The Aussiefixion of Mars 1: A Poppy on a Stick

Like a little seed that slowly sprouted and revealed its first tender strands of pristine white stem only to, unhurriedly, grow the first fresh inevitable tender leaves. The sweet rains empower the growth of the succulent and burly stalk shooting ever so strong roots in attempt to nourish the springing bud that is set to flower…….

Mate! No need to wax lyrical about how you started thinking about Australian citizenship. The idea of becoming naturalized did grow over the years until a poppy on a stick burst the already thinning dam of resistance. This is what I wrote after a memorable afternoon on the Kokoda Track at Brigade Hill. Excuse me for quoting myself.

When it was my turn I walked in deep reflection. The many days on this hike had stripped me bare of all my protective layers - I could almost feel  the forest breathe - my imagination leaped back seventy four years - violent images ran through my mind in this silent jungle. I walked on, out of the jungle and into the sunny,  grass-covered clearing - blue sky overhead. With a sudden jolt, I realized what the neatly placed rows of wooden stakes represented that were stuck into the ground.

The stakes representing the fallen soldiers on top of Brigade Hill

 

 

I briefly managed to hide behind my camera and took many shots using the brown and white (sepia tone) setting - the picture in the view finder aligning itself with my mood. I knelt down to take a close up but that was it. I had no choice other than to let my emotions run free - sadness engulfing me without restraint - this grown man was blubbering his heart out like a baby.

'Torn Apart' written by Marcel Kempe

Call me a softy, but I still feel the affected twinge sometimes, even shed a tear when I read and think about that day in the jungle. With all that raw emotion it simply became clear it was time to attempt to become an Australian citizen. My journey to morph into a fair dinkum Aussie had began.



Walking towards Brigade Hill

What followed was a paperwork battle which took me one year in total. First of all, how do you procure a Dutch birth certificate? ……??? Neither did I. Google rescued my lily-white hiney, not for the first time, and a letter was sent to my place of birth in a small, obscure city in Holland. It was a more than a pleasant surprise when the record of my mother’s sweat and toil arrived after four and a half months – unannounced -  without acknowledgement of any sort  – no check if I was really me. 

I must stress that filling out forms is not my strong suit and by the time I had completed, signed, sent off for verification, sent some more forms for verification as I had missed a couple of pages, paid all hefty but well worth the money associated bills, photocopied through a pack of laser paper and half checked a mistake-riddled, thumbed-through manuscript, I was happy to send this naughty baby back to its parents. The Australian Department of Immigration.

I had resigned myself for another long wait when only two weeks later emails from the Strayan government started tying up the loose ends and inviting me to sit a test. It was at that moment that I realised something I worked hard for, but always felt depressing, paralyzing doubts whether it would ever happen. The release came in the form of excitement, disbelieve and more excitement. In two and a half hours I cannoned through the accompanied information and,  immediately after, took 10 minutes to mock test myself.

Okay. Honesty required here, nineteen out of twenty is not bad, right? The question I got wrong pertained to the Australian Senate and how it works. Yeah, what are they actually doing there?  I asked that same question that evening at a spontaneous coffee catch-up meeting with a cluster of Dinky Dye Aussie’s (Australian Citizens that is) and none of them knew the answer either. In fact, I found out that most would have failed the mock test much to the overall hilarity of the surrounding true blues.

 

Again, in a surprisingly fast time, I was booked in to sit the real, official test. I remember being slightly disappointed that the test venue was in the same building as Medicare and Centrelink. Where did I want it to be? On top of Uluru?
 

Ok, I just wanted to show off this photo

The lady behind the desk revealed that she loved this part of the job as only happy people came through her door on citizenship test day. So was I. Given three quarters and with plenty of cheery adrenaline feeding the brain cells, I scored a bragging-right earning twenty out of twenty after only 10 minutes. The lady was happy enough to announce that I passed.

As I floated through the dole office, leaping cartwheels in my mind, the thought came to me that this was the best place in Australia to sit a citizenship test. Isn’t it in this office that gallant Australians look after their own and take it up for the sick and temporarily unemployed? What’s more, isn’t Alice Springs the red heart of Australia? A wonderful, multicultural melting pot where kangaroo tails are a delicacy, the land is stained with colonial sweat and blood and is of a beauty rich and rare. Please nail me to this cross, anytime!

 

Of beauty rich and rare!

 

Australians believe in peace, respect, freedom and equality. An important part of being Australian is respecting other people’s differences and choices, even if you don’t agree with those choices. It is about treating people fairly and giving all Australians equal opportunities and freedoms, no matter where they come from, what their traditions are, or whether they are male or female.

A quote from "Our Common Bond". Citizenship application booklet 

I hopped in my car and drove through the Gap to my desert home feeling a hundred percent Australian.

Mate!!

To be continued......
 

 Grey Bits

Thanks to Mel for verifying my paperwork.

Thanks to the Australian Government for their fast and efficient work.

Thanks to you all for allowing me to share this wonderful country with you.