To this day, I do not understand why my name means full of grace.
I would actually put gracefulness as one of my last characteristics. But I don't think that gracefulness has the same depth as the simple word grace. I think that grace means something so beautifully irrational and unscientific that only those who have experienced it can verify its existence. I don't claim myself as a guru of grace, not in the least bit, but I hope that my life is moving towards the point of grace, that point when eternity transcends and touches the soul and you realize that you are so much more than your damned body- that your identity on Earth is temporary.
Let me explain the "temporality" of our identities- of how we define ourselves.
Today, after 15 life-changing years in this country, I became a US citizen. Pause. True story.
I never got to scale a wall or run away from Border Patrol, but I can attest that this country does not welcome foreigners with open gates, Greencards, or even a nice Thanksgiving meal like they once did.
But after years and years of waiting and going through hell on a carousel chained to a bacteria-infested plastic horse and suffering trying to get a driver's license, a real job or attempting to travel- we made it to this day at the Immigration Center. Cheers.
All this after 15 years of waiting. 15!! That is the majority of my life at this point because to me, 15 years ago, I was wearing a long yellow T-shirt and tennis shoes and calling it an outfit. All to say that all these years led to today. January 11, 2008.
We waited in the oversized and eerily sterile room stuffed with the smell of anticipation (which I could easily be mistaking for percperation...I have not yet decided). So there we were, my family and I, laughing nervously as we watched one immigrant after another cringe at the butchering of their name and then stand and walk the walk. This "Walk" eminated in their faces a mix of anticipating a root canal and walking down the shadow of the valley of death. Well, they just looked scared and nervous. That's all.
It is quite a big deal and as I am pondering their ill-fated interview and the possibility of deportation that awaits them, a minion of the US Immigration Bureau opens the heavy door and beckons me to her layer.
Well, here we go.
I stand up. Brush off my foreignness. Salute the troops and walk towards her in what I can only hope looks like a cool and confident American stride.
To my surprise, and a little dismay, she smiles and greets me a good morning. "What is this minion up to?" I ponder. Is this one of her tricks to get me to crack at 7:30 in the morning so that the next thing I know is that it is 7:30 at night and I am on a boat halfway back to Armenia? Well Missy, two can play this game- Bring it on!!
"Good morning to you. Wow, I really like your earrings!" I smile and compliment.
But as life always throws you those unforeseen curve balls that the catcher has predestined with his chubby fingers, she actually turns out to be this goofy little Mexican lady that congratulates my singledom (which she reads from my 20-page application) and proceeds to tell me some of her dating stories from her past- how she went on a blind date and thinking that the guy expected her to pay for the movie ticket, pulled him aside and told him straightforward, "I don't think I am that ugly that I should be paying a guy to take me out."
I applauded.
I want to use that line someday but unlike her date who apologized and pursued her for the next two years, my guy would probably laugh and say, "You sure about that?"
Yes. Yes, I am sure....I think.
So we chatted for a long time, I read my oaths aloud with precision (something about being willing to take up arms for the US....rigggghhhtt), and I wrote "I drive a silver car" (to prove that I have the literacy rate of a 2nd grader...I guess that is all you need here). THen she smiled, stamped a paper, handed it to me and said, "congratulations."
That's it? Does this officially mean that.....oh geez. Does this mean that I am a flag-holding, couch-sitting, ya'll fast-fooding American? Does this mean that I can vote in the 2008 election? Holy Crap. I am scared....So, yes? That is all?
She smiles at me, assuring me that, yep, that's it, on your way now because I have about 20 more scared potentials to interview before lunch.
Oh the grace of such a euphoric moment!
She leads me out and bids me adieu and proceeds to butcher the next name on her list, "Sharooon Haleeeem....come on down!" Like the Price is Right, I felt that I had won the Sweepstakes. Bob would be proud. Him and his skinny little microphone.
I walk out and everyone stares at me. They know. Oh how they know! They know and they envy me. Your time will come I reassuringly nod to them.
So my family and I have passed this sacred rite of passage in this country....and in a matter of 15 minutes. In that time, the time it takes me to decide what I want to eat for lunch, my identity changed completely. I mean sure it took 15 years to get to this 15 minutes, but those few minutes of awkward chit chat gracefully welcomed me to my new home. It's like having a best friend for years and one day after signing a paper they turn to you and say, "ok, now you can call me friend!" "But what did I call you before", I would inquire."Ummm. A permanent acquaintance."
Ooo. I see.
So in about a month or two, I will swear in at court and THEN it will be officially official because it gets no more official than saying "I do" in a courtroom, unless it comes to American marriages.
So now I can have a real passport and not a temporary turquoise document that no one recognizes and now I can get the hell out and travel the rest of this world! All of it except for Cuba I guess. But I will get there too someday. I sure will.
My friends threw me a beautiful "Welcome to America" party and it was then that I realized that part of my identity really has changed. But I accept it and I love it and I see the hand of grace moving its way through my life.
So what I realized is that my name does not necessarily mean that I am the one full of grace, but that I am the one to whom grace is shown. Everyday when I wipe the dust and mascara away from my eyes, grace floods my vision, my life, my being. So maybe I am full of grace, but only because grace has gently bestowed itself upon me.
The irony of life yields to me once more on this subject of grace because as if I didn't already get the point-my little Mexican officer, the former minion of the underworld-well, her name was Officer Grace. Can you believe that bag of lavash? I mean wow, what are the odds?....
Ok, so maybe not that good because maybe that wasn't really her name, but it would definitely have helped out my story if it were. Oh well.
So I shifted my identity from Armenian to American. Sure they look quite similar-both start with a capital A and end with a lower-case n, but thousands of miles of land and water and drastically different histories and cultures say otherwise. My loyalties lie in between. Because we are temporary. We are just human and perhaps just acquaintances to this world and it is only grace and love that hold us down here for awhile until we figure things out. It will be a terribly grueling process and grace will take a few siestas as we struggle to figure things out, but so what.
Now my friends, allow me to leave and go sip my tall soy latte like only a true American can.
435 in the House of Representatives.
You pass.
Welcome....
No comments:
Post a Comment