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Below the cut is the most absurd bureaucratic tangle of all motherfuckin’ time.

‘Kay.

So.

You might want to get a pen and paper out, because this is the story of How The System Fucked Me. It’s wibbly-wobbly and timey-wimey.

First, the facts:

1. I am a Norwegian citizen. I am in America on a “green card”.

2. I have a G.E.D., not a High School diploma. (Health issues.)

3. I am, at any given time, broke as frak.

Now, the line of events:

1. I was forcibly moved to America when I was 10 years old. My mother married an American, and we both received green cards.

2. When I was 18, I moved back to Norway. I’d been counting the days for eight years.

3. When I went to apply to the local university, I was told that I needed a high school diploma (or equivalent) and one year of university credits in order to qualify for entry into a Norwegian university.

3.5. Alternatively, I could take a higher level Norwegian class for one year—in nynorsk.

4. I can’t read nynorsk for shit, and either way it was a year, so I moved to Chicago to take my credits.

5. With my G.E.D., I couldn’t get into a university, where I might live in a dorm on student loans. I had to go to a community college. Of course, in America, there is no state support, so I had to find a job before I could even think of going to school. I went through 4 different jobs in the insane job market, and got laid off each and every time. (Once, I just walked into an empty office. They’d shut down over the weekend, and no one had called me.)

6. Desperate, I fell for a career school scam. I thought that if I became a massage therapist, I’d be able to support myself through school, working minimal hours. I took out a huge loan to get it done.

6.5. Turns out, the massage field is dead. I had three jobs, and no clients. One year and $24k in debt, wasted.

7. With financial support from my family, I finally started “real” school. I was impoverished, but happy that things were finally moving along.

8. Turns out that it takes 1.5 years of full-time schooling to get those prerequisite credits. I was forced to drop two of my classes (seriously, there was no choice), which meant it would take me two full years.

9. Two years later… Finally! All my credits! I continue to take classes so that my student loans won’t become due, and start getting ready to apply to Norwegian universities.

10. Trololol! Did you think it would be that easy? Turns out that even though I am a Norwegian citizen, I need a Norwegian language test to prove that I can take classes at the college level. The test costs $500 + fees.

11. Thankfully, I had lots of head warning, and I was able to get everything ready. I beg and borrow $500. According to the website, I can take the test with my local consulate, and I get the Chicago consulate on-board.

12. Meanwhile, there’s the issue of the electronic ID. Apparently, I cannot log in to send my application without an electronic ID. Electronic IDs can only be purchased from one of three approved vendors.

12.5. The first two vendors only send the e-ID to the address listed with the Norwegian folk registry. You can only change that address by showing up in person.

13. This left the third and only vendor that would ship internationally. The e-ID cost $85. I bit the bullet and ordered it, thinking that everything was finally settling into place. I would get to go home soon.

14. There was zero warning about this on their website. Shortly after ordering, I get a cheerful email, telling me that they need a notarized copy of my Norwegian ID, physically mailed to their office, before they’ll unlock my e-ID.

15. At this point, the deadline is fast approaching: I have 3 weeks left. The thing is, the only Norwegian ID from their approved list that I own is a Norwegian passport. (The rest is stuff like a Norwegian driver’s license or photo bank card, which I obviously don’t own, what with not living there.)

16. My passport is expired, and they won’t accept it. In order to renew my passport, I need to fly to the consulate in NEW YORK CITY and renew it in person. The ticket is $230; the passport is $75; the passport shipping is $20. The processing time is 3-4 weeks.

17. At the exact same time that this shit goes down, I get an email from the language test people. “TROLOLOL, we changed the rules last minute. This year we’ll only be offering the test in Houston, TX and in Washington D.C.” Traveling to either place is going to cost me $400 to $700.

18. At this point, I’m bashing my head against the wall, sobbing into a photograph of Benedict Cumberbatch’s face (“Whyyy Benny whyyy”), and seriously contemplating advertising myself as a mail-order bride. Or joining the Norwegian military.

19. I contact my family and explain the situation. My grandfather says, “Do what you need to do. We’ll sort out the finances. Just get yourself home however you can.” I LOVE MY FAMILY. (Note: Even my mother has given up on America and moved back home at this point. I am the only family member here.)

20. I contact the application people, who give me permission to submit my material late, but warn me that I need to get my ass on a plane to New York yesterday.

21. I purchase a last-minute ticket to New York, and at 5am tomorrow my ass is indeed gonna be on a plane.

22? I still have NO idea what paperwork they’ll actually need from me, because I don’t have access to that information before I get my electronic ID, which will still take 4-5 weeks to sort. At best. Who knows what further complications and expenses lie before me.

BOTTOM LINE: The only reason I am able to do ANY of this is my extremely supportive family. Their resources are scarce, but they’re enough to push me through all this. If I were anyone else, in any other situation, I would be completely fucked.

And, the truth is, I’ve been a bit fucked anyway, because I’m about to turn 24, and I’m still not home. I’ve missed out on those wonder-years with my peers. I’ll forever be a different cultural entity, as alien to them as they are to me.

I don’t fit in there, and I don’t fit in here in America.

But when it really comes down to it…

I wouldn’t want it any other way. This system-fuck has serendipitously given me four wonderfully instructive years that I wouldn’t trade for anything. I have a foundation of perspective now that I would otherwise never have had. If I’d stayed in Norway when I moved away at 18, all I would remember of America is the bloody awful, ignorant red-state that I spent my adolescence in. I would remember Americans as bullies, idiots, zealots, slobs, xenophobes, and general fuck-tards. I would walk around with hate and prejudice in my heart for the rest of my life.

Instead, I’ve gotten to live in Chicago, one of the most beautiful cities in the world, for four years. I’ve gotten to fall in love with the admirable, romantic aspects of America. I’ve gotten to spend four magical years with my best friend, which I wouldn’t give up for the world. I’ve learned the laws of the jungle. I’ve seen America take a dramatic turn toward hope and optimism, first-hand; I’ve seen Obama elected, right in front of my face. (The streets were flooded; people lined up all the way down lake-shore, even though his speech was in Grant Park.) I’ve seen the sobering reality of poverty far deeper than mine on every corner; I’ve experienced the heights of culture and civilization at Chicago’s world-class orchestra and museums. I’ve been exposed to Chicago’s genderqueer, kink, sex activist, and feminist culture, and I’ll carry that where-ever I go.

Yeah, freedom of movement is an illusion. But in this one case, I’m ultimately okay with the results.

That said…

I’m done being stuck in the system, guys. I want to go home. I want to know that I have a future.

I can only cross my fingers that everything goes perfectly from here-on out.

*FINGERS CROSSED*