In the summer of 2016 I applied for citizenship. A few months later it was rejected. About a year ago I appealed the decision. A few months later the rejected was upheld. Having exhausted the appeals, I demanded my case be re-opened by the Ministry, reconsidered and the decision corrected. About six months later, I found out that the decision to reject my citizenship application had been upheld. About a week later, I find out from friends and lawyers that my best shot is to apply for citizenship again - this time through Parliament...which had a deadline a week later (1st of March). This is that story from the start; the story of my eternal struggle for the citizenship that can define my career, my future, my life. The citizenship, or should I say the nationality, that has characterized me and with which I have identified myself with since I was born.
Little word of warning though: This will be a long story - but one I nevertheless hope you will read, because, like the other entries on this site, they mean a lot to me. This one is about a major injustice and the stress I've unjustly been put through as a result. It's a very personal issue, and it won't make the world a better place that I write about it, and I won't be able to encourage you to be better people as a result, but...I still feel like this had to be shared. Many people go through break-ups, loved ones die...the usual bumps in life. I don't think (and certainly don't hope) many people have experienced this; being denied their own identity... And that's basically what this post is about.