Thursday morning, admist packing for a weekend trip to Vaxjo (home of Johan and Sofia), I checked my email. Checking my email has become an obsession lately. I click that "enter" button on my gmail account and just pray that someone is about to tell me they want ME to work for them, that someone is finally going to decide my near future for me.
Sadly, my inbox is usually pretty empty of job-related matter. But Thursday morning, I had an email from the Intensity School of English in Rybnik, Poland. The subject line was "Interview".
My stomach dropped when I saw that word - it could only mean one thing! And, indeed, upon opening the email, my suspicious were confirmed. They wanted to have a phone interview with me at 8 PM that night. All I needed to do was confirm the time with them and send them the number of a landline on which they could reach me.
The five hour drive down to Vaxjo (pronounced Veh-qua), was a happy ride. It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day, and we were back on the road, listening to music, and high on the possibility of things actually working out. ("Working out" has gradually come to mean getting a job teaching English in a nearby Eastern European country, since Sweden is an impossibility.) I'd be in Poland, Bjorn would be in Sweden, and we could easily see each other every two or three weeks. We'd just be a two hour plane ride away from each other and in the same time zone!
The day passed, and after dinner, Johan, Sofia, Bjorn, and I, all got in the car and drove a short distance to Sofia's father's office, the site of the confirmed landline where my interviewer would reach me. I sat in the small office, behind a huge l-shaped desk, for about twenty minutes, feeling giddy and nervous, and waiting for the damned phone to ring.
At 8:01 PM, the phone finally rang. Jason Michaels, from the Intensity School of English, introduced himself briefly, and the interview began. There was no small talk, no getting to know you conversation, no warm up. Just straight to the questions, the first awful one being "Why Poland?" Well, I'm an honesty girl, perhaps because I'm no good at lying, so I don't even bother trying. And it probably wasn't the right thing to do in the situation, but I told him that it frankly had a lot to do with my relationship. I told him I knew that I wanted to teach English this year, and the location really wasn't that important to me, but if I could be somewhere close to Sweden, that would be ideal. (I'm cringing as I write this - are you?)
The next question was: What qualities do you think you have that would make you a good teacher? I answered that one pretty well, I think, but this interview was already not going well. I was so thrown off by the way the conversation started (or didn't start) that my pre-interview nervousness was quadrupled. My voice was shaking ever so slightly as I spoke, and words - common, every day words, like school or happy - just vanished from my head as I tried to form sentences. I could not speak properly to save my life.
"Okay, let's now do a little exercise," Jason said, after he'd asked his first two (and only two) slightly personal questions. "I'm going to give you a word, and I want you to imagine you are teaching this word to a class of beginner English learners. I want you to define the word and use it in a sentence. The first word is the verb "cause"."
This just took me to a new level of utter panic and unpreparedness. I was NOT expecting this. I managed to stammer out some kind of definition (though I cannot recollect what on earth I said), but when it came to using it in a sentence, I just couldn't do it. I was trying to think of the most perfect sentence - one that didn't involve any complex verb structures (You can't say "could cause" to a group of beginners because they don't know "could".). I sat silently for a good 10 seconds or so before Jason Michaels said, "Okay, let's move on to the next one."
Good Jesus. Please make this interview end.
Jason Michaels' fun little word game did get a little better (a little better meaning I was at least able to say something). But he, of course, chose all confusing words - wise, compare, proud, should. Given a little time and a piece of paper, I could beautifully define these words for a group of beginners. I could probably even use them in a sentence! But in this situation...it wasn't ideal, to say the least.
We then moved into what seemed like a short grammar quiz: Do you know what a gerund is? Can you explain the difference between quick and quickly? How would you explain the difference between look and see? Can you identify the verb in the sentence, "Teaching is fun."? Um, LOOK, Jason Michaels. I am NOT an idiot, and I have had just about enough of this!
Finally, probably about 10 minutes after the phone rang, Jason Michaels told me that he was finished with "his" part of the "interview". Did I have any questions? I managed to fill up probably another ten minutes with questions, which may have redeemed me somewhat - my voice finally leveled out, and I had prepared some excellent questions, if I do say so. When I was finished, Jason Michaels informed me that they'd be making decisions in two weeks, and they'd let me know. And it was over.
As we drove back to Johan and Sofia's apartment, I just felt wretched. I felt angry, embarrassed, stupid, and amused, all at once. How did I manage to blow this ONE opportunity I was presented with? HOW? And HOW could that have been the interview? They didn't try to get to know me at all! Do they not care about personality or fit? Do they just want someone who knows what a gerund is? And hmmm, come to think of it, damnit! I completely screwed up the definition of a gerund. Ellen! I don't want to work at stupid Jason Michaels' school, anyway! He wasn't even nice! He didn't even speak English as a native language!
Yes, yes. Lessons learned. I know, I'll never be this unprepared again. Or this caught off guard. And every interview is a learning experience. Yadda yadda. But it was awful. And really weird. The next day, I woke up and thought, "Did that REALLY happen?"
And I'm probably overreacting. I probably didn't do nearly as badly as I thought I did. In the back of my head, I keep thinking that this is going to be one of those terrible ironies of life, where they come back in two weeks and offer me the job! Probably not, though.
I have come face to face with a major personality flaw of mine. I am terrible at failing. I'm terrible at rejection. I won't try to do unrealistic things, things that I'm certain won't work out for me. One bad interview makes me think perhaps I'm being ridiculous for thinking I could get a teaching job, let alone be good at it. One bad interview! So I'm conjuring up spirits of friends who are persisitent and motivated and positive, and I'm pushing ahead. We shall see.
Hope you are all well! Much love.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Photos!
Here are photos from the first few weeks in Sweden. Enjoy!
http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Friday, June 12, 2009
Sweet Sweden
When we flew in to Stockholm two weeks ago, our plane was coming from Vienna, so we were flying due north, straight up the east coast of Sweden. I was very lucky that day; I had the good fortune of being seated by the window, and the skies were clear blue. My first view of Sweden was an excellent one.
Sometimes I think that travelling as much as I have this year has made me less appreciative of the things I see. You see one glacier, you've seen them all. You hear one funny accent, you've heard them all. It's not that you don't enjoy the nuances of the country you're visiting, but you have less of the culture-shocked-wow-everything-is-soooo-different-than-home feeling.
However, as we made our final descent into Sweden that day, I was just postively drooling over the watery landscape below me. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this!" I kept saying to Bjorn. "I mean, seriously!" When you see other coastlines, there's a pretty definitely line drawn between water and land, but the east coast of Sweden is a bizarre mix of water and land. There is really no definite coast at all, in fact. Inland, there are huge, sprawling lakes, and as your eye moves farther out towards the sea, the land just sort of starts to disintegrate. Hundreds of tiny islands break off into the ocean, scattering pieces of brown and green and gold throughout the blue. Looking at the land of Sweden from the sky, it's impossible to convince yourself that it really is land at all. Water, water, everywhere.
Bjorn grew up in the country, about 15 minutes outside of a town called Strangnas, population 22,000. Strangnas is located about an hour west of Stockholm, and is situated on a sort of peninsula that juts out into the huge Lake Malaren. Bjorn's father lives in the house Bjorn grew up in, a charming ranch-style house, built in the traditional Swedish style - wooden siding, painted red, with white trim on the shutters. I thought perhaps that this style was something of a stereotype of Sweden, but in fact, practically all of the houses in the country are like this.
The land is incredibly flat in this part of the country, and when we drive from Bjorn's mother Siv's flat, in the town of Strangnas proper, out to his father Rolf's, I always feel like I might as well be in Iowa or Wisconsin. I've never been to either of those places, but I'm pretty sure they look Sweden. Field after field of deep green, spotted with these gorgeous red houses.
The only thing that reminds you that you're in Sweden is the churches. Magnificent brick cathedrals, remnants of the 13th and 14th century are everywhere. The main church in Strangnas was built in 1250. How crazy is that! Right in the middle of this tiny town is a giant relic. We actually attended mass there on Sunday, and since the service was in Swedish and my mind was in lala land, I constantly found myself gazing up at the magnificent ceilings, painted with sprawling Bible scenes, and marvelling at the mass of the red brick pillars holding the whole place up. How did they do this in 1250!? However it was done, I think it's so wonderful to have something like this - something that has been the center of your town for its entire existence. Something that you can be certain that your great, great, great, great, great grandparents saw. Some reminder of the past.
Bjorn is the second of three boys. He has an older brother, Johan (pronounced Yowahn), who is 28, and a younger brother, Tomas, who is 20. Johan has just finished his second year of university, studying political science, in a town about four hours south of here, and Tomas is working at a retirement home in Strangnas and trying to get himself accepted into medical school to start in the fall. (They roll the bachelor's degree in the actual MD together into one long program here.)
Bjorn's parents have been incredibly welcoming and accpeting of me. Bjorn's mother speaks very good English, and though his father's is a bit rusty, he tries very hard, which I appreciate. I cannot imagine trying to get to know them without being able to communicate at all. I have felt right at home, in both of their homes, from day one. Bjorn's mother, Siv, is about the sweetest woman I've ever met, incredibly doting on both Bjorn and I. She is a dental hygenist in Strangnas, and has a little bike that she rides to work on nice days. Bjorn's dad, Rolf, is an electrician, and his best friend is Douglass, the crazy Labrador-Jack Russell mix of a dog who rules the roost out there in the country.
Bjorn's paternal grandparents, Borge (pronounced Bore-yeh) and Ella live on the same piece of land as his dad, and they, on the other hand, speak no English. We have had many meetings with them (they have a way of wanderng into the house without knocking quite a lot), and though I can tell they like me, we cannot communicate without Bjorn. They seem to have no real understanding of the fact that I don't speak Sweidsh, though, and always just start talking at me, looking at me very intensely, wondering why I don't immediately respond to them. The Swedish names for grandfather and grandmother are farfar and farmor, which I think is just the greatest thing ever. Farfar has even told me that I can call him farfar, which makes me so happy. FARFAR!
Farfar is quite a character. He's 86, and he always gets right up in my face, as if to tell me something very important. He's constantly warning me about Swedish men and begging me to sing something for him (since Bjorn informed him that I could sing - Bjorn!). There's an old wood-working shed on the property, which has been around since the 1700s, I believe. Last week farfar took me on a tour of the shed, and we must have stayed in there for an hour, as he picked up practically every little thing in there and explained to me how it worked.
Farfar and farmor regularly invite us over for "fica", a Swedish tradition I have grown very fond of. Fica is something like afternoon tea - everyone gathers around 4 PM for coffee and cinnamon rolls or cookies or cake. It isn't exactly a formal affair, but it does feel a bit like a fourth meal. Plates are set around the table and everyone is expected to sit and eat and chat for about an hour. Bjorn and I, along with Johan and his girlfriend Sofia (who were up visiting for a few days) went down to fica with farfar and farmor the other day, and I was FORCED (forced! I am serious) into eating a cinnamon roll, a piece of chocolate cake with homemade whipping cream, and several pieces of chocolate candy. Farfar, I can eat no more! But the box of chocolates just came around again. It was quite funny. And everytime we go to farfar and farmor's, they are constantly walking around the house, picking up old photos and knick-knacks, and bringing them over to tell me about them. No matter that farfar showed me his 1986 fishing championship trophy the day before! I will get to see it again! It's incredibly endearing.
So, despite the fact that Sweden does not seem to want me to stay here and work, I have been taken very good care of by Bjorn and his family and am enjoying myself very much. We have spent the greater part of the last two weeks focused on my job search, and while I still have nothing positive to say about that, I am pushing forward! It is becoming more clear that getting a work permit here is going to be impossible for me, so I am trying to think through my options.
But I promised Bjorn I would write my blog today and not get bogged down in job searching, so I will not go into that any further!
I hope everyone is well. I will post some new pictures soon...
Much love to you all!
Sometimes I think that travelling as much as I have this year has made me less appreciative of the things I see. You see one glacier, you've seen them all. You hear one funny accent, you've heard them all. It's not that you don't enjoy the nuances of the country you're visiting, but you have less of the culture-shocked-wow-everything-is-soooo-different-than-home feeling.
However, as we made our final descent into Sweden that day, I was just postively drooling over the watery landscape below me. "I don't think I've ever seen anything like this!" I kept saying to Bjorn. "I mean, seriously!" When you see other coastlines, there's a pretty definitely line drawn between water and land, but the east coast of Sweden is a bizarre mix of water and land. There is really no definite coast at all, in fact. Inland, there are huge, sprawling lakes, and as your eye moves farther out towards the sea, the land just sort of starts to disintegrate. Hundreds of tiny islands break off into the ocean, scattering pieces of brown and green and gold throughout the blue. Looking at the land of Sweden from the sky, it's impossible to convince yourself that it really is land at all. Water, water, everywhere.
Bjorn grew up in the country, about 15 minutes outside of a town called Strangnas, population 22,000. Strangnas is located about an hour west of Stockholm, and is situated on a sort of peninsula that juts out into the huge Lake Malaren. Bjorn's father lives in the house Bjorn grew up in, a charming ranch-style house, built in the traditional Swedish style - wooden siding, painted red, with white trim on the shutters. I thought perhaps that this style was something of a stereotype of Sweden, but in fact, practically all of the houses in the country are like this.
The land is incredibly flat in this part of the country, and when we drive from Bjorn's mother Siv's flat, in the town of Strangnas proper, out to his father Rolf's, I always feel like I might as well be in Iowa or Wisconsin. I've never been to either of those places, but I'm pretty sure they look Sweden. Field after field of deep green, spotted with these gorgeous red houses.
The only thing that reminds you that you're in Sweden is the churches. Magnificent brick cathedrals, remnants of the 13th and 14th century are everywhere. The main church in Strangnas was built in 1250. How crazy is that! Right in the middle of this tiny town is a giant relic. We actually attended mass there on Sunday, and since the service was in Swedish and my mind was in lala land, I constantly found myself gazing up at the magnificent ceilings, painted with sprawling Bible scenes, and marvelling at the mass of the red brick pillars holding the whole place up. How did they do this in 1250!? However it was done, I think it's so wonderful to have something like this - something that has been the center of your town for its entire existence. Something that you can be certain that your great, great, great, great, great grandparents saw. Some reminder of the past.
Bjorn is the second of three boys. He has an older brother, Johan (pronounced Yowahn), who is 28, and a younger brother, Tomas, who is 20. Johan has just finished his second year of university, studying political science, in a town about four hours south of here, and Tomas is working at a retirement home in Strangnas and trying to get himself accepted into medical school to start in the fall. (They roll the bachelor's degree in the actual MD together into one long program here.)
Bjorn's parents have been incredibly welcoming and accpeting of me. Bjorn's mother speaks very good English, and though his father's is a bit rusty, he tries very hard, which I appreciate. I cannot imagine trying to get to know them without being able to communicate at all. I have felt right at home, in both of their homes, from day one. Bjorn's mother, Siv, is about the sweetest woman I've ever met, incredibly doting on both Bjorn and I. She is a dental hygenist in Strangnas, and has a little bike that she rides to work on nice days. Bjorn's dad, Rolf, is an electrician, and his best friend is Douglass, the crazy Labrador-Jack Russell mix of a dog who rules the roost out there in the country.
Bjorn's paternal grandparents, Borge (pronounced Bore-yeh) and Ella live on the same piece of land as his dad, and they, on the other hand, speak no English. We have had many meetings with them (they have a way of wanderng into the house without knocking quite a lot), and though I can tell they like me, we cannot communicate without Bjorn. They seem to have no real understanding of the fact that I don't speak Sweidsh, though, and always just start talking at me, looking at me very intensely, wondering why I don't immediately respond to them. The Swedish names for grandfather and grandmother are farfar and farmor, which I think is just the greatest thing ever. Farfar has even told me that I can call him farfar, which makes me so happy. FARFAR!
Farfar is quite a character. He's 86, and he always gets right up in my face, as if to tell me something very important. He's constantly warning me about Swedish men and begging me to sing something for him (since Bjorn informed him that I could sing - Bjorn!). There's an old wood-working shed on the property, which has been around since the 1700s, I believe. Last week farfar took me on a tour of the shed, and we must have stayed in there for an hour, as he picked up practically every little thing in there and explained to me how it worked.
Farfar and farmor regularly invite us over for "fica", a Swedish tradition I have grown very fond of. Fica is something like afternoon tea - everyone gathers around 4 PM for coffee and cinnamon rolls or cookies or cake. It isn't exactly a formal affair, but it does feel a bit like a fourth meal. Plates are set around the table and everyone is expected to sit and eat and chat for about an hour. Bjorn and I, along with Johan and his girlfriend Sofia (who were up visiting for a few days) went down to fica with farfar and farmor the other day, and I was FORCED (forced! I am serious) into eating a cinnamon roll, a piece of chocolate cake with homemade whipping cream, and several pieces of chocolate candy. Farfar, I can eat no more! But the box of chocolates just came around again. It was quite funny. And everytime we go to farfar and farmor's, they are constantly walking around the house, picking up old photos and knick-knacks, and bringing them over to tell me about them. No matter that farfar showed me his 1986 fishing championship trophy the day before! I will get to see it again! It's incredibly endearing.
So, despite the fact that Sweden does not seem to want me to stay here and work, I have been taken very good care of by Bjorn and his family and am enjoying myself very much. We have spent the greater part of the last two weeks focused on my job search, and while I still have nothing positive to say about that, I am pushing forward! It is becoming more clear that getting a work permit here is going to be impossible for me, so I am trying to think through my options.
But I promised Bjorn I would write my blog today and not get bogged down in job searching, so I will not go into that any further!
I hope everyone is well. I will post some new pictures soon...
Much love to you all!
Monday, June 1, 2009
Invisible Lines, But Real
When we checked in at the Austrian Air counter in Bangkok, eager to receive the boarding passes that would take us to Stockholm, a delicate question was posed to me. When was I returning to the States? You don’t have a return ticket? What is the purpose of your trip to Sweden?
I flushed. I stuttered. I stood open-mouthed and turned to Bjorn, whose expression had also turned to confusion and worry. Well, I said, I don’t have a ticket, but I’m just going to visit Sweden for a couple of months. No, of course, I’m not planning to overstay my tourist visa’s three month allowance. Just visiting Bjorn here’s family!
The woman frowned at me, then, distracted by another service representative, she turned away. I don’t know if she forgot her line of questioning or if she decided it wasn’t worth it, but when she came back to me, she smiled, handed me my boarding passes, and told me to have a nice trip.
We walked away from the counter, feeling like we’d just dodged some heart-bursting bullet, but also feeling incredibly stupid. Here we’d been, all these months, dreaming of this master plan to go to Sweden. Bjorn would start school in August in Gothenburg, and I’d spend the summer finding a job there, preferably teaching ESL. Sure, it would be tricky, there would be obstacles, but it would work out. Of course it would!
We sat down in a restaurant and ordered two beers with our remaining Thai money, and suddenly, the difficulty of the path ahead hit us. I stared at the sterile, white, tile floor and watched one miserable scenario after another come to life. I’d get stopped at customs in Stockholm, grilled about my intentions, and then promptly put on a plane to the United States. We don’t want you here, they’d say. What, were you trying to sneak in?
We discussed strategy. Is it better to just lie? To say I’m just here visiting? Or should I go with the honesty policy and just hope for the best? Surely they can’t refuse me entry to the country because I don’t have a return ticket, can they? Couldn’t I be doing a tour of Europe?
I decided that, when questioned, I’d be charming. I’d giggle and roll my eyes and tell them that my boyfriend was trying to get me to move to Sweden so I was coming to investigate. Get a job and stay? Well, I’d say, I suppose it’s a possibility, but we certainly haven’t gotten that far yet! We’ve been in New Zealand for eight months, you understand. We haven’t made any plans yet!
When we had to go through passport control in Vienna, Bjorn and I were forced into separate lines. The fast line, for EU citizens, and the slow line for non EU citizens. I know it sounds silly to say that I have just, in the last few days, fully understood that Bjorn and I are from different countries, but as I stood in that line, watching Bjorn pass quickly through the EU line, I felt my status as an outsider. I’m not a member of this EU club, and if this stern-looking man behind the glass decides to not let me through, that’s his call. This man, these invisible lines between countries, could keep me from something as everyday as my relationship. How is it possible that I could be separated from the person I have spent practically every minute of the last 9 months with?
Luckily, I was overly worried, and when I was finally invited to the glass window, the stern-faced man merely looked at my passport and ticket, asked me if I was going to Sweden, and hearing me reply in the affirmative, handed my things back to me and waved me on. And when we finally landed in Stockholm, we walked straight out of the airport without even having to have our passports looked at! We had made it.
My mom once told me that in reality, love doesn’t conquer all. It’s a nice thought and all, but some things can simply put too much stress on love. As I’ve begun to research work visas and residency visas and job opportunities, I have been reminded of this. This is not to say that I think my relationship is any danger but just that I am now aware – sadly aware – of just how hard this is going to be. In order to apply for a work visa here, you have to first have a written job offer, and once you have that job offer, you have to apply for the work visa from your country of origin. Once that application is in process, you are not allowed to enter Sweden, and the turnaround time for a work permit is usually 2-3 months. You must have the work visa attached to your passport BEFORE you enter the country. What I think that means (and perhaps I shouldn’t just to too many conclusions just yet) is that I can search for jobs while I am here and go to interviews, but as soon as I actually have that job offer, I have to return to the States until my permit has been approved.
It seems so lame to me, so limiting, really, that there are such stiff rules. The world is not at all encouraging of international romance. It’s so hard to understand how a country could not want to encourage this relationship that has been so good for me. Aren’t I the center of this universe, anyway? Ha.
Despite all of this, I am optimistic. And for the moment, I just want to enjoy this time. Bjorn and I are fighting off the gloom and doom thoughts with our greatest energy. Things will work out. I know they will. But trying times are ahead.
All apologies for the Negative Nancy entry here. I’ll write about all of the unbelievably good and happy things that have been happening since our arrival in another day or two. Bad news first, you know!
And…here are some more photos from Thailand. http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Hope everyone is well and enjoying the start of summer! Love to you all.
I flushed. I stuttered. I stood open-mouthed and turned to Bjorn, whose expression had also turned to confusion and worry. Well, I said, I don’t have a ticket, but I’m just going to visit Sweden for a couple of months. No, of course, I’m not planning to overstay my tourist visa’s three month allowance. Just visiting Bjorn here’s family!
The woman frowned at me, then, distracted by another service representative, she turned away. I don’t know if she forgot her line of questioning or if she decided it wasn’t worth it, but when she came back to me, she smiled, handed me my boarding passes, and told me to have a nice trip.
We walked away from the counter, feeling like we’d just dodged some heart-bursting bullet, but also feeling incredibly stupid. Here we’d been, all these months, dreaming of this master plan to go to Sweden. Bjorn would start school in August in Gothenburg, and I’d spend the summer finding a job there, preferably teaching ESL. Sure, it would be tricky, there would be obstacles, but it would work out. Of course it would!
We sat down in a restaurant and ordered two beers with our remaining Thai money, and suddenly, the difficulty of the path ahead hit us. I stared at the sterile, white, tile floor and watched one miserable scenario after another come to life. I’d get stopped at customs in Stockholm, grilled about my intentions, and then promptly put on a plane to the United States. We don’t want you here, they’d say. What, were you trying to sneak in?
We discussed strategy. Is it better to just lie? To say I’m just here visiting? Or should I go with the honesty policy and just hope for the best? Surely they can’t refuse me entry to the country because I don’t have a return ticket, can they? Couldn’t I be doing a tour of Europe?
I decided that, when questioned, I’d be charming. I’d giggle and roll my eyes and tell them that my boyfriend was trying to get me to move to Sweden so I was coming to investigate. Get a job and stay? Well, I’d say, I suppose it’s a possibility, but we certainly haven’t gotten that far yet! We’ve been in New Zealand for eight months, you understand. We haven’t made any plans yet!
When we had to go through passport control in Vienna, Bjorn and I were forced into separate lines. The fast line, for EU citizens, and the slow line for non EU citizens. I know it sounds silly to say that I have just, in the last few days, fully understood that Bjorn and I are from different countries, but as I stood in that line, watching Bjorn pass quickly through the EU line, I felt my status as an outsider. I’m not a member of this EU club, and if this stern-looking man behind the glass decides to not let me through, that’s his call. This man, these invisible lines between countries, could keep me from something as everyday as my relationship. How is it possible that I could be separated from the person I have spent practically every minute of the last 9 months with?
Luckily, I was overly worried, and when I was finally invited to the glass window, the stern-faced man merely looked at my passport and ticket, asked me if I was going to Sweden, and hearing me reply in the affirmative, handed my things back to me and waved me on. And when we finally landed in Stockholm, we walked straight out of the airport without even having to have our passports looked at! We had made it.
My mom once told me that in reality, love doesn’t conquer all. It’s a nice thought and all, but some things can simply put too much stress on love. As I’ve begun to research work visas and residency visas and job opportunities, I have been reminded of this. This is not to say that I think my relationship is any danger but just that I am now aware – sadly aware – of just how hard this is going to be. In order to apply for a work visa here, you have to first have a written job offer, and once you have that job offer, you have to apply for the work visa from your country of origin. Once that application is in process, you are not allowed to enter Sweden, and the turnaround time for a work permit is usually 2-3 months. You must have the work visa attached to your passport BEFORE you enter the country. What I think that means (and perhaps I shouldn’t just to too many conclusions just yet) is that I can search for jobs while I am here and go to interviews, but as soon as I actually have that job offer, I have to return to the States until my permit has been approved.
It seems so lame to me, so limiting, really, that there are such stiff rules. The world is not at all encouraging of international romance. It’s so hard to understand how a country could not want to encourage this relationship that has been so good for me. Aren’t I the center of this universe, anyway? Ha.
Despite all of this, I am optimistic. And for the moment, I just want to enjoy this time. Bjorn and I are fighting off the gloom and doom thoughts with our greatest energy. Things will work out. I know they will. But trying times are ahead.
All apologies for the Negative Nancy entry here. I’ll write about all of the unbelievably good and happy things that have been happening since our arrival in another day or two. Bad news first, you know!
And…here are some more photos from Thailand. http://picasaweb.google.com/ellen.bucy
Hope everyone is well and enjoying the start of summer! Love to you all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)