Don’t Look Away

A couple of weeks ago, on a cold and rainy evening (aren’t they all like that, now that summer is over?), G and I made our regular pilgrimage to our favourite gelato shop. We usually walk the four kilometers there and back to justify having gelato for supper.

As we started the trek back home, we saw a young man, perhaps about 18 or 20, setting up camp for the night on the steps of the town hall. His cardboard sign read, “My name is Nikolas and I am homeless. Please help.”

Imagine having to sleep like this on a cold and rainy night.

One thing I love about my husband is his empathy and compassion. He immediately turned to me and asked if I had anymore cash, as he hadn’t brought my wallet. I didn’t. I had only brought exactly enough for gelato because we have a bad habit of buying seconds if we have extra cash on us and we’re supposed to be on a diet and a budget.

So we decided we’d go home and get some money and some food for this boy and bring it back to him. Since he seemed to be settling in there for the night, we figured he’d still be there in an hour. When we got home, we put together a care package of some cash, a pair of socks, and a sandwich and some snacks, hopped in the car, and drove back.

We gave Nikolas his care package and I asked him how long he’d been on the streets. He replied that this was his first week sleeping on the streets and explained that he was trying to get off drugs (it was his second day being sober) so that he could get a job. He said that the homeless shelters were full of drugs addicts and it was too hard to be around those people while he was trying to quit, so he figured he’d do better on the street.

One of the things I noticed when I came to Melbourne is that homeless people are not nearly so visible as they are in major American cities. Granted, a lot of “homeless” people in America are scammers who are not really homeless at all. They are usually the ones that stand at freeway exits and usually look pretty able-bodied and clean, wearing clothes in good condition and have shaved recently. The real homeless people in America tend to be concentrated in the city centers and you see them everywhere. In Melbourne, you only see them occasionally and only in certain areas. For example, they are frequent fixtures near the Bourke Street shopping area.

This is the part where I’m going to get up on my moral high horse for a bit, so brace yourselves.

How often do you simply walk by someone like this?
(Sign reads: “Please help Homeless & broke All my belongings have been stolen… clothes blankets and personal effects, my Bible as well. I need help for phone calls, fresh newspapers, etc to find work. All help very appreciated and put to good use”)

I am so sick of seeing people pretend not to see homeless people. It happens in America and it happens in Australia. People step over them, avert their eyes and pretend not to notice them, never offer a kind word or any help to people who are clearly down and out. And it’s just wrong.

You can’t fix the world and you’ll go broke if you start giving all your money away to everyone who needs it. But next time you’re out shopping, consider how much money you are spending on yourself, mainly for things you don’t really need, and ask yourself if you really can’t spare $5 for the homeless guy sitting outside of David Jones. You won’t miss the $5, but it might make all the difference to the homeless person as to whether or not they can afford a meal at McDonald’s. Don’t have any notes on you? Then what about that loose change in your pocket that is likely to end up in your sofa cushions? And if you can’t afford that either, maybe you can afford to donate a few hours to an organisation that helps the homeless or even just stop and ask the person if they are okay, so they know that someone cares.

I know a lot of people say they won’t give money to the homeless because they’d probably just spend it on drugs, alcohol, or cigarettes. Yeah, they might do that. But I believe that we who are well off don’t have the right to judge people who have it rough. If a cigarette or a beer helps them cope better with their depressing situation, I’m not going to begrudge them that. I might not agree with it and I wouldn’t make the same choice if it were me, but I do think we have to respect their autonomy.

When G and I gave Nikolas his care package, he looked as if he were about to cry. G commented on that later and I explained to him that it had probably been a long time since anyone had acknowledged his presence, let alone done something nice for him. Think about it: If you are sleeping on the streets, then you probably don’t have any friends or family you can turn to for help. You already feel isolated and alone. But being homeless, you are reduced to the lowest rung on the social hierarchy and people treat you like you are invisible, just it makes them uncomfortable. How depressing and dehumanising that must be.

I make it a point to say a few words to each homeless person I give money to. I might wish them a good day or ask if they are okay or if they need anything else. It doesn’t take much to let another human being know that you care, even if you can’t fix their problems.

The other thing that troubles me is that there appears to be limited help for homeless people who are trying to turn their lives around. Nikolas is just one example. I’m sure he is not the only one out there who is trying to get off drugs who is effectively driven away from services for the homeless. (Homelessness Australia has a lot of statistics on the homeless, if anyone is interested in numbers.)

Is this what you do when you see a homeless person? If so, ask yourself why.

And it’s not just Australia. The problem is just as bad or worse in America. Nikolas reminded me of a young woman named Sylvia, whom I encountered in Houston, TX some years ago. She came up to ask for some money and I gave her $5. She asked if she could have an extra 65 cents so that she could afford to get a foot-long sandwich at Subway and explained she hadn’t eaten in two days and was very hungry. I ended up giving her a lot more than that and asked her why she was homeless, where she was sleeping, etc.

Sylvia said she had been sleeping under a bridge, but that the night before, the police had come to kick out all the homeless people from under the bridge and confiscated everyone’s belongings, leaving her with nothing but the clothes on her back. Another woman who was in the park overheard the conversation and it turned out that she did a lot of volunteer work with Houston area homeless organisations. She asked Sylvia if she didn’t know about the shelters or the soup kitchen. Sylvia said she did know about them, but she couldn’t go there anymore because she’d been off drugs for a year and the shelters and soup kitchen was where all her former “friends”, all drug addicts or dealers, went. And of course, she couldn’t be around them and still stay clean. She was trying very hard to keep her life in order and find a job so that she could afford to go back to college and finish a degree that she had started before she got mixed up with drugs.

Like Nikolas here in Melbourne, there was simply no help available for Sylvia that didn’t require her to put herself at risk of becoming addicted to drugs again. So she slept on the street and had to beg for money in order to eat.

At least in Australia, there are a lot more programs aimed at preventing homelessness and helping people who are on the down and out to get back on their feet than there are in America and that is definitely something I wish America did more of. But even though Australia is better than America in this regard, there is still room for improvement.

There is absolutely no reason in the world why an able-bodied young man like Nikolas should be sleeping on the streets. Why isn’t someone helping him to conquer his addiction? He clearly has the motivation to do it, but that’s a hard road to walk by yourself. Why isn’t someone helping him to find a job and safe, affordable housing? He’s willing to work, but probably needs some help getting started in a job search. Australia offers so much assistance for refugees and asylum seekers, but can’t seem to find the resources to help Australians who need a hand up. The same goes for America.

(Ironically, on the night we met Nikolas, he was sleeping under a sign that said “The City of Yarra welcomes asylum seekers and refugees.” A week later, Nikolas had moved on, apparently kicked out by some city official, since a notice about leaving personal belongings on the steps has since been posted where he had been sleeping.)

I can’t change Australia’s policies on helping the homeless (though the federal government has recently made available $320 million for homeless services), but I figure I can at least do something myself for individual homeless people when I encounter them and I can try to draw awareness to the issue, which is somewhat the point of this post. I hope that the next time you see a homeless person, wherever you live, that you’ll stop to consider if there is any help or kindness that you could offer that person. Do something, but please don’t look away.

Australian Partner Visas and the Road to Residency: Part 5

For Part 1, click here.

For Part 2, click here.

For Part 3, click here.

For Part 4, click here.

In my previous post on this subject, I mentioned how and why I came to be stuck with having to satisfy Schedule 3 requirements and explained that the outlook was rather bleak.

I’m pleased to say that story has a mostly happy ending, resulting in me being granted a temporary residency visa! Woohoo!

The only unhappy part to the ending is owing our migration lawyer another $14,000. Ouch! But I guess he got the job done, which is what matters.

Here’s what went down. With the help of our lawyer and a barrister who specialises in immigration law, we filed three statutory declarations, along with several supporting letters, with DIAC in response to their request for information. We decided to ask for the waiver, but also supply all the information to satisfy the Schedule 3 requirements at the same time.

To waive Schedule 3, the applicant must show that there are “compelling circumstances” to warrant a waiver. These circumstances are defined as 1) having been in a relationship with the sponsor for two years or 2) having a child.

However, there is legal precedent which states that compelling circumstances cannot be limited to just those two items and there have been instances where an applicant was found to have compelling circumstances for other reasons, such as health issues, etc. In the letter our lawyer wrote, he outlined these precedents and made his case for why other circumstances must be taken into consideration.

In our case, our compelling circumstances, as outlined to DIAC, were:

1) G’s frail aged mother requires daily care, which I provide (supported by letters from her and her GP)

2) G would feel compelled to leave Australia with me if I were sent away

3) That would cause harm to his employer, a public hospital (supported by a letter from his boss)

4) It would put both G and his mother in a bind, in regards to her need for care and his need to be with me

We left out any references to financial hardship, as the lawyer did not think DIAC would care as much about that and he felt it would detract from the bigger issues.

Our lawyer advised that, failing to get a waiver or satisfy the requirements, I would not have to leave Australia, but would be able to appeal to the Migration Review Tribunal. In such a case, I would be on a bridging visa until my hearing, which would be in about two years.

But fortunately, that wasn’t an issue because my case officer at DIAC was apparently happy enough with our explanations. I was expecting to wait at least a few weeks, if not months, to hear what the decision would be.

Imagine my surprise to get a response just two days after filing our paperwork! Not only did my case officer say that the waiver was granted, but that my temporary residency visa had also been granted. Hooray!

However, even though I am now officially a resident, I still have to wait another two years to become a permanent resident and at least two more years after that to become a citizen, so this is by no means the last post in this series!

*Disclaimer: None of this is legal advice. If you have questions about your own visa application, you really should talk to a licensed migration agent. I’m not an expert. This post pertains solely to my experiences and circumstances- yours will probably be different.*

Pinky

Daily Prompt: Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a child. What became of it?

That’s Pinky getting squashed under the rocking chair, which I also received as a present for my first birthday. While it looks like I don’t care about Pinky here, we did eventually develop a deep and lasting bond.

When I turned one year old, I received as a gift a pink teddy bear with a bell inside that jingled when you shook the bear. On account of the bear being pink, someone (probably not me, since I couldn’t talk yet) decided the bear was female. Also on account of the bear being pink, she was named Pinky.

I had numerous stuffed animals over the year, but Pinky, along with three others, formed my “inner circle”. The others were Tiger, a small tiger who was Pinky’s brother (I guess he was adopted?), a threadbare Dalmatian dog named Spotty that had been my mother’s as a child, and a large brown horse named Cartwright Colt, which had also once belonged to my mother. I loved these four the best of all of my stuffed animals, but I loved Pinky the very most and took her with me almost everywhere.

I remember visiting my grandparents’ farm on which my uncle and his family also lived and worked. I was terrified of Uncle Joe, almost as much as I was terrified of Pee Wee, the mean farm dog. Uncle Joe did horrible things to me like hold me upside down by one leg and tickling me until I either wet my pants or puked. But the worst thing he would do was take Pinky when I wasn’t looking, hide her, and then tell me that Pinky was going to live with him and I couldn’t have her back. Oh, the shrieking and wailing that ensued!

Of course, I always got Pinky back, usually with some help from my mother. You’d think that after awhile I would have learned to leave Pinky at home when we visited the farm, but apparently I had the memory span of a goldfish back in those days.

There was one occasion in which I did leave Pinky at home. It was on Teddy Bear Picnic Day when I was in kindergarten. We were not normally allowed to bring our toys to school, so I was thrilled for a chance to bring Pinky to school for the Teddy Bear Picnic.

I once made a wedding dress for Pinky out of dryer sheets, even though she didn’t have anyone to marry. She was a good sport about it, though.

Unfortunately, I forgot what day Teddy Bear Picnic Day was. And I turned up at school that day without Pinky. Since both my parents worked, there was no one at home to bring her to me and I had to make do with someone else’s old teddy bear that had been left behind from the red group’s picnic the day before. I was devastated and I remember crying in front of my whole class when I realised my mistake. (Our kindergarten was full day kindergarten, but only on every other day, so the red group had had their picnic the day before. I was in the green group.)

When I got home that evening, I apologised profusely to Pinky for having forgotten her. Being the nice bear that she was, she forgave me.

Over the years, we had many adventures together. I knew I could always count on her. I could tell her all my troubles and she kept me safe from the monsters that lurked under my bed and all she asked for in return was a nightly cuddle.

While most children grow up and forget their childhood playthings, Pinky, Tiger, Spotty, and Cartwright Colt all claimed a place of honour in my bed every night until I was in my early 20s and moved in with a boyfriend and were gradually replaced by stuffed animals I accumulated as an adult (Yes, I still sleep with stuffed animals! Don’t judge me!), animals which were larger and easier for my longer, adult arms to hug during the night.

So instead a new home was found for them in my walk-in closet where I could see them every day and then, due to a bit of moving around, they eventually made their home with all my other stuffed animals in a plastic storage tub. Life got in the way and I gradually forgot about that plastic tub with my friends inside. When I moved to Australia, I didn’t even open it up to look what was inside before putting it in storage and moving to the other side of the world.

At this point, you might be thinking, “How sad! Poor Pinky all alone in storage while the girl that she practically raised from a baby goes off gallivanting around the world!”

Well, never fear! There is a happy ending for Pinky.

About a year ago, after having been in Australia for about three months at that point, I went back to America and began going through all my things, loading up my suitcases with more of my possessions to bring back with me. And I opened up this plastic tub and found all my old stuffed animals.

I rescued Pinky, Tiger, Spotty, Cartwright Colt, and Ladybug (a threadbare, bulbous, and grotesque looking ladybug that had belonged to my dad as a boy).

I returned Spotty, Cartwright Colt, and Ladybug to their rightful owners, who had not realised that I had “adopted” them as a child and taken them with me when I left home. My parents were pleasantly surprised to get their stuffed animals back, saying they had always wondered what had happened to them.

Pinky and Tiger (front and center) surrounded by new friends in Australia.

As for Pinky and Tiger, I found a place for them in my carry-on suitcase and brought them back to Australia with me, where they now live. They don’t sleep in bed with me, but they have a spot in the closet with some other stuffed animals that are special to me. They are, after all, getting old and probably appreciate the quieter life that closet living has to offer, whereas bedtime duties always involve the risk of being kicked onto the cold floor in the middle of the night.

I wonder if someday I’ll have a child who adopts my stuffed animals for his or her own, the way I did to my parents’ animals. If so, I hope he or she will love Pinky just as much as I always have.

Australian Partner Visas and the Road to Residency: Part 4

For Part 1, click here.

For Part 2, click here.

For Part 3, click here.

Some serious sh*t has gone down recently at immigration. Take this post as a warning and try not to make the same costly mistake.

The short version of the story:

Our migration lawyer made a very basic error and because of that, not only might my application for a spousal visa be denied, but I might have to go back to America (without my husband) and apply again.

The long version of the story:

If you’ve been following my blog, you know that in mid-2012, G and I hired a migration lawyer to help us with the application process for a spousal visa. I first arrived in Australia on a regular tourist visa (called an ETA), went back to America after three months for a short visit, and then returned to Australia on the same tourist visa.

Because airfare to America is expensive, we put in what’s called simply an “Application for Further Stay as a Visitor” which would allow me to stay for a period of six months instead of three. That would work out great, since our wedding would be in September, towards the end of that six month period, and we planned to marry in America anyway. This application cost $300, but we figured it was better than paying $1800 for airfare, right? We thought we were saving ourselves some money.

I printed out the details of this application and went on about my life. Shortly thereafter, we retained our lawyer and began the process of getting ready to apply for a spousal visa.

I could not apply before our marriage, because a fiancee visa can only be lodged off-shore. Our lawyer advised that we apply after returning from our wedding. I was sent to immigration to ask if my tourist visa had any “no further stay” conditions on it that would prevent me from lodging an application for another visa. It did not. The lawyer said we were good to go.

Fast forward a few months to after our wedding in September. I returned to Australia with my husband on what I believed to be my original tourist visa, thinking it had an expiry date of November 22, 2012. Plenty of time to lodge our application and get all our marriage documents in order and such. As it was, we ended up cutting it close, as we had a lot of trouble getting statutory declarations from our friends and family that were properly notarised. Our lawyer lodged the application on our behalf on November 21, a day before my tourist visa was due to expire. I was then granted a Bridging Visa C, or BVC.

Fast forward again until about two weeks ago. I had finally gotten a new passport with my new married name in it from the consulate and I went in to immigration to update my passport information with them. I also wanted to ask if I could apply for a Bridging Visa B, or BVB, instead of the BVC I was on because my grandfather in America is very old and very ill and if he dies, I wanted to be able to attend his funeral with my family. Or, you know, maybe even fly over there for a quick visit while he is still alive.

On a BVC, you have no travel rights. You are not allowed to leave Australia and they are really strict on that. The girl I spoke to said there were absolutely no exceptions. I asked her why it was that I was granted a BVC in the first place, since that is usually used for refugees and asylum seekers or people who had been here unlawfully.

You’re not going to believe her answer. I could hardly believe it myself.

She said I was on a BVC because I had been here illegally!!!

I thought, surely there must be some mistake! My application for a spousal visa was lodged the day before my tourist visa expired, so I couldn’t have been illegal! I told this to the girl and she said that my visa had expired September 29th, not November 22nd.

“But,” I objected, “I was on a tourist visa that was valid from 12 months from the date it was first granted. There’s no way I would have applied for it as early as September because I would have only just met my husband at that point and hadn’t made any plans to come to Australia.” And also, it says pretty clearly on my ETA that November 22nd is the expiry date. Right there in black and white.

Random photo of cute koala.

“Not your visa,” she said. ‘Your visa wasn’t for twelve months.”

At that point, I couldn’t argue with her because I didn’t have that print-out with me, not having anticipated having that sort of conversation. But when I got home, I checked it, and sure enough, it said: “Expiry date: 22 Nov 2012″.

I immediately fired off a letter to the lawyer asking HOW ON EARTH HAD THIS HAPPENED?!?!?! Okay, I wasn’t that hysterical about it, but I did ask politely how my visa expiry was different than what we thought it was and how was it that I ended up being here illegally without knowing it?

He did not reply.

I went back to immigration about five days ago with G’s mother who is having visa problems of her own (she is a permanent resident) and while she was talking to her case officer, I asked someone about my alleged illegal status. I showed the girl the print out of my original ETA.

She told me that visa was cancelled when I applied for a further stay visa.

“I didn’t realise it was a different visa”, I explained, “I just thought it was an extension of the original one.” You see, when you apply for it, it doesn’t say anywhere that any current visa you have will be cancelled when the further stay is granted. It’s easy to assume that it is literally just an extension on how long you can stay on any on visit, more like a change of the visa conditions than an actual change of the visa itself. Also, nowhere does it say when you apply for it what your new expiry date is. The girl at immigration was a bit surprised that our lawyer hadn’t caught this and said I might want to file a complaint at www.mara.gov.au.

Then the girl dropped another bombshell on me that didn’t scare me as much at the time as it does now because I didn’t really understand what it was. She told me that because I was illegal when I lodged my partner visa, I now had to satisfy what are called Schedule 3 criteria. She said a letter had been sent to my migration lawyer about it five days previous. I said this was the first I had heard of it. She kindly printed out a copy of the letter for me and said that I had 28 days from the time it was first sent out to my lawyer to respond.

I left there feeling pretty ticked off. Not only had my lawyer not responded to my email about how it was that I ended up illegal under his watch, but he had also not passed on this information about Schedule 3 criteria to me.

For the record, this lawyer charges $400 an hour and prior to this mess, we had already paid him almost $13,000, which does not include the fees for lodging the application itself. For that kind of money, I expect him to get things right.

Why didn’t he check, double check, and triple check my visa status? Why did he not run it through VEVO to make sure or walk across the street to DIAC and ask? Why didn’t he send me to DIAC to check? We could have made this mistake on our own without paying him all that money, for crying out loud!

When I got home, I called G and told him what happened. He said he would call the lawyer. The lawyer took all day to get back to him. When he did finally call back, he admitted that he also did not know that the “further stay” was a separate visa to the ETA. Uh, that seems like a pretty basic thing that any registered migration agent should know…

I’ll be honest and say I haven’t like our lawyer from the start. He is loud, pushy, and self-important. He wasted a lot of our time (which we were billed for) just telling us how great he was and how we couldn’t do this without him. Numerous times, I left his office not having discussed things that I wanted to because he wasted our meeting time talking about how great he thinks he is. Another time, he screamed in my face for two hours because I hadn’t finished filling out the forms and blocked my way when I tried to get up and leave, before even hearing me out on why I hadn’t filled them out completely (because I wasn’t sure how I should answer a question in some cases or because I didn’t have the information to answer it).

G met with him in his office on Friday to discuss this problem. It was only after that that the lawyer then forwarded me the letter about Schedule 3.

G phoned me afterwards to say that the lawyer was now saying he didn’t know I had been on a “further stay” visa. Well, he did know because he took photocopies of all my paperwork and even if he hadn’t, he should have wondered how I was staying there for six months on a visitor visa. Or he should have just checked for himself what visa I was on and what my expiry date was, since that is what we were paying him to do. Like, duh?

Oh, and he also said he had no advice for us at this stage and wasn’t sure how to handle this situation and he’d need to check with someone else for advice. I guess that’s as much admission of guilt as we are likely to get from him.

If you’ve never heard of Schedule 3 criteria before, you are probably wondering what the big deal is and, more importantly for you, is it something you need to worry about in your own application?

This is Schedule 3, as described in the letter from DIAC:

Criterion 3001 requires that the application is made within 28 days of the last day on which the applicant held a substantive visa or from the time notice is given.

Criteria 3003 and 3004 require that the applicant satisfy several sub-criteria which include the following:
-the applicant is not (i.e. at time of application) the holder of a Substantive visa because of factors beyond their control’, and
-there are compelling reasons for granting the visa; and
- the applicant complied substantially with the conditions of their last visa (apart from any condition breached simply because the applicant ceased to hold a visa); and
-the applicant would have met all the criteria for grant of the visa in this application apart from the Schedule 3 criteria, on the last day they held a substantive visa.

Why is this a big deal? Basically, it’s a big deal because it’s something that can be used to deny your application. In other words, they will deny my application unless I give them a DAMN good reason not to.

I need to explain to them why I became illegal and show that it wasn’t my fault AND give them a compelling reason to grant the visa.

I’m told there are two ways to tackle this problem. One is to apply for a waiver. According to the letter DIAC sent, a waiver can be granted for “compelling reasons”, including cases where there is a child from the relationship or where the relationship has existed for more than two years. Neither of these apply to me, but a migration agent from up in Sydney said I could offer up reasons such as how it would affect our marriage, the financial burden it would place on us, how my Australian citizen husband might suffer without me, etc.

The second way is just to try to meet the criteria. For me, the hardest one to meet would be proving that I became unlawful due to factors beyond my control. Giving your application over to someone else to handle doesn’t absolve you of responsibility to make sure things are done right. Now, if you have Schedule 3 slapped on you because you became unlawful while you were in a coma in a hospital, that’s pretty easy to prove that there were factors beyond your control.

Since I wasn’t in a coma, I don’t have some stellar excuse as to why things got stuffed up. The lawyer didn’t do his due diligence. The immigration website where I applied for the further stay wasn’t clear. Then that website sent the details of my new visa by email to my husband, but not to me. And my husband just thought it was a receipt for payment and never forwarded it to me, so I never knew it existed. An honest mistake, to be sure, but it may not be good enough for DIAC.

If you fail Schedule 3, you have to leave the country and apply again offshore. For most types of visas, there is an exclusionary period of three years during which you cannot apply for any visas. For spouses, that may be waived, but you’d still be facing up to a year or more apart, just because the processing time for offshore applications is currently 12-15 months, PLUS you’d have to pay the application fee all over again, which isn’t cheap. Or you can appeal the decision to the Migration Review Tribunal, and I’m told the current wait time for a hearing is two years (!!!).

If, like me, you basically dismantled your life back home when you came to Australia, being sent back would be pretty devastating. I sold almost everything I owned and someone else is currently occupying my house, so it’s not like I could just evict them.

Some of my family has asked why G wouldn’t just come to America with me if I get sent back, but let’s be realistic. Who would look after his mother? Who is going to look after his property? Or why should he have to sell his property? Why should he have to quit a job that he likes and that pays reasonably well, a job where an entire development team is counting on his expertise and a job where a major hospital depends on him keeping their computer systems in tip-top shape? And more importantly, how would he even get a green card to come to America? I can’t sponsor him as a spouse. I don’t meet the income requirements laid out by USCIS since I’ve not had any income in America since closing my business.

The only practical and realistic option would be that I go to America alone and we just tough it out. But I feel like that is very unfair. We’ve only been married six months and this is a crucial time for us during which we need to lay strong foundations for our marriage. We wanted to start a family later this year or early next year. After all, I’m pushing 30 and G is on the wrong side of 40, so time isn’t really on our side.

It’s not like I’m some criminal or dishonest person who was trying to get around the immigration rules. On the contrary, I bent over backwards to get everything in by what I thought was the deadline to avoid becoming unlawful. I left the country when I was supposed to.

I know why DIAC has these rules in place and I’m glad they are trying to weed out cheaters, but I think it is a bit harsh to give someone a Schedule 3 just because they made a genuine mistake. I know DIAC is under strain and they have way more applicants than they have the manpower to process, but it would be nice if they would take some of these things on a case by case basis. Splitting up G and me at this point would basically ruin our lives together as a family and nobody at immigration even gives a rat’s behind.

Anyway, that’s the latest development in what I thought would be a relatively boring migration saga. I suppose an unexpected plot twist always makes for good reading, though, right? I’m hoping to have an update on the prognosis of this situation sometime next week, so cross your fingers for me, please! We need all the luck we can get.

*Disclaimer: None of this is legal advice. If you have questions about your own visa application, you really should talk to a licensed migration agent. I’m not an expert. This post pertains solely to my experiences and circumstances- yours will probably be different.*

How to Drive Like an Australian

The sign is supposed to read “Don’t drive like a wanker.” Get it? W + anchor = wanker. Only in Australia!

You may think that driving is the same no matter where you go in the world, but you would be wrong. Every place has its own unique driving culture, including Australia. Here’s how you can fit in if you’d like to drive in Australia.

Australian driving tends to be based around two premises. The first is that any car you are driving is too big for the road. The second is that the road is made solely for you. When in doubt, default to either or both of these assumptions.

One of the trademarks of Australian driving is treating lane markings as suggestions, rather than hard and fast rules about where you car should be on the road.

Always let your passenger side wheels ride right on or just over the line. Not only does this convey to other drivers that you believe your car to be too big to fit on the road, but also that you are selfish. After all, you wouldn’t want anybody to be able pass you and beat you to that red light.

A common Australian tactic to prevent other drivers from “budging” in front of you (or “passing”, as it is known in the civilised world), is to take up more than one lane, as seen here.

In the same vein, you should never let other people get around a tram. When passing a tram, be sure to drive slowly, right next to the tram until the absolute last possible moment you have to actually pass it. Then quickly cut around in front of it and laugh because all the fools behind you cannot pass the tram and must bottleneck into a single file line behind it. Meanwhile, you are home free and have an open stretch of road to yourself. And heck, you can take it a step further by applying this passing etiquette to pretty much any other road situation. Like on the motorway.

On the motorway, if you are going slower than most people, be sure to hog the right lanes so that people are forced to pass you on the left. You can make this even more fun by ignoring the lane markings (see above) and taking up two lanes.

Another thing you can do is when you see that someone is trying to merge on, refuse to move over for them, even if the lane next to you is completely clear. It’s always fun to try to cause an accident and what better way to do it than by playing chicken with someone whose entrance lane is merging into yours?

Where you are from originally, it might be common practice to move your vehicle completely into the near lane to make a turn. That’s just simply not how it’s done in Australia. You must never move more than halfway into the near lane, even if it is a dedicated turn lane (which are very rare) to make a turn. Remember: your car is SO BIG that you can’t possible make that turn without swinging out and also, it’s perfectly acceptable to make everyone behind you slam on your brakes while you slowly negotiate that dangerous street corner with your oversized sedan. If you want to make it convincing, try to manage to hit the curb anyway, despite having made an overly wide turn.

These decorative signs add so much character to the street!

Also, those signs saying “no right turn”? Yeah, just feel free to ignore those. They are only there for decoration.

Then there’s the use of turn signals. In Australia, signalling your intent is incorrect. It’s always better to leave other drivers guessing for as long as possible. You must wait to put on your signal until after you have begun whatever move you are wanting to do.

Please remember that the road was made just for you. Be as selfish as you like and pay no attention to other drivers. A good way to do this is to intend to make a right turn and pull up to a red light in the right lane (which will usually be demarcated for right turners and for those going straight). Then wait until a bunch of cars get behind you and let them think you will be going straight. When the light turns green, THEN you can put on your right blinker and block the entire intersection for the duration of the green light and cackle with insane glee at all the poor sops behind you who can’t get around.

How a “keep clear” zone is theoretically supposed to work. (Click to view larger image.)

Often in Australia, you will find that certain intersections are marked as “keep clear” zones, indicating that drivers should not block the intersection if they need to stop. This is so that people can continue to make right turns in or out of said intersection. Believe it or not, most Aussies are pretty good about following the “keep clear” rule when they come to a stop. (Don’t ask me why this is the one road rule they choose to obey- I really don’t know.) The problem here comes from people who are turning onto the main road from a side street.

Here’s what you should do if you are ever trying to turn left onto a main road from a side street and find that the other drivers have conveniently left the “keep clear” box open: Pull into the box just enough to claim your place in line, but not so much that anyone behind you wanting to turn right can get through. When the line starts moving, pull forward so slowly that the right turner behind you doesn’t have a chance to sneak through the line before the other cars start to close in. After all, he’s probably not in any hurry to get anywhere.

Yeah, that sign for a bike lane? That’s just for decoration, too. Notice how skillfully this driver manages to block the cycling lane to get revenge on any cyclist who might try to pass him. Well done, sir!

There are often a lot of bicycles and motorcycles sharing the road. This can cause some Aussie drivers to become very angry in heavy traffic when they see that someone on a pushbike is moving faster than they are. Try to be a true-blue Aussie yourself by sharing in the communal rage of your fellow drivers and cooperating with them to block the offending two-wheeled vehicle. Do this by once again ignoring your lane marking and drifting into the bicycle or parking lane so that the offender either can’t get through safely at all or must slow way down to avoid hitting your mirror. After all, if you have to sit in traffic, so should everyone else! Take it up a notch by driving onto the sidewalk to block pedestrians. The only thing more insulting than a cyclist moving faster than your car is a pedestrian moving faster than your car!

Lastly, when driving in Australia, pretend every day is a lazy Sunday and you have nowhere important to be. Drive slowly, leisurely. Spend more time looking at your surrounding than at traffic or road hazards. Expect people to be forgiving of your mistakes while being completely intolerant of theirs. In general, adopt a laid-back attitude to driving. If you are never in a rush, you won’t mind the traffic so much and you’ll find it’s easier to ignore the honking behind you.

Tampax Pearl in Australia!

I normally wouldn’t make a post like this one, but about a year ago I made a post bemoaning the lack of tampon selection in Australia, specifically my preferred brand, Tampax Pearl. That post has been one of my most viewed posts (usually from people googling how to find Tampax Pearl in Australia) and recently some commenters have said they have started seeing them in local stores.

That’s great, but I have even better news: You can now get them online!

I just got an email this morning from Fishpond alerting me that they now have Tampax Pearls in stock. They are a bit pricey by my American standards, but tampons aren’t that cheap here anyways, and I guess if you’re desperate… well, beggars can’t be choosers. And they do currently have a wide variety of absorbencies, including ultra, super plus and lite, which are extremely hard to find here in any brand, let alone the coveted Tampax Pearl. Hooray!

They ship from a USA supplier, so I have no idea how long it would take to arrive by mail, but since Amazon US won’t ship them overseas and I haven’t found any US drugstore that will ship overseas, it’s definitely an improvement.

I have no idea how long they will keep these in stock (I’ve been on their list to be notified for months) or if they will be a permanent fixture, so if you need them, if it might be wise to stock up. Plus, if they sell a lot of them, they’ll be more likely to keep them in stock.

Update- 17 May 2013: Amy from Proctor & Gamble’s marketing agency very kindly got in touch with me about this blog and arranged to send me some samples of the new Australian Tampax Pearls. Thanks, Amy! Check out what she sent me!

That’s a lot of samples!

As you can see from the packaging, they are pretty much identical to the American variety.

She sent me four boxes of the new tampons, which is pretty awesome because within the last two months, all the stores near me have stopped carrying any kind of Tampax and my stash was starting to run low.

Now, a lot of people have commented that they have been able to find Pearls in their local stores, so I’m hoping that eventually they will start to become easier for everyone to find, no matter where they live. If you’ve seen them near you, please post where you saw them.

My Tampax posts are both still among my top viewed posts and I get a lot of traffic every day from other women looking for Tampax tampons in Australia, so it would be great if they could be directed to specific shops that carry them. Besides, the more that get sold, the more likely it will be that other shops will start carrying them, too!

Spoiled Brats

I have a bit of a rant today. I was going to write about the U.S. consulate, but this is a better rant.

Don’t get me wrong- I like the boys I babysit for well enough, but they have been severely under-parented and sometimes it really shows. Actually, most of the time it really shows.

I break up countless fights between them every day. It’s not just constant name-calling and taunting each other, but actual fist fights that cross the line from fun roughhousing with each other as normal boys tend to do into being physically abusive towards each other.

Their attitude towards school and homework is appallingly lazy. Their parents are sending them to a private school that costs them about $70k a year for the three of them. I understand that none of the boys is an especially great student and that schoolwork doesn’t come easily to them, but they barely even put in a minimal effort towards their homework (getting them to sit down and start it is a major challenge, even though they never have much), can’t bothered to write down their assignments, and generally talk about how much school sucks. Ask them what they have learned that day and they will say “nothing”. And to think there are children in third world countries who want to go to school and can’t…

The same goes for the extracurriculars their parents have signed them up for. All the boys do after-school sports and play an instrument and they all said at the beginning of the term that they wanted to do these things. Guess how many hours per week they spend practicing any of it? If you guessed zero, you’re right. Guess how many hours they spend arguing about practicing? Don’t guess, because I don’t know. I lost count a long time ago.

Then there’s chores. We all had chores as kids, didn’t we? By the time I was 10, I was doing all the laundry, the dishes every other night, mowing the entire lawn with a push mower in the summer and shovelling the driveway in the winter, babysitting my younger siblings, making the bed and keeping my room clean, as well as other occasional chores like cleaning the bathrooms or mopping the floors. I did have more chores than some of my peers, but I certainly never lacked for recreational time.

These boys don’t have any chores. Seriously. At 8, 10, and 11, they don’t have to do ANYTHING. I blame the lack of chores in their lives for their general attitudes of laziness, irresponsibility, and ungratefulness.

Which leads me to my anecdote of the day:

Today, Middle Brother was pestering Youngest Brother while YB was trying to do his math homework. I told him to leave his brother alone and go find something else to do. Like maybe practice his instrument before his lesson tomorrow? Being accustomed to being disobedient and disrespectful, he completely ignored me and started beating up on YB. I asked him what his problem was and he told me he was bored.

Where I come from, “bored” is the magic word you say when you want a job to do. So I said, “Okay, you can fold that pile of laundry over there.” It was a pretty small pile of laundry, a five minute job if I were to do it myself with my lifetime of laundry folding skills at my disposal. For him, I figured it might take 15-20 minutes. Until he said…

“But I don’t know how to fold laundry!”

*face palm* Can anybody give me one good reason why a non-developmentally-delayed 10 year old doesn’t know how to fold laundry? I know 4 year olds that can fold laundry!

“Then I’ll teach you,” I said, ever so cheerfully.

Aaaaaaaaaand out came the whine! (No cheese, though.)

“I don’t waaaaaaaaaaaaannaaaaaaaaaaa! It’s booooooooooooring! Why do IIIIIIIIIIII have to do it?!”

“C’mon,” I said. “It won’t take very long and I’ll be helping you.”

And for the next hour- literally, an hour- we had a stare down. He absolutely refused to fold the towel I had given him. He sort of flopped it around in one hand and said it was too hard and he was bored.

“But why do I have to do it???” whined Middle Brother.

“Why not you?” I asked.

“It’s boring!” Yeah, I heard you the first time, you whiny little brat.

I explained that I was sure his mom found it boring, too, and that she would no doubt be appreciative of coming home to see the job done after working hard all day. He asserted that it was his mother’s job to fold the laundry. In my sickeningly cheerful and patient way, I explained that he was a member of the family and needed to earn his keep, that it wasn’t fair to expect his parents to wait on him hand and foot.

“Is there any reason that you shouldn’t have to help fold laundry?” I asked him.

“It’s boring!”

“What happened to your Lenten resolution to be less selfish and more responsible?”

“It’s too boring!” Clearly this kid’s private school education is instilling him with an impressive vocabulary.

This went on for a while. When Younger Brother finished his math, he came and said he would help if it could be a competition between him and his brother. I could have hugged him for volunteering such a clever suggestion, except he wouldn’t have liked getting girl cooties on him.

I showed them how to fold towels and shirts and said I’d take care of the rest of it. YB folded ten items, albeit not very neatly, and MB folded four, also not very neatly. But it was a start.

And then MB promptly took his four items and threw them in the air, crossed his arms, and put on the pout of a century.

“You can fold those all over again,” I told him sternly, being quite sick of his attitude at this point. He looked at me like I was an alien and drawled, “Whaaat…?”

“I’m serious. You’ll fold those again before you do anything else today.”

He very angrily folded them back up while his brothers taunted him for having a “spaz attack” and then stomped to his room, slammed the door, and cried for the next half hour. All this over one tiny load of laundry. I’ve never seen anything like it before. You’d think I’d asked him to kill a puppy.

It boggles my mind how lazy these boys are. I understand that their parents work long, irregular hours and don’t always have time to be superparents. I understand that getting a child to do chores involves a time commitment, as a child does initially need to be supervised and often the task is done incorrectly or takes longer than it would if the adult did it themselves. I understand that it is often, if not always, easier to just do the task yourself. But I don’t think this is good for children. If they don’t have chores, where else will they learn responsibility?

I was also genuinely disgusted by his firm belief that he should not have to lift a finger around the house. And it’s not just him, but all three of them. I know children are inherently selfish by nature and that’s fine to a point. These boys take it to an extreme.

They don’t care how hard their parents have to work to provide them with a comfortable life, as long as it keeps coming. I don’t expect a child to know the value of a dollar, but they have a complete lack of respect for other people’s things and their own. For example, since the school term started, their mother has asked them at least three times a week to take proper care of their school hats because they cost $100 each and need to last the entire year. Not once have they picked up their hats and put them away properly. If I put them away, they make an appearance later, usually being used as Frisbees or weapons. Nor do they take proper care of their instruments, their sports equipment, their clothing, their schoolbooks, their toys, or my car (the latter of which I’m really pissed off about).

They don’t seem to have any empathy at all. I was helping one of the boys with an assignment for his religion class in which he needed to come up with ways to help people less fortunate. He couldn’t think of anybody less fortunate than himself. When I gave him several examples and asked him how he could help each of them, he first said he couldn’t do anything for them. Then, when pressed, he said he could make a donation. I asked him who he would like to make a donation to and it turned out he meant his parents could make a donation to the less fortunate, but he wasn’t really willing to do so himself.

“So what if you saw a homeless person and you happened to have some spare change in your pocket? Could you perhaps give him a dollar?” I asked, hoping to spark some sign of latent generosity within his Grinchy soul.

“No. Why should I give him my dollar?” he asked defiantly.

“But he might not have eaten all week and a dollar might be all he needs to get himself some French fries at McDonald’s. And you’re not using your dollar. All your basic needs and more are provided for. So what’s a dollar to you and what’s a dollar to him?”

“I wouldn’t give him my dollar. That’s dumb. I’m saving up for a computer.”

When I was that age, I was in Girl Scouts and regularly volunteering. We didn’t have homeless people where I lived and I never saw a homeless person til I was 13 and on a trip to Washington DC. But we did visit lonely people in nursing homes and we did fundraising for people with disabilities. I didn’t usually have any pocket money because I never got an allowance as a kid, but sometimes I had tooth fairy money and I usually put a portion of it in the church collection plate without being told to. It’s hard for me to imagine being so selfish that I wouldn’t give a homeless person a dollar, even as a child, because I wasn’t like that and I didn’t know anyone else who was like that.

Of course, like all kids, I did often feel that my parents gave me way too many chores and that I was immensely hard done by. As an adult, I can look back on that more objectively. My parents weren’t slave drivers (though there are some things I still feel legitimately resentful about) and they probably helped me develop a good work ethic and a sense of responsibility. At the very least, I am capable of keeping my living quarters clean and habitable!

I’m hoping that over time, I can improve these boys’ behaviour and attitudes. I don’t know how successful I’ll be when the lessons I try to teach likely won’t be reinforced when I am not there, but I’ll try anyway. If nothing else, maybe when they are older, they will look back on that mean nanny they had that made them do chores and speak respectfully to each other and realise it wasn’t the end of the world after all.