SO much has happened since we’ve last talked.
I moved into a new apartment, I got a promotion at work, I lost all my pictures/writing when my computer decided to be a jerk and die; so many things.
As I become more accustomed to this pace of my life, I will be filling this sweet little blog with more things. Please be patient with me.
Over the past couple of months, I’ve set aside this blog in exchange for a non-stop schedule, early bedtimes and an overall crazy life. I kept telling myself that one of these Sundays (my only day off, mind you) I would update you with glorious stories and beautiful pictures. But Sundays would pass in the blink of an eye and laziness would take hold of me. I never meant to neglect this little slice of my story, but that’s essentially what I’ve done to it. Neglect it. So, here we are again.
Fresh start. Updates.
Now, where were we?
Ah yes, my documents, being legal, my job, etc. Since the last update I have 100% officially become a Brazilian citizen! I have the same ID card that my mother had when she was my age and that little detail makes it feel so much more important. I’m for real, I’m legal. I can now walk around without any “international” identification (ie. passport, NC driver’s license, etc) and just blend in.
After fighting with the system for over 2 months, a small laminated piece of paper was all I had to show for it. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t feel on top of the world when I held it for the first time. For all the time it took for me to get to the right office at the right time, it took seconds for them to make it. I was busy cleaning off ink from my recent fingerprinting session with what was probably my 10th baby wipe when I received it. I turned around and the quintessential government worker named Margarette handed me my ID. She was all smiles now because that meant I would soon be out of her hair and leaving. I couldn’t blame her though, after I raised hell around 5 minutes earlier about my appointment potentially being pushed back, she was probably ecstatic that the “crazy American girl” was almost out of the door. Dear Margarette handed me my simple, green identification card and while my mood did a complete 180, my heart threatened to burst out of my chest from sheer joy.
There it was. Solid, undeniable proof of what I had claimed my entire life.
I am Brazilian.