Optimist. Pessimist. Realist.

It is Friday and I finally have a day off.

Optimist. Pessimist. Realist.

That single sentence above was written on Friday the 20th of February; when I meant to originally write and post this, but life got in the way. It’s now March 3rd.

It’s been a while since I last posted…my last post was all the way in October; when another Brit and I traipsed the brutal streets of New York with a sign and our resumes searching for jobs. Our desperate attempt was unsuccessful and at the time, we had a little less than a month to find jobs and avoid deportation.

Time was ticking. Hearts were beating. Stress acne was emerging.

I didn’t think finding a job would be so difficult. But because it couldn’t just be any job, it made my search extremely difficult. I couldn’t go and waitress, or bartend or even clean the streets. I couldn’t be a recruiter or a receptionist (unless it was for some sort of media company). It had to be a job directly related to my field and what I want to do in my life.

I didn’t think I would be days away from receiving that dreaded email from USCIS telling me I have 48 hours to pack up 7 years of my life and get the fudge out. But I was. And I wasn’t dealing with it well. I wasn’t ready to move back home and start from the beginning. It wasn’t long before I was on the verge of tears as soon as I woke up and dreaming about the many hours I had to endure before I could climb back into bed for a few more hours.

And repeat.

I can go on and on about how stressful it is being an expatriate. I’m sure I have gone on a bit about how difficult it is; hell, I’ve written a TV show all about it. But I’m here really to discuss three things.

Optimism.

Pessimism.

Realism.

I’ve always thought of myself as an optimistic person. Someone who always sees the bright side, the silver lining or the light at the end of the tunnel – I guess because usually, things just tend to work out for me. But, like I’m sure everyone does, I’ve had to battle with extreme pessimism; this heartbreaking feeling that it was all going to go to shit. More so since I moved to New York and have been in an ongoing war with the US Citizen and Immigration Services, otherwise known as USCIS.

But the time has come now, where my thoughts aren’t optimistic or pessimistic – right now, they’re realistic. Every day, I have to sit and reevaluate my dreams. Are these ambitions realistic enough to achieve in America? Are these goals feasible with where I am in my life now and the current direction my life is traveling?

Here we have it, almost a decade in USA and, as much as it hurts to say, I think this chapter in my life is coming to a close. Why? Because my visa expires in August, and though I have explored literally every different avenue and tried basically everything, America simply does not want me.

You know when you realise that that guy you’ve been pining after, just simply ain’t that into you?

Yeah. America just ain’t that into me. At the moment, anyway.

I have people telling me to be optimistic. That it’ll work out if I just think positively. That my ‘negativity’ will bring nothing but bad vibes and I will ultimately be the cause of my departure. That it “always works out” for me.

Yes, well – think of how hard it has been for me to stay in the country so far: the work restrictions that lead to the struggle of funds, that lead to piss poor housing I've shared with rodents that houses no food  – and so on and so forth. Now multiply that by like, fifty.

Yeah. That grim.

As the end of my OPT (optional practical training) visa approaches, I have the choice of a few things: Apply for three different visas that all cost a lot of money (insert: now two visas because it’s now March 24th and the deadline for one of those has passed), fall in love and get married QUICKTIME or move back to London.

It’s looking like the latter is going to happen. As I’m sure you can imagine, achieving a visa only becomes harder and I am at the point where the requirements to stay are absurd. The US government is basically asking me to be the CEO of HBO before I’ve even received a physical copy of my Master’s degree. And I get it, honestly, I do. They want us to prove to them that we’re worthy to stay, worthy enough to strive toward the American Dream. But when will this country’s government see that the main thing that makes this country so great – the opportunities – are unattainable if you aren’t a citizen? When will they realise that the diversity they try so hard to push out – is what makes this country?

From the moment you enter until the moment you leave (read: kicked out), us expats are faced with nothing but hostility and hardships. Even me, who for the first four years of my American life didn’t have to worry about anything financial, still never felt welcome. Because whenever I’d approach that dreaded line at the airport – you know the line; where you wait for about an hour before you’re called up and interrogated like you have a sign with the word ‘bomb’ stapled to your chest – I’d remember that as much of me that I’ve given to this country, I’ll never be accepted.

I’ll always be asked what I want to do here, why I want to be here, who is supporting me, where I’m staying, how long do I plan on staying and most importantly, when the hell I’m gonna get out.

And they’re not asking this to track us. Track our progress. Make sure we’re making use of the chances we may stumble across. They don’t ask us this to make sure we pay taxes or our rent or the subway fare to get to our third job of the day. No. They ask us this, to remind us that this isn’t our country. And for whatever reason – we’re just not welcome. They don’t care what we have to bring to the table. The knowledge. The experiences. The culture. They care about one thing and that this is protecting this country’s xenophobia.

I’m not here to bash America. I love America. The majority of my ‘adult’ life has been here in America. I’ve met some amazing people here and will be moving away from my incredible friends and people I consider my family. I've experienced things some people can only dream of. I'm fortunate enough that I was even able to go to school TWICE. I just wish things could be different. I’m not even asking for things to be easier – just different. Just fair.

Optimistically: Somewhere, somehow – all the emailing, the begging, the asking for favours – will wrangle a job for me that not only sponsors me to stay in the country, but allows me to further my career.

Pessimistically: I’ll be kicked out for tomorrow, I dunno, breathing too hard, and have to go back to London and work in Brixton market for the rest of my life.

Realistically: I’m going to have as much fun as I can in my last few months here and I’m gonna walk out gracefully. With my head held high and with every intention of returning. Because I do think this is the country I need to be in to be a success in what I want to do. I do think this country has all the opportunities I simply can’t get back home in London. I do want to continue my life here.

I finish this post today. April 25th 2015. It’s 10:02pm and I sit, at my second job of the day, thinking about the three jobs I have to work tomorrow, just to pay one months rent. I think about the exhaustion I feel after I've worked 6:30am-midnight two months in a row without a day off. The tears. The times I've had to avoid phone calls 'cause them bill collectors won't forget my damn number. The anxiety. I've thought of the really bad sicknesses I've had to webMD even though I should probably be in an ER. I think about the (many) times I've looked at a script I'm writing or an idea I'm developing and questioned my abilities; the abilities I've worked so hard to develop and be confident in. Where am I going? What am I clinging onto? What has disappointed me most is I've been unable to truly explore the side of America I want to work in, simply because I'm not from this country. Not because I'm lazy or unmotivated or not good enough, but because I'm an expat. That of all the jobs I've had, of all the hours of sleep I've lost for work - only one of those jobs has properly submersed me into the TV/FILM industry - and even then, I was a (part time) personal assistant.

At least moving home will allow me to explore my creativity and expand my portfolio. I won’t be so restricted by work laws that I can work anywhere and build my career on the side. I don’t have to miss my family anymore. I can reconnect with my friends who aren’t used to hanging out with me for more than a week since 2008. I can clear my head. Explore. Fall back in love with my home country. I can write. I can laugh. I can breathe.

And that’s the most important thing.

I know when I first move back, it’ll be an adjustment. People are gonna ask questions. I’m going to feel like a failure, like I’ve wasted my time and energy. But as long as I keep this realistic mindset – I think I’ll be all right.

So, I’m not saying goodbye just yet – we still have a few more months before that happens.

But what I will end with is:

Americans: If you know of any type of media job that is hiring (and willing and able to sponsor me), please do let me know. I have until August.

Brits: If you know of any type of job that is hiring (media, preferably, but I’ll take anything), please also let me know. I’ll be back and ready to work in September.

I hold a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature and Language and a Master of Fine Arts in Writing and Producing for Television. I am interested in copywriting, marketing, advertising, blogging, web editing, producing – anything that does not stifle creativity. Anything that at least puts me around creativity. Anything that gives me some hope, that this hasn't been for nothing.

Until then…

I think I’ve lost my mind; I’m just trying to find it.