For what it's worth...

Being a US immigration exilee means that you ask yourself a lot of those questions about marriage that you’re not really supposed to ask, starting with “is this person worth it?”

And to have a happy, appreciative marriage, you’re really not supposed to ask: “is this person so &%$@ing fabulous that I would give up my home, my language, my culture, my support system, access to my friends and family, and access to opportunity just to be with them?”

I mean, on its face, it’s very Romeo and Juliet; it sounds like some sort of modern-day romantic epic, but I can promise that it won’t get you in the mood to think of your partner as a list of pros and cons. Still, I do think that a lot of us exilees have done out the math just because that “to have and to hold” bit hits you fast and hard in this situation.

A lot of us exilees – fun to say that now that I’m getting to know others! – are just kids in our 20s. I would assume that most people don’t face the nitty gritty of marriage quite that early, but I’ve gone over everything from cancer to bankruptcy to divorce to international kidnapping in my head thanks to our unusual circumstances. The whole exile thing tweaks your perception of what’s normal and what’s possible, but I’m still here.

None of this means that my vows are deeper or shallower than anyone else’s – as The Deportee’s Wife wrote – we’re neither “perfect martyrs” nor “complete saints.” So I’d be lying if I told you that I’d never done out the calculus; even though I try very, very hard to be married off of the balance sheets, I know the score…

But some days, I feel so embarrassed for putting Leo up there next to a salary or a degree or a house or a car and trying to measure how best to get ahead. Some days, I’m floored by what I would have lost if I’d put a number value on Leo.

Last night, for instance, Leo turned to me as we were falling asleep and said “what’s the Plan B?” He’s very nervous about Canadian visas; whereas I’m busy counting our unhatched chickens, he is denying that there are even eggs in the basket.

“I haven’t the slightest,” I told him, “but we’ll make it work.” Which is basically my mantra and a total lie. I’ve been very busy scheming about opportunities here, but I don’t want to talk about it since I am very attached to the UBC plan and very committed to making Canada work; talking about other options makes them seem viable, and I’d rather only deal with them when all else fails.

“I was thinking about a little store,” he said.

“What would you sell,” I asked. I wasn’t surprised, and I was sure he’d follow it up with “Paraguayan electronics” or “bootlegged DVDs” or “clothes,” which has nothing to do with my expectations of him; those are just the kind of stores and booths that spring up here without much start-up capital.

But he continued, “like a toy store. But with good toys. Quality toys. Toys from when I was a kid. The hard part is the capital…”

I, however, was completely shocked out of thinking about capital. I was thinking about Leo behind the counter of a toy store; about how he made a gorgeous kite totally from scratch at Fire Island last summer and taught the kids to fly it; about how he throws a little party for our landlady’s son when he comes back from weekends at his dad’s house (always in a very foul mood) because Leo realized that it helps the little guy readjust; and about how he buys me cheese on Valentine’s day and a mug as a "welcome home!" gift… because he gets it. He gets me. He gets what it means to be a kind, good person. He is, as they say here, “uma pessoa simples” – a simple person – which isn’t like “simple” in English but rather signifies someone who is grounded, down-home, and humble.

So, you’re not supposed to ask those questions, but in exile you do… And then sometimes, a lead feather lands on the scale and tips it so forcefully in Leo’s favor that I am the one who must feel proud and grateful to be by his side.