As you can imagine, it took some doing. Here's a shot of all the paperwork, courtesy of my buddy Lucas:
That took, like months to gather. Years, for some, thanks to insufferable delays by my company for some of the stuff I needed, not to mention a couple paperwork scares I'd really rather not talk about, even though they were sorted out.
Basically everything from Brazilian translated and notarized police clearance certificates (boy, those were fun. Thanks mum...), degree copies, English language proficiency tests (I don't want to talk about it), exact-spec headshots, reams of forms and addenda, and so on.
But it's in there now. In a couple of months, they'll either send me a letter telling me its in processing, or send it back because I forgot to dot an "i" somewhere. They do that.
But even if the latter happens, barring any heartless immigration officers, it should only be a matter of time now.
And now onto a year or so of ... more waiting.
(If I look scruffy and tired, it's because it was a Tuesday and I'd been up since 5:30 a.m.)
I wish I was a refugee. I'd have had straight-up citizenship, like, yesterday if I'd just had the sense to be born in a strife-torn third-world basketcase, rather than to two loving parents who raised me in good, mostly stable countries.
