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| The first time I felt ashamed to be CanadianI recently realized that I only use Xanga now as my place to vent. Sorry to all my readers for having to listen to my gripes. I promise my next entry will be positive and uplifting and thought-provoking. But first ...
Before Talia was born, H and I decided that we would help her obtain both a Canadian and an American passport. Since we wanted to have Talia's visa on her Canadian passport, I e-mailed the Canadian embassy to get all the details and make sure we could get started on the process right after her birth. I received an e-mail back telling me I should make an appointment after her birth.
So after Talia was born, Hamilton called the Canadian embassy for an appointment, but no one answered. He left a message and waited to hear back. In the meanwhile, we figured we might as well go to the American embassy and get that one done while we waited. We looked up their working hours, got Talia's photos done, and went down the next day. The security guards at the front were friendly, helpful, and positively swooning over Talia. When we walked into the office area, there were four windows open and around 15 people waiting to be served. When the next window opened, the lady saw that we were there with an infant and so asked us to come up first, obviously understanding the difficulty of keeping a child waiting. She gave us some forms to fill out, looked over our documents, and told us that we were missing one thing -- since I am not an American, H had to provide an additional document proving that he had lived in the US for over 4 years. It could be a college diploma, a utility bill, etc. but we didn't have any of that here with us. We explained the difficulty of getting such a document, so she told us to wait a few moments and an embassy staff would interview H and make a final decision on the matter. After a few minutes, another lady called H up to a window. She began by congratulating us on Talia's birth, asking which hospital she was born at, how we enjoyed being parents, etc.. Then she asked Hamilton where he was born, where he went to school, how long he had lived in the US, where we met ... and that was it! She filled out a form confirming that H had lived in the US for the required amount of time and we were all done. After 10 days, H went back to the embassy and picked up Talia's passport.
Meanwhile, we had not heard back from the Canadian embassy so H called again several times and left several more messages. No answer. I e-mailed them. Still no answer. Finally, H called the main operator who had no idea about what we needed done, but suggested we come in during open office hours in the mornings. We made the long trek over with Talia, waited in line, and when we finally got to talk to the one person working that day, she told us she cannot process children's passports, that is only done in the afternoons by appointment. We explained how we had been trying to contact someone for the past month, she seemed sympathetic so she took down our number and said someone would call us back within 24 hours to make an appointment. Of course, no one called. So I e-mailed again, this time expressing my frustrations. They finally reply asking me when I wanted to come. I suggested a date, and they replied AFTER that date saying it's no longer available (well of course! it's already passed!), and asking me to suggest another date. I picked August 6 and they replied saying the earliest available date is August 7. Well, why didn't you just say so to begin with? Obviously the people working there are not terribly bright.
So yesterday, we brought Talia to the Canadian embassy once again, handed in all our forms and documents, only to be told that they needed to see my birth certificate, which happens to be in Canada and not here with us, as proof of my Canadian citizenship. "Isn't my passport proof of my citizenship?" I ask. "No, a passport is only a travel document, not proof of citizenship," they reply. What?! Are you telling me that a non-Canadian can obtain a Canadian passport as a travel document?! How is a passport not proof of citizenship? If I need to show my birth certificate in order to obtain my passport in the first place, then shouldn't my passport then logically be proof that I have a birth certificate? Somehow the finer points of logic seem to escape Canadian government officials. And since this lady at the window seemed unable and unempowered to overcome this illogical policy, we had no choice but to leave once again with our mission still unaccomplished.
The contrasts are stark. The US embassy was efficient, seeking to serve their citizens. The Canadian embassy was slow and unhelpful. Who knows why they're even here. The US staff was friendly, understanding, and looking to the spirit and not the letter of the law. The Canadian staff were stiff bureaucrats looking to enforce senseless policies, or at the very least, tied by red tape. We obtained Talia's US passport in ten days. It's been almost three months and we have still yet to get the Canadian embassy started on Talia's Canadian passport. At this rate, she'll never become a Canadian and it wouldn't be because we didn't try. Sigh ... oh, Canada ...
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| Pregnant in the Land of Endangered Species, Part II
Despite the rant in my previous post, I do agree there are a lot of benefits to being pregnant in my city. One of my language teachers taught me that pregnant women here are called "pandas," since pregnant women must be treated with the same care as endangered species.
For example, our landlord's agent who came over on matters of business stayed an extra half hour to teach my husband how to make soup for me, all the while rubbing my belly and advising me on what I should and should not eat. She emphasized that he must go buy a special pressure cooker in order to make the soup just right. Many of my friends began telling me around my 4th month of pregnancy (when I was just beginning to show) that I shouldn't be doing any work or going out anymore -- that I should just stay at home and rest. They were impressed that I was still going about business as usual. To them, even baking brownies while pregnant was an admirable feat. My dry-cleaning lady asked me today whether I was still working and advised me to not go out so much anymore. The most amazing was when I was offered a seat on the subway a few weeks ago!
So even though people's concern can take on a rather drastic turn (see my last post), at least I get to be admired for being a strong woman simply for making brownies from a brownie mix while pregnant.
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| Pregnant in the land of Endangered Species, Part 1
I arrived early for a meeting yesterday at a popular local coffee shop chain, so I decided to go ahead and order an iced decaf mocha. It was a warm spring day, and I had just come in from outside, so I was ready for a refreshing drink. The waitress looks at me, or rather my belly, and asks "Are you sure you want to order that?"
"Yea."
"But it's a cold drink, you know," she says.
"Yea ..." I reply with a confused look on my face.
She looks at me and walks away to place my order. Since when were pregnant people not allowed to drink cold drinks, I wonder to myself?
Before I have time to finish that thought, the male barrista walks over and says to me "An iced mocha is a coffee drink. We also serve fruit juices, I think you should order one of those instead."
I reply, "No, an iced mocha is fine as long as you can make it decaf. You can, right?"
"Yes, we can. But I think you shouldn't have one. It's not good for pregnant women," he says gesturing to my belly.
I briefly consider getting up and leaving, or just giving in and ordering a juice, but then I decided against it. Why let other people control my life? So I reply, "No, it's fine. I'll take a decaf iced mocha."
He walks away and I can hear him telling the waitresses "She's insisting on it."
Five minutes later, I get my decaf iced mocha which looks unusually creamy in colour. When I take a sip, I discover that it tastes remarkably like watery milk. I'm pretty sure they left out the coffee. I didn't want to make a big fuss about it since the people I were meeting with had already arrived by then, but the more I think about it, the more angry I get.
First of all, if you're going to patronize me, you should at least have your facts straight. What I should have said to the guy was "Have you ever been pregnant?"
"No."
"Are you a doctor?"
"No."
"I've read 5 or 6 books on pregnancy in the past 9 months, ten times that amount in pregnancy-related magazines and websites, the majority of which are written by qualified doctors or nurses, quoting well-recognized and credible scientific research. I've also consulted my obstetrician, who by the way, taught at Harvard Medical School. All of the above have told me that I can drink a decaf iced mocha. So unless you want to stand there and tell me that you know better, I suggest you move your condescending little *** over to that coffee machine and make me my decaf iced mocha."
When I later told my loving husband what had happened, he told me I was overreacting and that they were just being concerned for the baby's health. He said I should be flattered that people cared so much.
All of which makes me want to take a job at the best pizza joint in town and refuse to serve all men, telling them that pizza isn't good for their health. I'm just concerned for them, they should all be flattered that I care so much.
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| Spitting + WindAs much as I hate how men in my city spit both so prodigiously and casually in public places, I had gotten more or less used to it. Or so I thought. Until the spring winds started. Winds so strong that garbage flies everywhere and you can barely walk with your eyes open because of all the dust blowing in your face. Let's just say that spitting combined with such strong winds makes for a mighty nasty and scary combination. A man coming towards me today spat about 3 feet away from me. I usually check to see where the spit lands, but this time couldn't see where it went. I checked my pants and didn't see anything ... but you never know. Augh. How nasty.
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| About having kids and being a kid I guess it's really true that having a kid makes you grow up (finally). We were looking the other day at projections for how much university tuition will cost in 18 years -- $90,000 US/year!!! How do we even begin to save that much money? It's much easier making decisions, or even making sacrifices, when it's just yourself, or even a spouse. But what about when your sacrifices start impacting your kids? It occurred to me the other day that I used to make up stories a lot as a kid. Not like lies, but like fairy-tales and magical (at least to a little girl) stories. When I would lie in bed waiting to fall asleep, or during long bus or car rides, I would pass the time by dreaming up random stories about kings and queens, fairies that lived in the woods we drove by, little beggar girls who turn into princesses ... I wonder when I stopped writing stories in my head, I really can't remember when it all stopped. And I wonder what causes one to "grow up" and have all this "dreaming" end. | | |
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