Welcome back – the return of Mr Mack
Disclaimer: writing this column was an emotional process.
In all seriousness, it might be confronting/triggering for some people, particularly anyone who has been in a situation similar to the one I’m about to describe. Anyway, let’s begin, shall we? Back in the Dark Ages (also known as 1996), English R&B singer Mark Morrison released Return of the Mack.
With one of the most repetitive choruses ever conceived, it unsurprisingly rose to No.1 on the UK Singles Chart.
All right, enough with the musical history lesson.
But any ideas why I chose to start this column by talking about it?
Yup, you guessed it: I’m back. Batten down the hatches and lock the doors. But there’s a difference this time than previous absences: it wasn’t of my choosing.
Long story short, my student visa had expired, and though I had applied for a work visa several weeks earlier, I was awaiting the arrival of the results of my FBI background check (I’ve never been arrested, I swear) so my visa could be assessed.
I thought getting the document would be a simple matter. I was wrong. I had a gut feeling there might be a problem when I applied for my background check in January, and noticed a note on the FBI website saying results could take 13 to 15 weeks to obtain.
The feeling kept gnawing at me for weeks, until I finally told my immigration adviser and I received an interim visa to take effect when my student visa expired on March 31.
But my interim visa did not allow for me to work.
It was a typical morning in The Southland Times newsroom when my editor asked if I could come into her office.
She told me the situation. It was the first time in my life I had ever been stunned into silence.
I then did something I’ve never done in public before. I cried. I was still in tears when I walked back into the newsroom. Not a sound could be heard except for my sobbing.
It seemed my dream of living in New Zealand – a dream I’d had since I was a small child, a dream that I’d left behind my friends, family, and good job in Germany for, and that somehow by some small miracle had come true – had been shattered. Wherever I was going to next, it wouldn’t be in New Zealand.
That same day, I did something I hadn’t done in four years: I called my family in Oregon. I spoke slowly. ‘‘I need you to listen to what I’m about to say. There’s a chance I might be leaving New Zealand soon.’’ But it was not the end. To make another long story short, an emergency call to the US Embassy directed me to a Chicago-based company that specialises in obtaining background check results in a matter of days rather than weeks or months.
They were able to do just that, and roughly a week after I rang them had my results handdelivered to me at my Invercargill flat.
I emailed the results to my immigration adviser, and the very next day I had a new work visa that I’m happy to say is valid for several years.
Whew. When I say these last couple of weeks have been the hardest of my life, I’m not kidding.
But what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right? During my exile, I’ve been blown away by the lengths to which people in New Zealand – and Southland specifically – have gone to offer support.
It’s been difficult to process but, more than that, it’s been incredible to see that people actually care, and seem to want me to be a part of their community.
It’s a strange feeling, for sure. If I were to name everyone I want to thank, the list could literally go on to the point it would take readers several minutes to read it all.
So I’ll just offer a single, collective message. Thank you. You know who you are. Now that I’m back in the proverbial saddle, the adventure continues.
Winter is looming and, given my famous aversion to any temperature below 40 degrees Celsius, I’m more than a little concerned. Already I walk around in four to five layers, even at home, where temperatures are roughly equivalent to the surface of the sun.
But anyways Southland, I’m back. Let’s give it a go. PS: I apologise in advance to anyone who has to put up with my American-accented braying when standing within a one-kilometre radius of anywhere I am.