Tag Archives: Moving

Germany

Here to Stay

3 Comments

After a brief wait in line, clutching my residency documents and the letter that had called me there, I handed over my old papers and was handed my permanent residency card from the local Foreigners’ Office..

Now, regardless of job and work status, I’m allowed to stay. It means I’m allowed to change jobs or be out of work. It means that my partner and I can qualify for a mortgage, which every bank had previously denied us on the basis of my status here.

But there are rules. I had to sign a document acknowledging that my stay in Germany will be terminated in the event of crimes committed, and that I cannot be outside of Germany for more than six months at a time.

But mostly, it means life can happen and I can stay.

Shiny new card in hand, I called my partner in the middle of the day, gleeful. His smile came through the phone along with congratulatory wishes from his colleagues. The relief that washed over me when I walked out of the office was a surprise, if only because I had already celebrated upon receiving the acknowledgement by mail.

It’s a big thing, actually. Life can happen and I can stay.

So how does one become a permanent resident in Germany? The process has been simplified and revised recently, but it differs based on one’s status in the first place. I came here with a job based on qualifications completed outside of Germany that are recognized by the German government. In order to become a permanent resident I needed to:

  • Complete the application form
  • Provide a passport photo
  • Be fingerprinted
  • Prove that I had paid into the government pension fund for three years
  • Prove that I was covered by German health insurance
  • Provide the lease for my apartment
  • Provide my employment contract, which needed to be unlimited rather than contract
  • Provide statements of my salary and taxes paid for the last six months
  • Pass at least the German B1 language test
  • Pass either the citizenship test or the integration course, which concludes with a test

Fundamentally, I had to prove that I had integrated into German society and would not be a burden on the state.

As with many things bureaucratic, I found that the easiest way forward was to make an appointment at the Foreigners’ Office and ask about the necessary requirements rather than combing through legalese online. Doing so put me in contact with the employee with whom I emailed back and forth as I put together the paperwork, some of which required contacting various German agencies. Anecdotally, it seems that my process went much more quickly than that of others I know, and I chalk that up to having sat in the office with the person doing the job.

I also cannot understate the importance of knowing the language. Not only is all bureaucratic business at the Foreigners’ Office conducted in German, but the paperwork explaining the required paperwork is also provided in German. My language skills are far below understanding German legalese, but I was able to talk with a real person and get clear answers.

But more than paperwork and the security of being able to lead my life here, applying for and receiving permanent residency means that I’m somewhere that I want to stay. I have built a life here, made friends, and found my person. It makes me laugh to recall that I decided to move here, a decision made five years ago this month, because my town has a climbing hall that I could see on Google Maps. Expect the unexpected, as they say.

Welcome home, my partner said.

Germany

Into Boxes Again

1 Comment

In some ways, it was the easiest move I’ve ever done.

Clothes packed into duffel bags and suitcases, books and crockery into boxes, decorative items gently wrapped before being placed into other boxes, frames taken off walls and stacked. Furniture loaded into the car or the van, padded with pillow and blankets. Three or four trips, one to a village a short ways away, and we were done.

And with every trip, things everywhere.

Furniture carefully moved into pre-measured locations, no space to spare. Empty a bag, fill a set of drawers, unzip the next bag, reorganize the drawers.

We spent hours combining two kitchens into one and formed piles: Things we use and love, thing to store for later use, things to donate, things that simply needed to go. Glad we had built a new set of shelves.

Mere days later, the bed stood slightly higher and more items found their place. Shortly thereafter, a new cabinet in the bathroom took care of a general sense of organized chaos.

A beloved photo printed on canvas. More pictures arranged and hung. Every spare surface filled with plants.

Forms filled out, phone calls made, appointments set, items slowly crossed off the bureaucratic to-do list. Agreements set with the landlord, a day spent painting the old apartment, items gradually sold to colleagues, to strangers, other items donated. I’ve always found it pretty easy to part with things.

A new, longer route to work. Depending on the weather, through the city or through the park. Based on the snow conditions, by bike or by bus. Alarm reset to save time for last-minute adjustments.

And then finding rhythm. Alarms ringing at different times, shower occupied morning and evening, discussion of which temperature to wash clothes. Who starts coffee and who makes the bed and are you coming straight home after work?

This move reminded me of my first move: Excitement, joy, family around to help, pizza when everything was done. I have a lot of experience with moves and it makes a difference, having people there to direct, to carry, to organize. It makes a difference, not doing it alone. But this move was yet different in its celebration, in the name labels that went up on the doorbell and mailbox.

This move was not just a change of location, be it part of town or city or country, but a change of circumstance, a change that I’d tried once before in a very different place and very different time. Aware of this, I had a moment shortly before where the world swayed under my feet and I needed time for it to steady itself; I needed time to steady myself.

In many ways, this was the easiest move I’d ever done. In another sense, the ease belies the work it took to get here.

And that’s how it is with transitions, I think. You don’t realize you’re there until you are. And then you step over the threshold.

Welcome home.

Weimar, Germany – January 2024
On My Mind

On Regret

2 Comments

We were were sitting at the base of a crag eating apple slices, chatting with another pair of climbers about things like job interviews, health insurance, and courage. After they packed up to go, I mentioned that it was lack of bravery on my part that led me to say yes to my current job. It was not at all what I had imagined for myself after years of the sights and sounds of big cities, and the idea of going someplace so small was not as prestigious as what I’d thought working in Europe could be like. I wanted a better work-life balance, a society with social ideals, and a change of perspective, but I also thought I wanted a bit of glamour.

Fast forward a couple years: It turns out I love living here and am far more comfortable with my role in a small family-like school than I was in an environment with higher stakes all around. There’s a lot more to life than big names and big cities. And Weimar, as it turns out, is known for ideas and culture. It is also home to the people I’ve become close to, who are lovely indeed.

The question surprised me when it came because I hadn’t thought of it myself: Do you regret it?

No, not at all.

We finished the apples, reorganized the rope, and tied back in. Time to move on.

But I’ve been thinking about the question, and what I’ve found most interesting is not that it was asked, but that I hadn’t asked it. That’s not to say it’s been easy moving here, and being in a bigger city would have made certain things significantly easier at the beginning. My early blog posts about the move to Weimar only scratch the surface of everything I was holding inside at that time, and some old voice memos indicate that I’d been lying awake. But regret? Even when it was hard, there was no regret. I’d made a choice, and I’d made the choice for a reason, and that was the best I could do at that time. Perhaps it wasn’t the best reason and perhaps something else would have come along had I waited patiently, but I didn’t want to wait. I wanted the certainty of knowing. I had savings from years in Singapore, I saw a climbing hall when I looked at a map, and that was good enough.

Making choices means that we’ll never know what would have happened had we made a different choice. While I can smile at the question of what my life would have become had I, at 19 or 20, learned Italian and gone to Florence for a semester as I’d planned upon entering university, I don’t need to spend any more time thinking about it. I made a different choice and that was that. It was the best I could do at the time, and the only thing I can do going forward is remain aware of what has developed since. Just because I made a choice once doesn’t mean I have to make a similar choice in a similar situation in the future. Saying yes once because I didn’t want to wait doesn’t mean I have to say yes the next time.

Learning from an experience must not mean regretting having had the experience. Unfortunately, negative experiences are excellent teachers, and I find that we need those sometimes. When everything is easy, there’s little opportunity for reflection, and it is through reflection that we grow. I don’t see that as something to regret.

Do I regret moving here? Do I regret my impatience in wanting a job? Do I regret giving up the dreams of glamour and prestige?

No.

In the end, Weimar had a climbing hall and I’ve always been one to choose the café on the corner over the hot new spot. Maybe I know myself better than I thought.