My ‘Key’ to Becoming A Gay Expat
The ‘Come Take My Stuff’ party kicks off ‘The Expat Chronicles’
During my 20s, I had numerous keys on my ring that I wore proudly: my car key, apartment key, and a couple keys necessary to open up the coffee shop I worked at. I took these extra keys as a symbol of importance. I thought the more keys I had on my ring, the more significant I was.
This memory came back to me when I had just two days left in the USA. I had spent the last nine months navigating the immigration process to move to Sweden. I applied for a residency visa, which allowed me to work and have a Swedish ID and bank number (the equivalent of a Social Security Number).
My Swedish partner and I had been dating for two years very long distance, with him there and me in Denver. When we got to the ‘Who’s going to move where?’ conversation, it was very short.
I was continually disillusioned with America because of the current state of democracy and because I was a high school English teacher in a public school.
Also, I had been doxed by some Far Right extremists on social media after making a post about an event I planned for queer students at my school. Since there’s much more to that, I’m saving it for the next Expat Chronicles Post.
