Today I woke up very early to go to the Auslanderbehörde to submit my residency application.

This was the culmination of a very long process of accumulating paperwork, and interpreting somewhat unclear bureaucratic requirements. As an artist, I was applying for the Freiberüf visa, which meant that I needed to show proof of independent income, and to show that I had adequate medical insurance. Some people told me I needed to show a bank statement with a balance of at least 8,000 € – which would be impossible in my current situation – or even to open a special state-held bank account in which that amount would be frozen to secure my ability to be financially autonomous. These stories made me incredibly nervous.

Last night I checked over the whole dossier, wrote up a document stating my finanz plan for next year, printed out insurances, contracts, airplane tickets, and copied my anmeldbestätigung. Then I checked over the route to get to the office, since I didn’t want to get lost.

My alarm rang at 5:45am today and after a groggy coffee and a quick pee for my dog, my boyfriend and I bundled up against the cold(?) and we hopped on our bikes. I knew there was a maybe a shorter route, but I opted for the route I was familiar with, having previously lived in Moabit, and being familiar with a one particular way. My bike, which I bought two months earlier, was acting up: the rear fender had come loose, and was occasionally catching on the wheel when I went over some particularly rough cobblestones. This slowed me down and made me feel anxious. I knew that if I was late for my appointment, that I would miss it, and the appointment I had now I had booked five weeks ago.

We arrived with ten minutes to spare, to navigate buildings and offices and hallways to find the correct waiting room. It wasn’t a pretty building, and the long walkway past the iron gates looked foreboding. The crying children, the harried adults, my own disheveled just-woken-up state all added to my anxiety. We sat and waited, reading powerpoint news displays that were at least 6 months out of date. I worried that I had forgotten something important, such as perhaps my passport or some other essential piece of paperwork.

When my number was finally called, I nervously popped along the hallway to the correct office. We knocked on the office door, and the woman gestured to us to take a seat. Thank god for my boyfriend! I was far too nervous to express myself in German, and fumbled everything I was asked. First the officer asked what I was there for, and I just sort of stared bug-eyed between her and my boyfriend. I handed over first my application form. She looked at it and then said Versicherung? I handed her a paperclipped sheaf of insurance contracts and an outline of my insurance coverage. Then she asked for my work contracts and my CV. No facial expression, no extra words. Then she told us to go back out to wait. I felt like I would puke.

About twenty minutes later, during which time I was convinced that she had forgotten about us, or maybe died, or definitely rejected my application, we were called back in. She handed me my passport with a new visa pasted in the pages, and all my paperwork, and an electronic card with which I could pay 50 € for the visa fee. I got the visa!! I said, „Danke, das war viel spaß! Ich liebe bureaucratie“. She smiled, and I said „Gute Morgen“, which made my boyfriend and her laugh, since apparently I was supposed to say that as a greeting, not as a goodbye. Oh well, I was, and am, pretty happy with the situation. So hello Berlin! I am here for at least another year!