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An Invitation Letter to My Foreign National Spouse: A Fictional Short Piece

This letter has been translated into English for purposes of clarity. Assume it is in the third language of your loved one.

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Dear My Foreign National Spouse:

I am writing this letter to invite you to come visit me in Canada. I was going to just private message you or video you as usual, but I know we need to create a paper trail for our Sponsorship Application later on. Sigh, they probably won’t believe our love because our different cultural backgrounds and ethnic backgrounds and the fact I am just an ordinary Canadian. I am merely an ordinary Canadian and product of hard-working immigrant parents.

Anyways, apparently immigration loves these types of “love letters” in addition to diamond rings and fancy weddings. By the way, sorry I could not deliver on the latter two items for you.

You see, you and I were married earlier this year but unfortunately due to visa issues you have not been able to see me since then. I understand your visa was rejected three times in a row since then because they assume you will not leave Canada at the end of your authorized stay. I told then a millions times that you would, but they don’t trust my word – apparently my being Canadian, having been born here, and having studied here all my life means nothing to my country’s visa office located in your country. Apparently they believe you want to flee your home country because of the socioeconomic problems and go underground in order to be with me.

Honey, you know I need you here. I know you graduated from a great university with an MBA and that your entire family is in your home country. However, you know the situation. If I leave my job and join you, I may be able to get a work permit next week but I would not be able to practice in my field. I would have no income. You would be an unemployed new graduate. Plus, I want to raise our family here. Canada should be our home. My parents are getting old and sick too and they need me to stay here. I beg you to sacrifice for me.

I know you are worried about our future together. Last time I visited you, you told me that this long distance could not go on for another year. I know that with each passing day, your family is putting pressure on you to end our marriage. They cannot understand why you would want to go to a country that will not even grant you access to come visit or meet my parents. I know both of our parents have different religious beliefs and probably won’t even write supporting letters for us or hold a wedding for us. I think we may just have to have to get eloped somewhere. None of my friends have the financial capacity nor time to fly out to meet you. I hope Canadian immigration can understand this situation. There’s a freaking recession right now. Sorry again, about that (lack of) a diamond ring.

I promise I will sponsor you – but not for immigration purposes of course.  I also know we will have to wait at least a year and a half maybe up to three years for you to get permanent resident status in Canada. That reminds me, I hope nothing gets lost in the mail during our sponsorship process. I heard from a friend their application has been stuck in limbo for four years because they can’t reach some one at the visa office and get them this police certificate for a country they visited when they were 18 for six months. Another one of my friend’s application was refused downright. Apparently her partner in the visa office interview that there were a hundred people at their reception when there were actually two hundred and because she couldn’t remember which auntie introduced them. How can one panic and forget things so easily?

Sorry for being so negative, maybe I have just been listening to too many horror stories recently. I am sure we will be okay.v  Let’s say this fourth visa application is successful and you can come visit me. Just think of all the possibilities we wil have together in Canada. When I am working my fourteen-hour day, you can stay home to cook and clean. You can self-study English or take a short course, but not a degree program because you will need a study permit for that and no school will take you with your level of English. If I get off work early enough, we may even be able to go for a walk in the park for an hour so you can get some fresh air.

Once you are a permanent resident, remember because we were only recently married we have conditions to live together under the same roof. If you have no job and a parent becomes sick, either you come back in a few months or I will have to quit my job. By the way, do not ever think of disobeying me or leaving me, because I will call immigration and I will have you deported. Tough luck love.

You will be able to work or study in two (or was it three?) years I promise. It won’t matter that you have little on your resume since graduation. I am sure I can cover your tuition to study, in addition to our rent, and food and expenses.

Okay honey, it is getting late now. I will sleep alone again tonight. Honestly, I am so jealous of the Canadian families that can spend time together. We have missed each other’s birthdays and the last several holidays. I always see politicians on TV saying that with new changes it will be quicker and that I can sponsor you sooner. I am not sure any of them have ever spent more than a few weeks apart from their loved ones, and probably only by choice when they need some time apart on their so called recreational trips. Writing letters to you and racking up my cellphone bill face-timing you is now my only recreational activity.

I hold out hope though that if I continue working hard and making a little bit of money we can set up a decent life in Canada. The economy will get better. We will pay off the bank loan that I will need to get to support us for the next few years.

Worst case. I mean worse case. I promise I can sacrifice for you too. Canada won’t care if I am a brain drain and that I give up my profession ambitions to go to a country I have never spent more than a semester abroad in. Right?

Canada can never fully feel like my home, even though it has always been my home, without you here.

Sincerely,

Your Canadian Spouse

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The Resignation Letter: An Online Novel (Chapter 4: Maria’s First Day, Mo’s Never-Ending Nightmare)

Mohamed woke up extra early on Boxing Day morning. It was not because he was in a rush to get to the mall to purchase the wool jacket for his wife that he could no longer afford. Boxing Day, a Saturday this year, kicked off the five-day rush prior to the New Year. The Firm’s clients from all over the world were in a rush to replace their 2015 marketing strategies and advertising materials to try and be the proverbial ‘early bird that gets the worm’ in 2016.

Mohamed had called his wife the evening of Christmas. As usual, his wife was busy attending mosque with her younger brother. They had recently moved into a small apartment together, and even had a new household helper. Mohamed had not been back to Sierra Leone in over a year and his wife, who didn’t have a visa to travel to Canada, was awaiting processing on their sponsorship application, currently stuck in the African backlog of a three-year delay. Based on processing, they would expect to hear from Immigration any day now.

    The city still pitch black when he woke up, Mohamed took the number 15 bus, as he had every morning for the past ten years. Said his good morning and thank you to the bus driver, who didn’t acknowledge him. Mohamed always sat at the back of the bus, where there were usually less people at this time of the day.

When Mohamed arrived at the office, he noticed he was the first one in. They are probably all hungover again, Mohamed thought to himself. Mohamed had spent his Christmas dinner eating leftovers from his lunch with Shafiq and watching television. It was a boring existence, albeit a quiet one, which Mohamed had become comfortably accustomed to.

    As Mohamed was about to turn the corner, a light suddenly turned on in the hallway. It was the cleaning lady “Maria”, an affectionate 45-year old lady that Mohamed absolutely adored for her vivacious laugh and honest approach to cleaning. Maria was more serious this morning however.

    “Maria, how was your Christmas? You don’t seem your usual self my dear” Mohammed asked gently.

    “Mo, things are not good back home. My husband lost his job and is sick with cancer. It was just diagnosed. My eldest son got arrested for dealing drugs and is in prison. They won’t release him. I can’t afford a plane ticket back to the Philippines right now. I missed Christmas again.” Maria responded, trying to hold herself together.

    Mohamed patted Maria on the back reassuringly. He opened his wallet and slipped Maria a twenty dollar bill. “Take this Maria. I know, it has been tough for all of us. We’re both trapped in a city way too beautiful for all of us, but so lonely without our loved ones. It will get better I promise. Go home and get some rest”

  “Thanks Mo.” Maria replied, pocketing the twenty dollars. “I would like to go home but your stupid boss left a note for me reminding me that the three new interns are starting today and that I need to set up their work station.. volunteer station.. whatever you guys are calling it this year.”

     Mohamed chuckled. He had completely forgot that it was time for the Annual Student Internship Program again. Billed as a program that would give work experience to underemployed/underprivileged recent graduates,

    Mohamed knew that the real reason for hiring individuals like this were that they would work for essentially no pay. Mo knew from previous years experience that each year the interns would be brought on for the busy period of New Years, Valentine’s Day, and Easter and then sent home in early May with a generic letter of congratulations and a $500 stipend. During these five months, had they been salaried junior level employees they would have each taken home at least $500 a week and had to have their medical insurance and Canadian Pension Plan covered.

    Maria bid adieu and continued with her cleaning duties. Man, this is a whole city of immigration problems, Mohamed thought to himself shaking his head. As Mohamed was about to sit down at his desk, Maria came running down the halls.

    “Mo, I forgot to tell you something. You forgot to shut down your computer and you left a document open all weekend.” Maria grabbed the mouse and shook the computer awake. It was the first two lines of your resignation letter. I hope nobody saw it. When I came in yesterday it was brightly displayed. I couldn’t help but notice it.”
“Thanks for mentioning it Maria.” Mo said earnestly. “I hope so too.”

    I am an idiot, Mohamed thought to himself. The thought of resigning immediately had since Christmas become a more distant one in his mind. I can resign next summer. I need the money and peak season means overtime hours. Next summer, when my wife joins me in Canada, then I can quit and we can find new jobs together. Mohamed closed the document and prayed that nobody has seen it.

    Opening his real-estate marketing final report, Mohamed smiled to himself. This is my life calling. The report was intricately prepared. He knew the things that mattered to clients from Arabic-speaking countries: proximity to the mosque, availability of halal food choices, security, and, most-importantly, privacy. His idea was to market the new complex as a “Little Dubai in the Heart of Downtown Vancouver.” He made some last minute edits to the presentation he would have to give on Monday at the real-estate firm’s offices. Mohamed’s line of thinking was interrupted by an email from his manager.

WELCOME TO OUR 2015-2016 STUDENT INTERNS read the email in unnecessary CAPS  usually reserved for emergency situations. Mohamed opened the email to see three student profiles.

    The first was a girl named Veronica Chiu. She had quite the impressive profile. She had attended the city’s top private school, the Colburn Academy. She had a business degree from out in Eastern Canada. She seemed like the type who would be working at a Bay Street firm rather than in Vancouver. Mohamed peered at the fine print.

    Ah, it all made sense. The profile mentioned that her father, Moses Chiu, was a client of the Firm and that all of them needed to be extra careful in making sure Veronica was happy. Veronica would also be working indirectly through the boss’s guidance.

  The second was Dawayne Jamison or “DJ” for short. He went to an inner city high school in California before moving to Vancouver to play college basketball. According to the email, apparently after redshirting he switched colleges three times due to poor grades disqualified him from the basketball team. Eventually, he attended a Christian college, found his calling in God and graduated Valedictorian.

    Wow – exactly the kind of guy our firm will use to secure new clients, Mohamed thought to himself.
Mohamed got to the third profile. She is very pretty, very Hollywood gorgeous, Mohamed thought before playing around with his ring finger and realizing he was having thoughts that a married man should not be having. She looked young, maybe half his age. Maria, eh just like our cleaning lady. Mohamed made a mental note she would call Maria Mendes, Ms. Mendes. In Mohamed’s mind there was only one Maria, the nice cleaning lady. Mohamed read Ms. Mendes’ profile. It was very short and stated:

Maria comes to us from Surrey, British Columbia where she recently completed her post-secondary studies. Maria has a particular interest in fashion and international marketing and will be working closely with our International team.

  Mohamed had been Deputy Chair of the International team for several years. The current Chair, Elliot Huang, was the Firm’s big rainmaker. In 2015, Elliot had successfully closed 40 new clients for the firm and engaged them in the development of marketing strategies. Many were new immigrants to Vancouver, who established quasi-operational businesses that served as vehicles designed to transfer assets to their young sons and daughters who were studying in the city. However, they made the Firm millions and were given rock star treatment.

    Mohamed was secretly quite excited that the team had recruited a new member, and additionally excited that she was quite easy on the eyes.

  A follow-up email soon arrived from the boss. STUDENT INTERNSHIP PROGRAM MENTORSHIP PAIRS read the email.

The email read:
‱ Veronica Chiu has been assigned to the International Marketing Group, she will be mentored by Elliot Huang.
‱ DJ has been assigned to the Sports and Entertainment Marketing group and will be mentored by Don Michaels.
‱ Maria Mendes has been assigned to the International Marketing Group and will be mentored by
 

Mohamed stopped in his tracks.
…. Mohamed Kamara

  Mohamed was shocked. It was the first time he had ever been asked to mentor or let alone participate in the program.
Before Mohamed could ponder any further, a third email came into his inbox. It was from the government’s immigration department in Ghana. Mohamed’s heart sunk has he opened it.

Dear Ms. Kamara:

Your Application for Permanent Residence in Canada has been refused. The primary purpose of your marriage has been adjudged to be for immigration purposes. We are also not satisfied that this is a genuine relationship. Thank you for your interest in Canada.

Officer MF.

    “Motherfucker!” Mohamed screamed smashing his keyboard on the table. It snapped in half. Mohamed looked around. Thankfully no one was around as an audience to his morning meltdown.

  Before Mohamed had a chance to think any further, the recognizable heavy footsteps of his boss and the accompanying rhythm of a set of high heels came towards him. Mo turned around to see his boss’s recognizable bespoke suit and thick-rimmed glasses. Next to him was Maria. She had a serious, “focused” game face on.
“Is this […]

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The Resignation Letter: An Online Novel (Chapter 3: Maria, Maria)

“Maria, wake up.” Maria Morales felt a tap on her shoulder. It was her 12-year old younger sister Samantha.

Maria slipped on her bunny slippers and felt her head feel all of a sudden, light-headed. It had been five weeks since Maria had last woken up without a hangover, but it also marked five weeks since Maria woke up everyday with a painful headache. Maria pulled the curtains and looked outside. The scene was a beautiful winter wonderland. Maria resided in Surrey B.C’s beautiful, golf-course ridden, Panorama Ridge neighbourhood. It was “a gem in a rough,” as she often described to the guys she would meet and cringe when they heard the phrase, “ I am from Surrey, and you.”

Maria Morales walked down the stairs of her family’s five-bedroom house. Christmas felt different this year. As she stepped downstairs, she could see her mother slouched across the couch. The O was playing in the background. “Mom, wake up – it’s Christmas Day” Samantha tapped her mother on the shoulder in the same fashion as she had tapped Maria’s shoulder.

“Get off me, you little slut” Maria’s mother shouted slapping Sam across the face. Samantha, stood back stunned. To Maria’s surprise, Samantha didn’t cry but rather looked at her mother angrily.

“Get your shit together Mom, please” Maria yelled rushing over to pull Samantha away. “It is Christmas Day. You are not ruining today like you have ruined the last three months.”

“Fuck you alchy, go make me some breakfast,” Maria’s mother slurred. Suddenly, there was silence and only loud snores.

“Sam, I am sorry” Maria whispered to Sam. “Let’s go out and grab some Jimmys. I think it’s another one of mom’s bad days.”

Their mother had been acting this way for three months. It was the day that Sam had accidentally revealed that “Dad has a new girlfriend,” while fighting with their mother, unraveling a series of quick and unforutnate events leading to the family of five, now becoming a family of four. Maria’s older brother, Todd, had long left the family in pursuit of his own career ambitions doing God-knows what.

Long-story short, Maria and Sam’s dad, a divorce lawyer (ironically), had started seeing his secretary and within a month time had moved out of their Surrey home and into her Yaletown condo. Maria felt depressed, thinking about her mother, a former fashion consultant was now a 24-hour W Channel afficianado.

Maria helped Sam get her coat on as they left their apartment driveway. While it was municipal b-ylaw that the driveway was to be shoveled, there was simply no one for the task. No man of the house. Maria felt tears run down her cheek.

Maria herself had been through a tough patch. She had an abusive five-year long-distance relationship end earlier in the year. She had spent the last nine months dating various guys online, only to realize none of them wanted more than a short-term hit and run. Maria, as self-conscious as she was, knew she was pretty by all cultural standards. She had this vivacious, rich, yet innocent look to her – ‘real stature’ as her Dad once complemented her. She looked younger than her 20 years.

Maria looked at her younger sister, trying to maintain herself emotionally. Maria’s year had been filled with way too much alcohol, way too much marijuana, and even one incident where she had accidentally taken fentanyl after being coerced by a few of her former old high school friends one late night out. Maria secretly hoped her sister could have her memories from 2016 erased.

Through all the madness, there was some good news. Maria had recently accepted a coveted internship at a marketing firm. While Maria was not sure if she had been selected to do marketing or be the one marketed, it was an end to her unemployment. Maria had obtained a certificate in marketing two years back but had never been able to find a firm to take her. They all said her grades were too poor, her certificate worth less than the paper it was printed on. One interviewer even accused her of being a fraudster and asked her for a criminal background check for a job (as a fashion model!).

Maria would start her new job, downtown, on boxing day, apparently as the Firm was short staffed for last-minute New Year promotional materials that were being requested by their retail clients. Maria felt nervously brave about this new job and her only worry was running into her father downtown. She had not spoken to him since he had tried to explain to her that he needed to ‘pursue his own happiness’ and move out with Anastasia (his secretary).

After a fifteen-minute walk, Maria and Samantha had arrived at Jimmys. They saw that the line-up was a mile long. In the front, she could see a Arab man with her wife, wearing a hijab. The man was yelling at the front-desk attendant, who appeared to be an Asian girl.

“This coffee is cold. Why is it cold?” the man yelled at the girl, who looked as though she was near years.

These damn refugees think this is Saudi Arabia or something. Maria thought to herself. I hope they deport these guys. Such a burden on our society.

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The Resignation Letter – An Online Novel (Chapter 2: Party Like a Permanent Resident)

     “Ladies and Gentleman – this year’s Power 50 Marketer of the Year is
 Mohamed Kamara! Mohamed, please come and claim your award.” 

     Mohamed could hear applause fill the air and the sound of a rap song in the background. He heard his dad’s voice booming from behind him.

     “You did it, my son, you did it! I am so proud of you”

       As Mohamed walked up to the podium, he noticed that the seats were empty. Looking back, Mohamed notice his father’s seat was unoccupied. In fact, there was no audience at all. As Mohamed started walking up the red-carpet lined stairs he felt the ground start to crumble. Looking up, he managed to make eye contact with the good-looking Caucasian male who was the award presenter. As Mohamed’s vision came into focus, he noticed it was his manager holding his final paycheck. “You are fired buddy, do you actually think we would actually award you?” Mohamed felt himself falling through the floors into a dark abyss.

 

“Mo
 where are you?” a faint voice came from outside the room.

Mohamed woke up in a cold sweat. He looked at his alarm clock – 8am. He should have been at work by now. Mo sat up on his bed in one swift, urgent motion. Waking up at random times at night in this fashion was a bad habit of his, one his future chiropractor would certainly speak to, and probably his future psychiatrist as well if she did not diagnose it first. After staring dumbfounded at his ceiling for a minute, Mohamed suddenly remembered that it was Christmas Day and the office was closed. He lay back down gingerly on his pillow.

“Mo
 open the damn door”

Two knocks on the door of Mo’s basement suite confirmed that he had a guest this morning.

Mohamed quickly pulled on his pajama shirt and stumbled to the front door. He peered carefully outside. The East Vancouver neighbourhood he lived in was notorious for break-ins, and even (as of recent) a string of violent home invasions. Mohamed saw a man with a puffy jacket wearing a green toque. As Mo stepped closer, he noticed it was his best friend, Shafiq. Mohamed felt his nervous tension dissipate.

Mohamed hurriedly unlocked his door.

“Ya scared me brother. Why didn’t you call me yesterday to tell me you were coming? Eh Shafiq, where is your wife? Shouldn’t you be spending the day with your wife and kid.”

Shafiq mumbled something inaudible before he spoke, “Bro I’m sorry, it is an emergency.”

Mohamed was worried. This was very out of the ordinary for Shafiq, the usually happy-go-lucky/outlandish comedian. While they didn’t see each other often, with Mo trapped at work and Shafiq trapped with newborn parenting duties, they made sure to attend mosque together once a week, followed by afternoon tea or coffee. Shafiq’s stories of perennial underemployment and diaper education often had Mohamed in stitches. Shafiq was an Engineer, turned Gas Station Attendant, and now probably classified himself as a budding entrepreneur. Shafiq always had amazing ideas for solving Western problems, unfortunately problems that Mohamed all-to-often pointed out, were not actually problems for most Westerners. For example, Shafiq came up with a remarkable idea of a swimsuit that could turn into a cocktail dress at the pull of a strap, in the odd event the female’s father or mother showed up at the beach and saw her underdressed. Mohamed kindly reminded Shafiq that cocktail parties usually did not occur at the beach and that in any event, two piece swimsuits were specifically selected for being two pieces rather than one.

Shafiq eventually resigned two weeks later to the fact that his idea was a flop. In fact, he lamented in the fact that his “market research” into two-piece swimsuits led to a cold night spent on the couch. His wife had come home from work one day and found Shafiq holding the newborn and looking at a few too many goriye girls.

“Mo, it’s not good. I think she’s doing something behind my back,” Shafiq’s eyes locked with Mohamed for a brief second. Mohamed could tell that Shafiq had not slept all night. He looked liked he had been hit by a bus.

“Brother, what happened?” Mohamed responded, quickly putting on a kettle of hot water for tea.

“I was out with the baby girl yesterday just around 5pm. I stopped at the Jimmys next to her work place. I grabbed two hot chocolates thinking I could give her a surprise when she left. Minutes later, I get this text message – saying she has a work meeting and can’t make it for dinner. This isn’t the first time, so I am not that upset, right. I get the stroller and I get ready to try and catch the next bus back home. I see out of the corner of my eye across the street. I know it was my wife. Just as I am about to call her name, I see this Lexus pull up and she gets into the front seat. I try and I.D the driver and I see her colleague next to her. Guy is the Team Lead of their project. I don’t remember his name. I know he’s rolling in dough. Dad’s a big-time lawyer or something. I remember him from the Christmas party. Whole night he was starring at my wife. My wife would smile back. I just know they are up to something.”

“Calm down brother. You are married with a kid. She would never be that reckless.” Mohamed grasped Shafiq firmly on the shoulders. “If you need me to go speak with her, I can do it for you. She’s in the PR business. We work with them all the time in marketing. It’s business around the clock. I’m sure it was just an innocent business meeting.”

“It is because I am a useless good for nothing foreign-trained engineer. Brother, I don’t know how you did it back in the day. I can’t even get another job anymore. I am an overqualified, stay-at-home father. That should just go on my resume. You know one interviewer last week even said that if he were me he would just let the wife make the money and stay home.”

Shafiq had only been in Canada for a year and a half. Initially, the plan was for his wife to move to Pakistan with him and for him to eventually find a company that would transfer him to Canada. However, Shafiq’s wife Muneeza (or Melissa, as she called herself at work) was offered a new job in Vancouver and Shafiq came to Canada right away. Importantly, Muneeza became pregnant shortly after sponsoring Shafiq. Now, he was what Canadian immigration called a “conditional permanent resident” and had to cohabit for his wife for two years before the conditions were removed.

Mohamed himself was all too familiar with Canada’s immigration system. He had arrived in Canada as a political refugee from war-torn Sierra Leone. His citizenship application had been held up for a year and a half because he had purportedly provided “inconsistent dates” – a two-week memory gap in his ten years as a Canadian permanent resident.

“Where is the wife and kid now?” Mohamed asked Shafiq inquisitively.

“They went to visit Melissa’s grandparents for lunch. I have to get back after lunch so she doesn’t think I left. Apparently the grandparents don’t want me to show up at their house this year. They think I’m some money-sucking bad omen.” Shafiq sighed heavily.

“Anyways brother, Merry Christmas.” Shafiq took out a small neatly-wrapped gift box from inside his jacket pocket. “I know it is not much, but I value our friendship.”

Mohamed guilty accepted the gift. He had been so busy with work that he had forgotten to prepare anything for Shafiq. “I left my gift for you at the office. I’ll hit you up with it next week.” Mohamed responded, hoping the cheerfulness in his voice would hide the whiteness of the lie.

“Go ahead, open it” urged Shafiq.

Mohamed opened the package to find a beautiful, brand new Quran written in both the Arabic and English language. “It’s beautiful. Thank you my brother. Let’s make lunch, how does some of my homemade fish stew and yam sound to you.”

“You know that I love everything you make guy,” Shafiq answered happily. “Tomorrow’s problems we can deal with tomorrow. Now where is the remote control, I want to watch the football game, the Hawks are playing”

“American football,” Mohamed kindly corrected Shafiq, throwing over the remote.

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Will Tao is an Award-Winning Canadian Immigration and Refugee Lawyer, Writer, and Policy Advisor based in Vancouver. Vancouver Immigration Blog is a public legal resource and social commentary.

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