Today was a day for GETTING THINGS DONE.
I hadn’t had a check-up in nearly two decades, and since I became officially aged, the ward office sent me a stack of tickets for nearly-free medical checks. Rochi has to go with me on these escapades—I still can’t fill out the forms and unless it concerns knee ligament reconstruction, my medical vocab is still woefully lacking.
So we went to an internist, I was duly poked and prodded by a nurse, and then we met with the sweetest doctor ever, who asked why I had finally decided to do it. I said, “Well, my age…” And she didn’t believe me. She asked what was really wrong and I told her, “Nothing. Honestly. He was concerned about me.” (Cue the tiny violins–that may be the best valentine ever.)
Turns out everything is hunky-dory. My heart is strong, lungs are clear, blood pressure normal, nothing in my blood or pee that shouldn’t be there, and I’m nearly four centimeters taller than I thought I was, although I didn’t feel the measuring thingy touch my head, so maybe the nurse was being generous.
And off to immigration to deal with the new passport. That place is still the same appalling zoo it was last time I went there, crowds of worried faces milling around trying to figure out which bit of red tape to gnaw on.
Finally finding the right line to wait in, my turn came and the nice immigration man explained the new rules. I can keep my current Certificate of Alien Registration and get a multiple re-entry permit, which is now good for five years instead of three and costs $60, or I can ditch that card and instead get a Residence Card, whereby re-entry permits will no longer be required and it’s free. You do the math. Besides, who wants to be an alien if they don’t have to?
I am now armed with a shiny new passport and Residence Card as well as a clean bill of health. And I am again free to travel.
The invitations will start rolling in, right?