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My first visa—that is the “you’re legally allowed to stay in this foreign country kind,” not the platinum kind—in Germany was so easy, I barely noticed it was happening.

Janet, my host mother, and my boss when it came to au pairing, drove me around the city so that we could collect all the paperwork we needed.  She’d already arranged for my health insurance, the paperwork for which we filled out at home and mailed off.  Once the company confirmed that I was insured, we had the first bit of paper that we’d need to convince the German government that I was legit.

Almost four years after the fact, it hits me one day in the bathroom.  “I live in Germany.  I really live here!  What the hell?!”

Sure, it may sound obvious to you, but the scurrility of living in another country, in another language, on another continent takes some time to really absorb.  And here I am, facing another renewal of my visa, registered at a German address, with a German bank account, German friends, German books, a German gmail account.  How did it all happen?