It's my being a British Citizen that continues to fascinate us.
Why should it affect us so, we ask ourselves in turn, each feigning casual disinterest but we catch each other sneaking a look at the passport as it lies on the table as though lying in state. It is yet to find the drawer in the cabinet alongside its cousins as if we are wary of its power.
For thirty years or so we've discussed my obtaining a British Passport as some sort of novelty solution to a problem that hadn't arisen. For a decade or more the prospect of working in the EU had intrigued us, but we had more intrigue than we could handle on our own soil without adding further to our complications.
We'd always viewed it as some sort of discount voucher accessible through quirk of birth, like a free rail pass or perhaps a seniors card. It came therefore as something of a shock to realise that the little maroon book itself does not bestow any new status, but provides physical evidence of my Citizenship of another country.
Citizenship of another country! I have, it seems unknowingly carried this burden invisibly since birth as indeed have my siblings, and hence the fascination and analysis.
In a strangely and perhaps over-dramatic way, it is as a marker of a part of who I am, a hard copy of part of my genetic makeup, and while these few paragraphs may incorrectly give the impression that we are perhaps wasting too much time thinking about it all, it's also a rather nifty excuse to drag out a photograph of the old country.
It leaves us incredulous when we realise that exactly one month ago we were standing on a beach in Wales, yet so much has happened since we wonder if we were really there at all.
Why should it affect us so, we ask ourselves in turn, each feigning casual disinterest but we catch each other sneaking a look at the passport as it lies on the table as though lying in state. It is yet to find the drawer in the cabinet alongside its cousins as if we are wary of its power.
For thirty years or so we've discussed my obtaining a British Passport as some sort of novelty solution to a problem that hadn't arisen. For a decade or more the prospect of working in the EU had intrigued us, but we had more intrigue than we could handle on our own soil without adding further to our complications.
We'd always viewed it as some sort of discount voucher accessible through quirk of birth, like a free rail pass or perhaps a seniors card. It came therefore as something of a shock to realise that the little maroon book itself does not bestow any new status, but provides physical evidence of my Citizenship of another country.
Citizenship of another country! I have, it seems unknowingly carried this burden invisibly since birth as indeed have my siblings, and hence the fascination and analysis.
In a strangely and perhaps over-dramatic way, it is as a marker of a part of who I am, a hard copy of part of my genetic makeup, and while these few paragraphs may incorrectly give the impression that we are perhaps wasting too much time thinking about it all, it's also a rather nifty excuse to drag out a photograph of the old country.
It leaves us incredulous when we realise that exactly one month ago we were standing on a beach in Wales, yet so much has happened since we wonder if we were really there at all.
4 comments
wow. wonderful photo.
amazing to discover by virtue of birth, you have been British all along. I must admit it could come as a shock. but handy all the same as you say!
'me obtaining' ... ?
my obtaining ...
discussed me.....
discussed my...? Not sure Julie, I've referred it to the third umpire!
The video referee has spoken and the changes made accordingly. Thanks Julie!
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