Passport

Several years ago, while watching “Passport” of the immortal Giorgi Daneliya, I wasn’t able to understand the enormous feeling of stress that had overcome me throughout the film. I was entirely convinced and sure that the events described in the film had, of course, not happened, but nonetheless the tragedy and injustice of the film affected me deeply.

Several years ago, while watching “Passport” of the immortal

Giorgi Daneliya

, I wasn’t able to understand the enormous feeling of stress that had overcome me throughout the film. I was entirely convinced and sure that the events described in the film had, of course, not happened, but nonetheless the tragedy and injustice of the film affected me deeply.

I couldn’t deal with the hopeless and confused situation that the main character of the film found himself in. I couldn’t deal with his attempt to find a way out.

If someone had told me at the end of the film that a similar event and an even worse fate was awaiting me just a few years down the line, I doubt my heart would have withstood the shock. I would have collapsed and passed away on the spot. I wouldn’t even have had the strength to imagine such a situation.

But as wise people say – even the wisest of people end up facing the most difficult of problems.

Two months ago, when I arrived in the country where I now reside, a cheerful and kind flight attendant saw my son sitting on my lap. She gave him a passport cover.

I didn’t betray my thoughts at the moment, but this present was a painful one, because my son, who is 2.5 years old, still doesn’t have a passport. And I have been fighting for the past 2.5 years to get him one.

We accepted the passport cover. I looked at this empty cover the entire journey, and I thought. How could I have explained to this girl, that the country of which I am a citizen has been taking its revenge out on my son because of his parents? How could I have told her that the cover will remain empty, because my son doesn’t have a passport. How could I have explained to her, that we got on this plane only with the help of the United Nations, which was to accompany us through customs…

I sat, holding in my hands the light blue passport cover with a drawing of a plane on the front. The plane resembled a small, baby whale. In my other hand, I gripped my son, and just barely restrained myself from breaking out in tears.

Everything was in the past, I thought. All of this. I took my son who had been in Georgia for more than two years as if in prison, from where he could not leave because of our residency status. And I was able to get him out of there only thanks to journalistic organizations. But, remembering everything I had felt over the past two years, the situations in which I ended up, the hopes which were dashed one right after another…it just got harder and harder to hold back my tears.

Everyday, I would look my son in the face and feel guilty before him. When I looked at him, I wondered, ‘what disgusting thing could I have done to my country so that they would dare to punish not only me but my innocent son? Maybe I stole a few million dollars? Maybe I killed someone? Maybe I drowned oil workers in the sea – oil workers who brought money to the country and in whose fate I was uninterested.

What have I done?

I was thinking about this, and all the attempts and times I tried to find a way out of this situation over the past 2 years. These approaches weren’t that different from the efforts of the protagonist in “Passport.”

But, I had to be strong. Very strong. But now, my limp nerves and body have already stopped listening to me.

When we first arrived, I hid the passport cover at home so that I wouldn’t see it, and so that I wouldn’t be reminded of what I want to forget.

Today, my son received the passport of the country where we reside. I got out the passport cover, and wrapped it around the passport.

For the first time in 2 years and 7 months, I can breathe without a lump in my throat…

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