My relationship with my siblings is ... complicated. There was always (and I mean always!) drama. A was fighting with B, then they would close ranks to fight with C, then everybody would turn against somebody else: it was even too much effort to find out which siblings were even talking together. I never got that and they never got me: they just tried to make me just like them. I tried to stay out of the family wars, but they wanted me in, so at some point I let go of the rope and walked away.
That decision brought me a lot of peace for the next couple of decades.
And then Facebook happened and one sister contacted me with a friend request. By now I'd moved to the other side of the world, she and I never had any real problems, so I agreed. We occasionally comment on each others posts, exchange birthday and New Years wishes and that's it. Just the way I like it. I even friended some other siblings and we're all friendly, polite and non-interfering.
All was well, or so I thought.
Until that message from another sibling. She's 3 years my senior, and always tried to tell me what to do and even what to feel and think. (My remarks in brackets.)
Hi Juul (a diminutive of my name nobody only my parents and husband were allowed to call me by)
Saw that you're on facebook as well, but now at the other side of the world.
Divorced as well by now, if I see this correctly (nothing about my relationship on Facebook, since it's nobody's business), heavens a lot of marriages in our family have ended badly, could that be a result of our screwed up upbringing? (My husband and I grew apart, that can happen after 30 years of marriage, not exactly a bad end, I don't think.)
Jim and I have split up as well, unfortunately the alcohol became too big an issue between the two of us, two crates of beer a day is no competition. (Now she's dumping all over me.)
Remarried in 200x, but unfortunately Alex died shortly after, so widowed. Luckily I now have a very sweet new man in my life, we're living together now in Y. And therefore big family as well, because he has 5 children with their partners.
Hope your life is fine as well and that you're finding what you seek in far away America. (Because it's very easy to confuse New Zealand with the USA: both English speaking and both far away from Europe.)
Your sister Margaret (She's Margaret, I never called her by a diminutive of her name when she insisted on her full name, but she can't return the courtesy.)
I had no idea what to answer her, so I didn't. Then she sent me a friend request and I, foolishly perhaps, granted it.
Next thing I know she's remarking on a picture I've been tagged in:
Girl, how much you and Lisa look alike, and how well you look these days.
Lisa is another sister, I've been told we look alike since I've been 4, I know that already. And what does she mean that I look well these days? Unfortunate choice of words or backhanded compliment?
A posting on my wall:
So far away from the netherlands, but by the looks of it a very good and nice life over there. Hopefully you don't miss the salt liquorice too much, because that's hard to find in a lot of countries. Love, big hug, Margaret.
Yeah, I never figured that Dutch liquorice might be harder to find abroad. It's a good thing my elder sister enlightened me on that point. OK, I'm getting annoyed by her now, but I still don't react, because I don't know what to say and because I don't want to get too close. Sis, take a hint already and back off.
And then, today, another message. Please read it and let me know how justified I am to feel thoroughly ticked off.
Hello Julia, After all these years I'm very curious about how you ended up in New Zealand and what happened in your life. You never were very involved with the family (that's right, I've always been the introvert between the extroverts), something I got fed up with after years of Christmas cards (cards I never received, because she never sent them, my family is good at rewriting history), you never reacted, so sent you a last one with the words, if you don't send anything back, you choose to not have any contact. (Must have been about the time that I, after a last letter to all of them, decided to drop the rope.) But you still added me (I did not initiate that contact) so despite everything you do want some kind of contact, actually. Therefore, tell me about your life these last years. (It's not upon others to define how much I want to share, now is it?) Saw the picture of you and your granddaughter (not my grandchild actually, as she could easily have found out), a beautiful, well groomed woman, what a change, because when we saw each other last you didn't take such good care of yourself. Like when wearing your office dress at the wedding anniversary of Mary and John. (A new dress, in which I looked great, IIRC.) You look great in this (jeans and a sweater, nothing special), grooming becomes you. And you resemble Lisa very much now, in looks and taste. Cheers and big hug, Margaret
I don't know what to answer her. I'm not sure I even want to. Perhaps just block her and let the drama roll on without me?
Monday, 21 April 2014
Tuesday, 15 April 2014
Submissive? Me?
All my life I've had an inkling that I might be masochistic and submissive, even before I knew those words. I also knew these feelings weren't "normal", so I hid them far, far away, where even I had problems finding them.
Then I met this amazing guy: smart, funny, kind, loving, generous. He fell in love with me, I loved him back, we got married, raised a family, were each others' friend, lover, spouse, co-parent. I gave him all of me, except the "abnormal" part, there was no place for that in our marriage. But that didn't matter, I could easily live without that, forget it even was there. But everything else was his, I was his body and soul. I told him so and I thought I showed it as well. We were happy, so happy it hurt. Although he accepted all I gave him, he didn't seem to realise how totally I was his, but that didn't really matter either.
And then his love stopped. I still don't know what happened, according to him nothing had changed, but he stopped telling and showing me he loved me. No more love, no more appreciation, no more sex. But I still loved him, I still wanted him, I was still his, only his, totally his. He just didn't want that anymore. When I finally got that, I could move on.
Our relationship ended, I started to explore my kinky side and found out I love it! Well, I love the masochism, not so much the submissive part.
I've never had a long(er) term BDSM relationship. The first one was for a limited period only, under strict terms. The second one can hardly be called a relationship: we met at play nights, played together twice, had fun together, but nothing personal developed between us.
My first play partner was a Dom I've known for years, he's a dear friend of mine and I love and trust him. He wanted me to submit, I thought I'd enjoy it, so I agreed wholeheartedly. I found out that I didn't mind the kneeling, not speaking until spoken to, following orders, doing domestic chores etcetera, but that I also did not enjoy it in the least. It was something I did because it pleased him, not because it pleased me.
I also discovered that I don't like mind games. I think that's the fault of my analytical mind, at least partly. The mind games start and I go: "Hm, I wonder what's that for. Oh, hold on, he wants me to feel ... OK, that makes sense. So my best reaction would be ... Yes, that seems to have made him happy: success!" All in all not conducive to submission. Cooperation Yes, submission No.
Partner number two liked me to submit as well, but he met with even less success. During play I would follow his orders, move how he wanted me to move, allow him to tie me up, but that was about it. After play I did kneel when he wanted me to, but that was the extent of my submission. I couldn't even call him Sir, because I didn't feel we had that kind of relationship. I didn't see him as my Dom, not even during play.
My present play partner has Dom tendencies as well, and he seems to enjoy mind games too. Since we only will be playing together and not pursuing a more serious relationship, we agreed to keep it strictly SM, without the D/s elements, and that suits me fine.
For the moment, I've decided to not try submission. It doesn't do it for me, at all, but it still attracts me.
Does that mean I am a closet submissive, who hasn't found the Dom yet that's right for her? Or do I really believe that being a masochist also means I need to have a submissive side as well? Or have I been burnt in the past, by offering myself up and having that thrown back into my face, so that I'm now afraid to show my submissive self?
I don't know. Do you?
Then I met this amazing guy: smart, funny, kind, loving, generous. He fell in love with me, I loved him back, we got married, raised a family, were each others' friend, lover, spouse, co-parent. I gave him all of me, except the "abnormal" part, there was no place for that in our marriage. But that didn't matter, I could easily live without that, forget it even was there. But everything else was his, I was his body and soul. I told him so and I thought I showed it as well. We were happy, so happy it hurt. Although he accepted all I gave him, he didn't seem to realise how totally I was his, but that didn't really matter either.
And then his love stopped. I still don't know what happened, according to him nothing had changed, but he stopped telling and showing me he loved me. No more love, no more appreciation, no more sex. But I still loved him, I still wanted him, I was still his, only his, totally his. He just didn't want that anymore. When I finally got that, I could move on.
Our relationship ended, I started to explore my kinky side and found out I love it! Well, I love the masochism, not so much the submissive part.
I've never had a long(er) term BDSM relationship. The first one was for a limited period only, under strict terms. The second one can hardly be called a relationship: we met at play nights, played together twice, had fun together, but nothing personal developed between us.
My first play partner was a Dom I've known for years, he's a dear friend of mine and I love and trust him. He wanted me to submit, I thought I'd enjoy it, so I agreed wholeheartedly. I found out that I didn't mind the kneeling, not speaking until spoken to, following orders, doing domestic chores etcetera, but that I also did not enjoy it in the least. It was something I did because it pleased him, not because it pleased me.
I also discovered that I don't like mind games. I think that's the fault of my analytical mind, at least partly. The mind games start and I go: "Hm, I wonder what's that for. Oh, hold on, he wants me to feel ... OK, that makes sense. So my best reaction would be ... Yes, that seems to have made him happy: success!" All in all not conducive to submission. Cooperation Yes, submission No.
Partner number two liked me to submit as well, but he met with even less success. During play I would follow his orders, move how he wanted me to move, allow him to tie me up, but that was about it. After play I did kneel when he wanted me to, but that was the extent of my submission. I couldn't even call him Sir, because I didn't feel we had that kind of relationship. I didn't see him as my Dom, not even during play.
My present play partner has Dom tendencies as well, and he seems to enjoy mind games too. Since we only will be playing together and not pursuing a more serious relationship, we agreed to keep it strictly SM, without the D/s elements, and that suits me fine.
For the moment, I've decided to not try submission. It doesn't do it for me, at all, but it still attracts me.
Does that mean I am a closet submissive, who hasn't found the Dom yet that's right for her? Or do I really believe that being a masochist also means I need to have a submissive side as well? Or have I been burnt in the past, by offering myself up and having that thrown back into my face, so that I'm now afraid to show my submissive self?
I don't know. Do you?
Friday, 11 April 2014
That was the week that was
On Monday I got an inkling that Luke might be a kinkster. On Sunday I got the confirmation. On Monday I came out to him and we planned a meeting to discuss for the Wednesday a week later.
Until that time, we talked in person twice, and a couple of times more on Fetlife, where Luke asked me to fill in a questionnaire. Truth be told: I hate those. I've done it before, and probably will do it time and time again, I see why they're important, but I just hate filling them in. What do I want, what do I need, what do I expect, what can't I do, what are my limits, how's my health, what are my experiences? You go over them point by point, reading and thinking and answering, and find out later you missed a couple of questions, checked the wrong box, misunderstood, or otherwise goofed.
Sent the questionnaire, saved a copy. Agreed in chat that our relationship will be non-exclusive. This is not for a Happily Ever After, but just for the Here and Now, for as long as we're both happy with it.
Tuesday, the day before, we chat on Fetlife, determining to meet at 10, my place, go out for a coffee/tea, talk and possibly more. And then Luke mentioned sex, and I freaked.
For those of you that don't know this: a BDSM session may include sex, but that is not at all necessary. In fact, parties in the scene often have a No Penetration rule. This means that when I played in the Netherlands, there was no sex. Neither was there any sex with my first play partner, since he is in a committed relationship and although our sessions were suggested by his partner, this was a hard limit for her. So for me there is no correlation between play and sex. To that now add that I haven't had sex in longer than I care to remember, and certainly longer than I'm going to tell you all, coupled with the fact that Luke is so much younger than me that it's impossible to believe he could be attracted to me, and you start getting my freak.
Wednesday morning came and I got busy. Helping everybody get ready to leave for work and daycare, having a shower and dressing (just jeans and a thin sweater, but nice underwear), doing laundry and ironing, get the meat defrosted, preparing what I can for dinner, drinking a pot of tea and waiting for 10 o'clock. I was not just nervous: I was terrified. Not afraid of what Luke was going to do, but of what I was getting myself into. How much of a slut was I, taking the initiative like that? Was I really ready for this? Did I want to talk about what I crave? Would we play today? Could I go for a session? And would there be sex?
Luke was on time and we drove to the beach. I grew up close to the sea and have always loved it. We walked and talked, sat and went through the list, walked and talked some more, found a place where I could get a pot of tea. The weather was nice enough, so we sat outside, where we could chat without being overheard.
Most topics had been discussed by now: hard and soft limits, wants and cravings, double penetration and anal sex, my past experiences, my last relationship, my dry spell, expectations, outlook on mind games (I don't like them, Luke does), what to do if it doesn't work out between us.
Me: "So: sex sex. Are we going to have that?" Luke: "We can have sex, if you want. Do you want to?" Me: "I think it's bloody well time." That made us both laugh, and we talked about safe sex.
We drove to his place. Until this moment we'd hardly touched at all, and I reached over to take his hand. He pressed mine, grinned, and reached over to play with my nipple, teasing it out of my bra, under my clothing, while I leaned back and relished the touch.
At his place I needed the bathroom, urgently. Not surprising, with the nerves and after all that tea.
In the bedroom Luke got his toys sorted and put a towel on the bed. "Right, let's get you naked." I waited for a moment, to see if he wanted to undress me, but he just watched me and I stripped. It had been ages since I last undressed with a man looking on and I was surprised I wasn't more nervous. When I was naked, he checked me out, making me very uncomfortable. I know I look good for my age, but I'm a middle aged woman, slightly overweight, sagging, with my body showing clear signs of past pregnancies. Having someone watch me like that, feels like I'm being judged. At least he didn't look repulsed. And I looked at him, in his jeans, no longer wearing his shirt, looking so lean and trim and young.
Luke told me to get on the bed, on my hands and knees, and I did. Don't ask me what he used on my bum, I didn't look, and I didn't care, I just felt. And what I mainly felt was pain. Next time, we'd better go for a bit of a warm up, I never expected Luke to go at it as he did right from the bat, so I never discussed that with him. As it was, it soon became too painful for me, but I expect that I could take a lot more if we started a bit slower. It was good, but it was too much. What was even nicer was when he would pause occasionally, pull me up against him and hold and stroke me.
Luke: "Do you want to be well used by me?" Me, polite as always (well, most of the time):"Yes, please."
The sound of a wrapper being opened and then the feel of Luke's fingers, checking me out. No worries there, I was already wet. Then his penis entered my vagina and he started moving. It didn't take long for me to get really vocal, letting him know how much I liked this. And let me tell you: the guy has stamina and I loved every moment of it, which I showed by .. crying. I sobbed, the tears were streaming down my face, I moaned and I cried out.
After checking I wanted it as well, Luke lubed a butt plug and inserted it while he kept fucking my cunt, making it even more intense.
Then Luke decided that I needed his penis up my arse. He made sure I was well lubed up before switching holes and he slipped in quite easily passed my sphincter. I cried even harder now, lowering myself on my forearms, pushing my butt back: "You fill me up so good." "I love fucking your arse."
I have no idea how long this went on for, but it felt heavenly. Being held like this, skin on skin contact, having sex again, all the while feeling the pain he inflicted on me earlier. It made me feel cherished, loved, heard, desirable, sexy.
A nice shower afterwards, changing the sheets of the bed together, and we laid down on the bed, side by side, watching silly YouTube video's, caressing, relaxing.
After lunch I was driven home. I came down from my high that night, Luke checked in on me, on-line, the day after. I am still black and blue and loving it.
Until that time, we talked in person twice, and a couple of times more on Fetlife, where Luke asked me to fill in a questionnaire. Truth be told: I hate those. I've done it before, and probably will do it time and time again, I see why they're important, but I just hate filling them in. What do I want, what do I need, what do I expect, what can't I do, what are my limits, how's my health, what are my experiences? You go over them point by point, reading and thinking and answering, and find out later you missed a couple of questions, checked the wrong box, misunderstood, or otherwise goofed.
Sent the questionnaire, saved a copy. Agreed in chat that our relationship will be non-exclusive. This is not for a Happily Ever After, but just for the Here and Now, for as long as we're both happy with it.
Tuesday, the day before, we chat on Fetlife, determining to meet at 10, my place, go out for a coffee/tea, talk and possibly more. And then Luke mentioned sex, and I freaked.
For those of you that don't know this: a BDSM session may include sex, but that is not at all necessary. In fact, parties in the scene often have a No Penetration rule. This means that when I played in the Netherlands, there was no sex. Neither was there any sex with my first play partner, since he is in a committed relationship and although our sessions were suggested by his partner, this was a hard limit for her. So for me there is no correlation between play and sex. To that now add that I haven't had sex in longer than I care to remember, and certainly longer than I'm going to tell you all, coupled with the fact that Luke is so much younger than me that it's impossible to believe he could be attracted to me, and you start getting my freak.
Wednesday morning came and I got busy. Helping everybody get ready to leave for work and daycare, having a shower and dressing (just jeans and a thin sweater, but nice underwear), doing laundry and ironing, get the meat defrosted, preparing what I can for dinner, drinking a pot of tea and waiting for 10 o'clock. I was not just nervous: I was terrified. Not afraid of what Luke was going to do, but of what I was getting myself into. How much of a slut was I, taking the initiative like that? Was I really ready for this? Did I want to talk about what I crave? Would we play today? Could I go for a session? And would there be sex?
Luke was on time and we drove to the beach. I grew up close to the sea and have always loved it. We walked and talked, sat and went through the list, walked and talked some more, found a place where I could get a pot of tea. The weather was nice enough, so we sat outside, where we could chat without being overheard.
Most topics had been discussed by now: hard and soft limits, wants and cravings, double penetration and anal sex, my past experiences, my last relationship, my dry spell, expectations, outlook on mind games (I don't like them, Luke does), what to do if it doesn't work out between us.
Me: "So: sex sex. Are we going to have that?" Luke: "We can have sex, if you want. Do you want to?" Me: "I think it's bloody well time." That made us both laugh, and we talked about safe sex.
We drove to his place. Until this moment we'd hardly touched at all, and I reached over to take his hand. He pressed mine, grinned, and reached over to play with my nipple, teasing it out of my bra, under my clothing, while I leaned back and relished the touch.
At his place I needed the bathroom, urgently. Not surprising, with the nerves and after all that tea.
In the bedroom Luke got his toys sorted and put a towel on the bed. "Right, let's get you naked." I waited for a moment, to see if he wanted to undress me, but he just watched me and I stripped. It had been ages since I last undressed with a man looking on and I was surprised I wasn't more nervous. When I was naked, he checked me out, making me very uncomfortable. I know I look good for my age, but I'm a middle aged woman, slightly overweight, sagging, with my body showing clear signs of past pregnancies. Having someone watch me like that, feels like I'm being judged. At least he didn't look repulsed. And I looked at him, in his jeans, no longer wearing his shirt, looking so lean and trim and young.
Luke told me to get on the bed, on my hands and knees, and I did. Don't ask me what he used on my bum, I didn't look, and I didn't care, I just felt. And what I mainly felt was pain. Next time, we'd better go for a bit of a warm up, I never expected Luke to go at it as he did right from the bat, so I never discussed that with him. As it was, it soon became too painful for me, but I expect that I could take a lot more if we started a bit slower. It was good, but it was too much. What was even nicer was when he would pause occasionally, pull me up against him and hold and stroke me.
Luke: "Do you want to be well used by me?" Me, polite as always (well, most of the time):"Yes, please."
The sound of a wrapper being opened and then the feel of Luke's fingers, checking me out. No worries there, I was already wet. Then his penis entered my vagina and he started moving. It didn't take long for me to get really vocal, letting him know how much I liked this. And let me tell you: the guy has stamina and I loved every moment of it, which I showed by .. crying. I sobbed, the tears were streaming down my face, I moaned and I cried out.
After checking I wanted it as well, Luke lubed a butt plug and inserted it while he kept fucking my cunt, making it even more intense.
Then Luke decided that I needed his penis up my arse. He made sure I was well lubed up before switching holes and he slipped in quite easily passed my sphincter. I cried even harder now, lowering myself on my forearms, pushing my butt back: "You fill me up so good." "I love fucking your arse."
I have no idea how long this went on for, but it felt heavenly. Being held like this, skin on skin contact, having sex again, all the while feeling the pain he inflicted on me earlier. It made me feel cherished, loved, heard, desirable, sexy.
A nice shower afterwards, changing the sheets of the bed together, and we laid down on the bed, side by side, watching silly YouTube video's, caressing, relaxing.
After lunch I was driven home. I came down from my high that night, Luke checked in on me, on-line, the day after. I am still black and blue and loving it.
Thursday, 3 April 2014
BDSM down under: please tell me I'll be fine
I haven't been active yet, here. A new environment, not knowing where is safe and where isn't, no job, therefore no money and no own place to life. It's really frightening to just get out there, and I just can't do it yet. With money and transport, I can leave a situation where I don't feel at ease, without them I might just be stuck. So no, instead of going out there I decided to wait a bit.
Life is busy enough. Hunting for a job, taking care of the (grand)kids, doing the laundry, cooking diner, gaming with the friends I made here, surfing the net and posting on Facebook. Busy all day, every day, and usually bored with waiting for my residency and finding myself a job.
One group of people I'm gaming with got a new member recently, an old friend of one of the other members. I say old friend, even though he's way younger than me, but then they all are, Our group uses Facebook to remain in contact, and that new person, let's call him Luke, reacted on one of my posts with a BDSM reference. I reacted on that, rather ambiguously, not wanting to give anything away on a public forum, Luke basically told me I didn't know what I was talking about, I asked him how he could possible know, and all the while I was thinking "Hmm, could he really?".
Next game date, I heard Luke telling about a party he'd been to and it definitely sounded like BDSM. So, even though we could be overheard by others, I asked him about it and it turned out I'd been right. I had to be careful, some of the people present are close friends of my daughter, so I couldn't give anything away. Luke was mildly surprised, because my reaction to his story was different than the ones he usually gets from Vanilla's, so now he was thinking "Hmm, could she really?"
Next day I mailed him, referencing to the Facebook post and telling him I'd prefer to keep a further discussion more private, asking him for his Fetlife identity. We messaged back and forth on Fetlife for a bit, and agreed to meet up for coffee next Wednesday.
Last game night we were both present, our private meet up still to come, and I was nervous as heck. I did manage to react normally to him, not avoiding him or paying him too close attention, but it was hard. Harder still when he offered give me a lift at the end of the evening. We did have a chat and a bit of a laugh on our way, and our "date" next week still stands.
What happens next, I don't know. But when two unattached people, a masochist and a sadist, come together, life changes for both of them.
More later, when I have something to report.
Life is busy enough. Hunting for a job, taking care of the (grand)kids, doing the laundry, cooking diner, gaming with the friends I made here, surfing the net and posting on Facebook. Busy all day, every day, and usually bored with waiting for my residency and finding myself a job.
One group of people I'm gaming with got a new member recently, an old friend of one of the other members. I say old friend, even though he's way younger than me, but then they all are, Our group uses Facebook to remain in contact, and that new person, let's call him Luke, reacted on one of my posts with a BDSM reference. I reacted on that, rather ambiguously, not wanting to give anything away on a public forum, Luke basically told me I didn't know what I was talking about, I asked him how he could possible know, and all the while I was thinking "Hmm, could he really?".
Next game date, I heard Luke telling about a party he'd been to and it definitely sounded like BDSM. So, even though we could be overheard by others, I asked him about it and it turned out I'd been right. I had to be careful, some of the people present are close friends of my daughter, so I couldn't give anything away. Luke was mildly surprised, because my reaction to his story was different than the ones he usually gets from Vanilla's, so now he was thinking "Hmm, could she really?"
Next day I mailed him, referencing to the Facebook post and telling him I'd prefer to keep a further discussion more private, asking him for his Fetlife identity. We messaged back and forth on Fetlife for a bit, and agreed to meet up for coffee next Wednesday.
Last game night we were both present, our private meet up still to come, and I was nervous as heck. I did manage to react normally to him, not avoiding him or paying him too close attention, but it was hard. Harder still when he offered give me a lift at the end of the evening. We did have a chat and a bit of a laugh on our way, and our "date" next week still stands.
What happens next, I don't know. But when two unattached people, a masochist and a sadist, come together, life changes for both of them.
More later, when I have something to report.
A new life
Any of you ever thought about moving to the other side of the world? Anyone? Do you have any advice for me?
A year ago I flew to the kids, for the impending birth of my grandson. Being there was very moving and beautiful, and knowing I would have to leave again moved me to tears. My only grandchildren are in New Zealand, which is way too far from the Netherlands. I still remember how heartbroken I was going back after my granddaughter had been born. I was crying so hard I could hardly see where I was going.
And then I suddenly realised that being with in New Zealand made me happy, and that I hadn't been happy in years. I'd been struggling with a relationship where I was the only fighting for it, my job was awful (due to management, not to colleagues), my grandchildren were too far away, and I didn't have enough opportunities to pursue my BDSM interests, being tired all the time.
I didn't want to go, my daughter didn't want me to leave, my son (in law) loved having me there, so I decided to stay. Isn't that something? A major, life changing decision, taken before I had even consciously thought about it. But the moment I said it out loud, I knew it was the right thing to do.
Not that is has been easy, mind you, especially not for somebody used to the EU and the open borders for EU citizens. Had I known all this a couple of months sooner, it would have been a breeze, but my 57th birthday meant I was too old to get a work permit straight away. Now I got into a Catch 22: in order to obtain a work permit, I needed to have a job offer, and in order to get a job offer, employers wanted to see my work permit. Finding myself a job was proving difficult.
Change of plans. Instead of going for a work permit, let's go for residency. Yes, you read that right, it's easier for me to become a New Zealand resident, than it is to find myself a job here. Why is that? Because I have a daughter who is a resident, and grandchildren who are citizens. And that means I'm eligible for residency under the parent category, assuming my daughter sponsors me, I have a clean bill of health, my English is up to par and the Dutch police has nothing awful to report about me.
So: extend visa and send an Expression of Interest, pay for both. Get an Invitation to Apply for Residency. Extend visa again, for a further fee. Get a health screening (including X-ray and blood tests), police certificate, birth certificate (of myself and my daughter, to prove we're truly related), sponsorship form including evidence of sufficient income, take an English language test, include dozens of pass photo's, send everything of, with my passport of course.
It's all in the works now and I should hear about their decision soon, they tell us. How soon? Who knows, we're talking about government officials after all. But soon.
Update:
My residency has been granted!
A year ago I flew to the kids, for the impending birth of my grandson. Being there was very moving and beautiful, and knowing I would have to leave again moved me to tears. My only grandchildren are in New Zealand, which is way too far from the Netherlands. I still remember how heartbroken I was going back after my granddaughter had been born. I was crying so hard I could hardly see where I was going.
And then I suddenly realised that being with in New Zealand made me happy, and that I hadn't been happy in years. I'd been struggling with a relationship where I was the only fighting for it, my job was awful (due to management, not to colleagues), my grandchildren were too far away, and I didn't have enough opportunities to pursue my BDSM interests, being tired all the time.
I didn't want to go, my daughter didn't want me to leave, my son (in law) loved having me there, so I decided to stay. Isn't that something? A major, life changing decision, taken before I had even consciously thought about it. But the moment I said it out loud, I knew it was the right thing to do.
Not that is has been easy, mind you, especially not for somebody used to the EU and the open borders for EU citizens. Had I known all this a couple of months sooner, it would have been a breeze, but my 57th birthday meant I was too old to get a work permit straight away. Now I got into a Catch 22: in order to obtain a work permit, I needed to have a job offer, and in order to get a job offer, employers wanted to see my work permit. Finding myself a job was proving difficult.
Change of plans. Instead of going for a work permit, let's go for residency. Yes, you read that right, it's easier for me to become a New Zealand resident, than it is to find myself a job here. Why is that? Because I have a daughter who is a resident, and grandchildren who are citizens. And that means I'm eligible for residency under the parent category, assuming my daughter sponsors me, I have a clean bill of health, my English is up to par and the Dutch police has nothing awful to report about me.
So: extend visa and send an Expression of Interest, pay for both. Get an Invitation to Apply for Residency. Extend visa again, for a further fee. Get a health screening (including X-ray and blood tests), police certificate, birth certificate (of myself and my daughter, to prove we're truly related), sponsorship form including evidence of sufficient income, take an English language test, include dozens of pass photo's, send everything of, with my passport of course.
It's all in the works now and I should hear about their decision soon, they tell us. How soon? Who knows, we're talking about government officials after all. But soon.
Update:
My residency has been granted!
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