Return of the Mack

Remember that man I mentioned over a year ago? Well, reader, I married him. Then embarked on the emotional roller coaster that is a spousal visa application. Luckily, I got my visa, and was able to join him. Also luckily, he did not have a crazy wife in his attic that set the house on fire.

I have returned to Leeds after being away for over a year. I've been back for just over a week, and it's been interesting getting back into my UK groove. There's the usual things, like re-programming myself to look right then left when crossing the street, and re-learning the money denominations. But, like when I first moved here in 2008, it's the little things that trip me up. How to use the washing machine. Recipes being in weights instead of volumes. Coriander instead of cilantro.

One of the more illuminating things that has come to my attention to me is the importance of an address. It proves you belong to a place. The question of "Do you have a piece of official mail with your address on it?" is usually a fairly easy one for people to answer. We usually don't think twice about it. But, in my case, not having any mail , let alone official mail, it opens up a whole new can of frustrations. I don't belong here yet. I do not have a trail of bureaucratic flotsam floating behind me. Life is much easier when people can trace where you've been.

There's my inability to blend in as well. As soon as I open my mouth, it becomes obvious that I'm not from around here. Then the questions start, about where I'm from, how I ended up here, why Leeds? Sometimes, I just want to buy my orange juice and go home.