Clamma!

At the onset of winter, Selo is developing symptoms of asthma, something he knows he has but has never really dealt with. His occasional, mild gasps for air are the cherry on top of the massive pile of shit I'm already worried about.

My friend in Frisco mentioned that she went to a cocktail party with a lot of food, and I suddenly felt a pang for American cuisine. Greasy pizza, turkey avocado sandwiches on organic bread, a decent hamburger. The sudden longing extended itself to friendly clerks at target, driving instead of taking the train and then-suddenly- simplicity. Round table was just the cheesy face of my violent longing for an existance without this constant strain of worry.

In 2004 Japan passed a law that, while establishing harsher punishment for visa overstayers, also created a system of "provisional release" for refugee visa applicants. "Provisional release" grants applicants a legal status so that they don't become overstayers as their case is pending, but doesn't allow them to work or attend school. The provisional release must be renewed every 3 months (or every 1 month in some cases), and failure to be on time for renewal appointments could result in a revocation of their status. The provisional release is only good for the prefecture (like county) in which you live; travel elsewhere requires a special permission slip.

Everytime Selo and I make the trip to Shinagawa (sometimes running through the doors to make sure we're on the 3rd floor by 11am sharp). There's always the possibility that he won't get his renewal. That he'll suddenly be a criminal and carted off to the detention center.

That worry was always vague paranoia until last month when his refugee application was officially rejected. Now he has to go through an appeals process. We don't know how long it will take. We don't know how much notice he'll get before he gets carted away. We don't know if it would help if we were married. We don't know much at all except that his chance of getting a visa are marginal. Laughable.

I got so scared after his application was rejected that I called USCIS and asked them to speed up the processing for his fiance visa application. I thought the possibility of being locked up was grounds enough. They told me they needed 10 days to get back to me, and that was a month ago.  When I called and asked what was up, they told me that if it was taking longer, it was just taking longer and (pointedly) I didn't need to call them about it.

Selo said, in a rare moment of honesty amidst weeks of clamming up and repressing, that he felt like he was just waiting and waiting, but he didn't know what he was waiting for. In Japan we're just waiting for an inevitable rejection, and from America, the best case scenario would be a free pass for him to get on a plane to fly somewhere where he doesn't speak the language, has no job, and no friends or family. And we'll be lucky to get that before things get really ugly here.

Worry like this, insecurity like this, just sits underneath the skin, with no time to frame it, no specific event to puncture and relieve it.