choice. I can leave whenever I want.

So people, even if they don't speak your language, I implore you to be nice to immigrants. They might be pumping your gas, but that doesn't mean they don't also have a PHD. They might frustrate you when they hold up the grocery line because the cashier asks them a question they don't understand, but they don't like it either.

And after their embarrassment settles, they might even go home and write about it in a blog.