In my mid-20s I did what many young, mobile Australians do and took advantage of the Youth Mobility visa, which allowed me to move to the UK for two years with no guarantee of work. Towards the end of my visa I met Tobi, a friend of a friend, at the Edinburgh fringe. We kept bumping into each other, and on one such occasion he asked if I wanted to see his buddy’s sketch show.
Ten minutes into an excruciating hour he leaned over, whispered “Sorry!” and squeezed my leg. I felt electrified. He didn’t seem to notice.
For the next few months we started hanging out as friends, sporadically at first and then as often as we could. When my visa expired and I was forced to head home to Sydney, he seemed genuinely shocked. “I thought we’d have more time,” he said, and I resisted asking “for what?” even though my insides were screaming it.
I flew home, grieving the life I had built in the UK and the romantic crush that had only just started. Then, on a whim, Tobi flew out to visit me.
Though we had never so much as kissed in London, our 10 days together in Sydney made it clear that our intimacy ran deeper than we’d acknowledged. On his last day we sat on the windy cliffs at Tamarama beach and affirmed we wanted to be together, but there was no way we could commit – soon we would be a 30-hour journey apart.
I took one cab to the airport with Tobi; I took another cab home, alone in the back seat, quietly weeping while the driver politely ignored me. The next day I began to research other visas.
A couple of months later I was standing in the British consulate in Sydney at 9am, getting my retinas scanned and my fingerprints copied. Out of desperation I had applied – and been approved – for an arts visa that would make living in the UK possible but very financially challenging.
But after the visa was stamped into my passport I rushed out of the building, into the sunlight, and called Tobi. That was the moment I knew I would make all kinds of concessions to be with this person. He picked up immediately, in the darkness of the London night, and we talked excitedly over each other, buzzing with the knowledge that we’d be reunited in a few weeks.
When I arrived in London our relationship solidified immediately. But my visa was only for one year and the knowledge that we could be pulled apart again hung over us. So a few months later, we got married on the Greek island of Cephalonia. I wore a patterned vintage maxidress and flowers in my hair and the ceremony was conducted entirely in Greek at the mayor’s office. Afterwards, we took off our shoes and paddled in the water at a nearby beach, feeling safe and together, finally.
Some friends were surprised we were married so quickly. We had been dating for only a short time and were in our 20s so, compared with our peers, I was a child bride. But we had endured distance and weren’t willing to do it again.
In May this year, Tobi and I will celebrate our ninth wedding anniversary. We’ve spent tens of thousands of pounds and dollars with our governments on visas and filled out form after form reiterating our commitment. The bureaucracy has been hard. But loving each other has been easy and I would still cross every ocean to be with him.
Brydie Lee-Kennedy is the author of Go Lightly, available on 12 March through Bloomsbury (RRP $32.99).
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