Friends, it's happened. Fifteen years, countless money spent, visa applications and forms completed, patient queueing (the ultimate British sport), and it's official. I am a dual citizen!
It usually doesn't take this long. But I got lost somewhere in the quagmire of bureaucracy and a brief stint in China and I wouldn't change that experience for the world. Student visa to graduate visa to shortage area visa to indefinite leave to remain to citizenship, here we are. A British-American dual citizen.
With Brexit, the passport comes with fewer perks than it used to hold. Freedom of movement across the EU is a thing of the past. The French disdain towards the British now is open and comically hostile.
But I won't let that sully the pomp and ceremony that is a citizenship ceremony in a pandemic. Where you're allowed to bring one other masked adult to the local Town Hall to swear your allegiance to Queen and Country, via religious or secular oath.
Where a man with a Portuguese sounding name and a South African sounding accent manages to be excited in running a ceremony he's done countless times over the year, proven by the fact that three of your close friends know THAT guy and his flag schtick.
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