I may have chosen a slightly misleading title. This is not a post about romantic jealousy. Those who know me well, know I’m not usually the jealous type. Sure, I may slip here and there… who’s never done it? And even when I do, my stumbles are far more of the FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) nature – how dare she be having fun without me? – than of the lack of trust types.
But this is not the Green Eye Monster I’m talking about today. Today, I’m talking about the entitlement jealousy. I’ve posted about the concept of home before, and of how, despite being born in England and raised in Brazil, England was the only place where I ever felt I belonged. This is where the first years of my life happened. I will not repeat myself, you can read it all here, but I was never a stranger…
And then life went on… Legislation meant I had no right to a British passport. My Dad’s PhD was over, my parents went back to Brazil. I grew up. And then, years later, I came back here for two months… just for the experience of getting to know the world. Funny that… It was then, 7 years ago, that I realised this was my home. On my return to Brazil, I was a completely different person. Nothing was like it was in England; I had a bad case of nostalgia.
So that was it! I was determined: one day, I’d find a way to move home.
Seven and a half years later, I still haven’t found a way. The recession hit. Laws change every few months. Illegals make it harder and harder… There are a million reasons, some that I know, some that I don’t. What I do know is I’m still trying. And it’s exhausting. And expensive too, don’t think it isn’t.
So when someone asks me if there’s someone I’m jealous of… a celebrity, someone amazingly beautiful or incredibly rich… here’s my answer to you:
In all honesty, I’m an truly and totally jealous of those who are and have always been allowed to live in the place the call home. Those who don’t have to prove to some higher authority, all the time, that they’re not trying to gain illegal acess to public funds, take someone else’s job, make natives’ lives more difficult. Of course I know there are those who are doing all of that. I’m not stupid. I just really wish there was an easier, more effective way to prove to the appropriate authorities that I am not one of these people.
I’m just a simple girl, born in England but with no identity, who’s in love with the country and doesn’t fit in anywhere else. And I’m dead jealous of those who don’t have to be reminded of that every single day.
If you’re one of those people, trust me. I wish you no harm. I’m not that kind of jealous. I know you have your own issues to deal with. I just say this: congratulations. In my eyes, you’re the luckiest person in the world.
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Esse é mais um blog sobre comida!
me talking shite, as usual.
Ethereal ramblings of a pensive mind