The Beginning?

Told you I would update this thing like mad.

I've been polishing (i.e. completely rewriting) my resume and typing up a cover letter, and am largely satisfied with the results.

But, more importantly, halfway through the mail came, and, out of paranoia I checked to see if there was anything for me.

When I looked in the mail slot, I saw the regular stuff: cable bill, my wire transfer receipt from last month, a couple fliers, and a postcard.

Wait, a postcard? That's new.

Reluctantly, hesitantly, I reached for the small card gingerly resting atop the mail I'd been looking at for weeks. When you're waiting for something in the mail, and day after day it doesn't come, something like learned helplessness sets in, where no matter what it sounds like, you just kind of start to assume it's not going to be what you're waiting for. So as I reached down into the mail slot I really didn't think it would be anything special, in fact I had no attachment to it other than it's what happened to arrive today.

So as I picked it up, the first thing I saw was the big red stamp from the postal service, circular and bold, drawing the eyes away from the other, handwritten letters on the one side of the card. But as my eyes broke free of the grasp of the red ink, they focused on the letters to finally recognize the handwriting as my own.

Without really registering the significance of my own handwritten name and address on the card, I flipped it over to inspect the letter on the other side. I recalled being in the immigration office, filling in the card, and how, after completing it, flipping it over to see the letter I was then looking at, only to hand it to the clerk before really digesting its contents. More appropriately, before checking to see if there was some checkbox or notice that said my application hadn't been approved.

See, even then, holding the card in my hand, now realizing its significance, my mind had still not yet relinquished the possibility of failure, a self-preservation mechanism I'm sure that stems from all the bad things happening around me. I was fully prepared to turn that card over and see that my visa had not been approved, and that I would be forced to leave the country. But as I read the card fully, I realized there was in fact no such notice, and I was, for certain, holding a letter of approval for my long awaited visa.

So, that's one thing down on my list of things that must happen for me to remain in Japan. I have a visa. I'm going down on Monday to pick it up, using the money I had to float myself to pay for it.

Now all I need is another job. Little things, ya? But that's why I'm working on my resume.