This blog is my personal space. As the characters roll down the page, they open up my intimate niche where I can express myself freely.
After I press “Publish”, the process of waiting for reactions begins. Some of those reactions will take a form of approval that comes with likes, comments, shares, but there will also be angry, hateful, scornful reactions that are supposed to make me feel uncomfortable and stop my pen from writing. Or at least, to keep my thoughts to myself rather than making them public.
Internet is a realm where nobody can ban me or tell me that I am undesired, or inappropriate. Everybody is welcome to contribute, for better or worse, in one way or another. Internet is a place where I make use of my unalienable right to say what I mean, head-on and fearlessly. No hate can shake my determination to continue doing so. Three options for you there: you can either accept me for who I am, or you can hate or look down on me for it, or you can downright ignore me.
Let’s dive into my story, then.
A year ago I made friends with an American girl through Facebook. After some time, we found we had a lot in common. She was a passionate cat lover. I was into opera (yes, one can live in Eastern Europe, be a male and still love opera), and kind of infected her with the “disease”, so much so that she gave it a try and was enthralled by it.
We fell in love, entered into innumerable hours-long Skype confessions, conversations and ramblings. She was the first person ever to instantly understand everything I said, even with a language barrier between us. According to her, I was the first man ever not to get bored with her passion for cats.
Naturally, a vis-a-vis encounter was the next logical step. As I live in a country where employment rates have freezed below the zero point (I myself am also unemployed), I had no money to embark on a long and expensive journey. She wanted to send money to me to go to U.S. so we could get married there. However, in the eyes of American policy, I was just another poor immigrant looking for an opportunity to sneak in.
Not to speak of my embarrassment when I set out to explain her that I was not fishing for the Green Card. She never asked me this question, but I felt the obligation to make things clear, just in case.
So she came to Europe for the first time in her life, to see me.
Not much has changed since then. We’ve been engaged for two years now (four years since we started our online relationship), and counting. It’s getting even harder, if not impossible for me, as a Muslim, to go there. Even student scholarships are not an option for a 33-year old.
Last year her grandmother died, and I, her fiance, couldn’t be there to help her through the grief.
She crossed the pond three times to see me. She got interested in my way of life, my personal history, my childhood spent in a communist country, so different and so unfathomable to her. I learned everything about her Nordic ancestry, as well as modern and fast American lifestyle. I got to meet her parents through Skype, and they accepted me, never questioning my intentions.
Two small human beings have crossed the cultural boundaries. A thing that a great state such as hers cannot, or doesn’t want to do.