Chi-town B.C. (Before Consulate)
Hello fellow midwesterners (and others),
Two things have become very clear to me in the last 24 hours: (1) I have never had to apply for a visa before, and (2) I have never actually been to Chicago before. Dad and I drove the six hours down this afternoon and are currently watching Shark Tank at our hotel near the consulate before my morning appointment tomorrow.
To begin with (1): I didn’t study abroad, and even though I heard other people’s nightmare stories of trying to get a visa, I somehow thought that those kinds of troubles would not apply to me. Not so! In the last day, I’ve had various small freak-outs over: a police clearance certificate (doesn’t seem to be required, and I don’t have time to get one now anyway), passport photos (had to get new ones), a money order (who only accepts money orders?? but catch me at Western Union 8am tomorrow). It’s all of the classic visa issues: the consulate website keeps crashing, the lists of fees and documents are missing or contradictory, I thought I had something which I turned out not to have. All of these are only issues because I continue to be completely avoidant about all things Fulbright and only yesterday did I finally bother to check what documents I would actually need. Yes, I know that was not great planning! and yet! In the end, I brought every document I could think of (including a transcript and my actual diploma).
As for (2), I’ve been to Chicago airports and airport hotels plenty, but never to the city itself. I woke up from my car nap surrounded by the lights of downtown, which is significantly more expansive than the downtowns of the Twin Cities. It’s pretty weird that I’ve never been here before—I think most midwesterners have spent at least a day here. It’s kind of sad, driving through the city, that I can’t actually see or do much. I got freaked out just taking the hotel elevator given reports of COVID transmission from elevators. We’re driving back home tomorrow, but the consulate is just a few blocks away from Millennium Park, so we plan to go there at least. I’ve gotten very comfortable in my lucky little pandemic bubble, and for the first time in a while I’m feeling the loss of life as it was, and the deep dish pizza I might be eating instead of the leftovers we packed with us. Being in a big city makes me think of what life might be outside of my little bedroom in St. Paul, which is probably good preparation for moving to Turkey. I miss the world. I miss dreaming about the future. I miss cities I wasn’t born in. I’m building a little fantasy of living here someday, despite having seen about six whole blocks of the city. I think I’m slowly getting ready to move forward with life.
My parents, on the other hand, are not ready for me to do any of that. My mom cried this morning while packing us up. I found my dad watching The Da Vinci Code at midnight last night (several hours past his bedtime), and he just said, “Oh honey, it’s a hard night.” They haven’t had to get one of us ready for a long-term trip abroad since Tamar was preparing to go to Ecuador in 2012. Neither Liat nor I studied abroad, and my parents seemed very happy with that. When I went to Europe and Morocco two years ago, I spent a long time comforting and reassuring my mother who was completely freaked out. I understand their trauma, and I appreciate that they’re still supportive, but it’s still hard to see how upset they are, and I don’t know how much I owe it to them to manage their emotions.
I put in my 30-days notice with my tutoring company, and I’ve started slowly telling my clients that I’ll be leaving in February. That’s another task I put off until the last minute. Part of what that means, though, is that I’ll be less busy this month with tutoring work. Ideally, I would put that free time into preparing for Turkey, but I fear that it will actually mean becoming untethered from reality without the structure of work. My anxiety cloud of tasks is slowly solidifying into concrete actions—go to Western Union, go to consulate, drive home, email Fulbright Commission—and into more concrete anxieties—what if they want the police clearance report? what if I give my mom elevator COVID? what if someone speaks to me in Turkish? what if they think I’m unprepared?
I’m beginning to suspect that watching four straight hours of Shark Tank does not make one feel at peace.
Catch you tomorrow,
Netta