I remember feeling numb as I sat before the immigration officer. Her job was to determine whether my marriage was legitimate. The government had granted her that power, and there was nothing I could do but comply.
The temperature dropped fifteen degrees when she entered the room. There was no hint of a smile, no tilt of the head, no whispered “hello.” She didn’t even make eye contact. It was as if she didn’t care to recognize the presence of other human beings.
The officer clutched a disorganized stack of papers to her chest, and these got needlessly slammed down on the table as if to punish them. She pulled back the chair with a screech. Then threw herself into it before finally looking up at us.