Numbers

Two years, I would say to myself. Two years until I finish my Master’s and can go back for a visit. I thought single entry visas works that way, you have to wait for the expiration of the visa and then you are good to go back. When I realized that’s not the case, I told myself “Ok, that’s fine, I’ll wait till I get my H1B visa, that would be another year or so, and then I can go back.” My fiancé’s aunt had told me she knew someone from her company who often goes back to Iran on H1B. I scratched all my calculations, “Ok, one year after getting my job and I can go back.” Our company’s lawyer thought otherwise:

You might actually encounter more delays when applying for your H-1B visa stamp because you will have to apply for an H-1B visa at the Consulate before entering the U.S. instead of entering on an existing visa stamp. There is the chance your visa could get held up in administrative processing while the Consulate runs additional security checks. Unfortunately, travel to and from Iran in any status at this current time may result in delays and potential problems.

“All right!” I said to myself patiently, “The good news is that my company applies for my Green Card one year after my start date.” And on average, the Green Card process takes a year or so. But this time I wanted to be sure, so I asked our HR to email me the exact time frame for each stage:

Stage 1:

PERM Process- 2-3 months

Recruitment Campaign- 3 months

PERM application- 3-6 months

Stage 2 and 3 (completed together) (5-8 months):

I-140 petition- Immigration and USCIS are looking at the position

I-485 petition- Immigration and USCIS are looking at you, background, medical and criminal history, etc.

I picked a sticky note and added the numbers. 2+3+3+5 = 13 months in the best-case scenario and 3+3+6+8 = 20 months in the worst case. 20 months… but that’s the worst-case scenario. No need to worry about that now.

            A day later, my French colleague, who is one year in his Green Card process texts me: “Ughh, the green card process is gonna take longer than expected… kill meeeeee”. He says they told him that his case would take at least another year. “Immigration is so slow, steps that should take 2 months max are taking 6-8 months.” And then he adds “I know it’s even trickier for you”. I look at my phone screen, “scratch all your calculations” I say to myself. “It may take another two years, or even more. Who knows?”

 Why should I decide between going home and staying here, where I had built my second home? I don’t want to lose my job, to leave my apartment which I love, which I decorated every single corner with passion. At the same time, I don’t want to not see my family, my brother who can’t leave Iran due to his military service, my cousins, my aunts and uncles for another two years. I’m trapped.

Her hands

He hands unbutton her manteau, unscarf her hair and are washed in the kitchen's sink. They pick up a pot and boil some water, take some onions out from the pantry, chopping and wiping out tears. Her hands cook the rice and prepare the stew. They make dinner every night after she comes home from work.

My hands put the house keys in the cute little bowl on the table. They take off work clothes and put on sleepwear. They open up the fridge to see if they find something to eat, and when they don't find anything they grab two eggs to boil, a glass of milk to drink, or they might not even do that some nights. My hands only feel like cooking when it's a weekend. They will soon tuck me in bed, pick up a book or play a show on my laptop for me, until I fall asleep.

My mom's hands are cleaning up after dinner, with an extra pair of hands, maybe, helping them. Her hands are too tired to pick up a book. 

I would be a dog...

I would be a dog, a good dog. At least I'd have a sharp nose. A nose with memory. I know that for a fact, because memories come to me with their scents. Each memory is like a scented candle, you open the jar and you take a good, long sniff and everything comes back to you. I would also have sensitive ears, because I can listen to a song, and the place, the feeling, the circumstances in which I was listening to it for the first time all comes back to me in a flash.

I can see myself as a dog, who is locked in a house. The owners have went out and locked him in so he doesn't make any trouble. The house to me is home. I live in this house. I know every corner of it. I love how their shoes smell, how my bowl is filled with my favorite food, how I can stretch myself on the sofa and relax as the sun sets in. I can peek in all its hidden places and find stuff. It feels like home when I 'm here but at the same time, it still has so many new things to offer.

But if I'm realistic, I wouldn't be a happy dog. This dog that is left behind is sitting behind the door, panting. Panting for the door to be opened, for the owners to come home and play with her. I pant when I smell a memory, when a memory is brought back to me by a rhythm, through a song. I listen to my old playlists and I pant, as I want to go back to where I made all those memories. I see a picture from a street I used to walk on, and I pant. Panting at the thought of walking there again, of not knowing what has stayed the same and what has changed. I pant thinking about everything that I'm missing outside that closed door and it's been three years now that I've been panting at that door, waiting for it to be open.


 Yes, I would be a good panting dog.