A couple of weeks ago, the duke and I trundled off to a nearby NCS (Nationality Checking Service–and we used one for another borough because the wait list for ours was horrible) and submitted our my application for citizenship. Why do I always think of this as collective? Yes, the duke has been by my side faithfully through the process, but in the end it’s my application, and if I fail at it, it won’t be because of anything the duke did or didn’t do. It’s a gift he’s given me by accident of birth and work towards that goal, but ultimately, it’s my application.
So, we went with a tonne of paperwork. Well, really, not as much as we’ve had at other times. The worker photocopied and certified our documents, took our payment, and sent us on our way. The whole thing took about 15 minutes, but I imagine that is because we were prepared and had everything in order.
I don’t know why I am in the least bit nervous, but it feels so final and important. It is indeed a huge thing. If I am successful in my application and am invited to a citizenship ceremony, I will be agreeing to take part in British society in the fullest. I will carry a passport that also declares that I am a citizen of the EU as well. It seems too good to be true. Not to have to worry about immigration issues with my husband again (unless we choose to move to the States, which I don’t really see happening). I think more than anything that is what makes me the most nervous about all this. After so long we will finally have citizenship to the same country.
To lighten my mood, I watch this video:
Starting at 1:09, I have to laugh. It’s not a laugh from ridicule, but a laugh because even as a native English speaker, I will probably end up flubbing something up because of nerves.
I can only hope I will have the chance to make such a slip.
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