You don't realize how tangible our borders are and how limited our freedom of movement is until you try crossing those borders yourself.

I grew up in Canada, where I was led to believe that in our modern world we’re free to travel and live internationally as we see fit. In the end I've found that global mobility is actually a privilege saved for the most fortunate members of our society.

Right now I’m in the process of filing for a Fiancée Visa that will hopefully give me permission to enter the United States and marry the love of my life. We've been dating for nearly three and a half years while navigating border crossings, multiple trips through secondary inspection, countless consecutive months spent in separation (aka teeth-grinding levels of sexual frustration), and the highs and lows of a long-distance relationship in flux.

The only thing I want in this world is the simple joy of being able to wake up next to my partner every morning; you don't realize how precious the small moments are until you aren’t allowed to have them. The government gets to decide whether or not our relationship is “real” and if we’re allowed to stay together, and bureaucrats having that amount of direct control over my love-life is terrifying.

A little backstory:

We met at a quiet guesthouse on the shores of Otres Beach, Cambodia. After some confusion over whether or not my traveling companion was my boyfriend (he wasn't) we hit it off in a big way and were inseparable for 6 weeks on a beachfront paradise. Eventually like any other backpacker romance we were forced to part ways and go home to different countries.
In trying to plan a sweet rendezvous we realized it's virtually impossible to work legally as a Canadian in the US, or as an American in Canada, without meeting exceptionally strict educational and bureaucratic requirements. Hopes of being together dashed but not abandoned, we traveled to each others cities as tourists to visit while figuring out where and how we’d be able to live together again. We settled on returning to Cambodia, where their slack visa-renewal requirements would allow us to vacation together as long as our hearts desired.

Ironically, hanging out in Asia because it was the only place we could be together long-term is the thing that might keep us from ever living together again.

When you apply for work or immigration visas, most governments ask you to produce clean police records from all countries you’ve lived in for more than 6 months after you turned 16.

Problem: My fiancé and I spent 7 consecutive months in Cambodia as tourists.

As travelers we didn’t hold leases or any meaningful ties to the country – and as it turns out, you need proof of having lived in a country in order to get a police check done there.

Here I am floating in a catch 22 grey-area abyss of bureaucratic doom.

I can’t enter the US without a clean rap sheet from Cambodia, but I also don’t qualify to get one in the first place. An affidavit of my inability to qualify for the certificate is the life-vest I wear, hoping that an explanation of the circumstances will help border officials understand the situation.

What other hoops do I have to jump through to win the right to marry the person I love?
I have to fly from Vancouver to Montréal for an interview at the consulate, have a full physical performed by the only doctor certified to issue the results in my city (cha-ching!), prove I won’t become a burden on social services by providing three years of tax returns, and sacrifice one goat during a lunar eclipse while vowing to give up my first-born son to the immigration Gods.

Well, I don’t actually have to sacrifice livestock – but it does feel a lot like I have to sacrifice myself.

This isn’t to say I don’t understand the importance of security and thoughtfully considered immigration law. The threat of violence and terrorism is real, and I’m fortunate to live in a wonderful and secure country where I hardly ever feel threatened by random acts of violence. Marriage fraud is regularly committed to gain residency for people from less-fortunate countries as well. I was once offered $20,000 to marry someone and bring them into Canada, so I know the struggle is real – but that’s a story for another day.

In the meantime, those of us who are genuinely in it for love and want nothing more than to be with our partners suffer – alone. I’m quarantined in my own country until my visa's granted approval, exclaiming “We’re Engaged!” about my relationship with a man who’s 898 miles away. Hopefully all the pieces fall into place and one day I’ll be fortunate enough to share another sunrise with the man who stole my heart on Otres beach.

You don’t realize how lucky you are to be with the ones you love until the decision of whether or not you get to be together rests in someone else’s hands.

Wish us luck!

sharksnax

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