Visits

Tuesday, March 3, 2020

Proof of Existence

Had to meet my immigration agent this morning. Always something to be taken care of. Every year. No such thing as saving the documentation from the year before. This time it was the matter of official acknowledgement of exactly where I live and the necessity of a photo. As evidence for what? That I look a year older than I looked last year?

Of course, these documents and proofs are often false in any case. For example, I don't actually live where I am to be officially documented as living. Not yet anyway. The address recorded in fact hosts a mere of shell of a domicile. True, the Javan workers live there in various states of privation, but I'm sure that they require no such documentation.

And every year, on that special day when one finally visits the immigration department, one must have yet another photo taken, along with fingerprints. As if one's fingerprints change from year to year. He must also have memorized the address where he does or does not live.

Most importantly, he must pay the fee.

For what? For the bureaucratic red tape that so carefully wraps the entire process.

Ah well, it is but once a year, albeit the attendant annoyances are liberally spread over the course of several months.
 

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