I hate you passport. And I know you secretly hate me too. Otherwise, you wouldn’t give me so much trouble.

I woke up yesterday at precisely 6.47 am.

 

Mission: to finally do my passport.

 

I grudgingly, sleepily, sulkily went with my dad to the immigration office. Parked the car at the opposite parking building, climbed down the stairs of the crossing bridge, crossed the road and went inside the building.

When we were already queueing up,

“I forgot to bring your birth certificate.”

Right. And you know without it, you can’t make a passport.

So we went back home to fetch it and went back there. For the second time. Okay.

Parked the car at the opposite parking building, climbed down the stairs of the crossing bridge, crossed the road and went into the building.

I handed my birth certificate and the process began. The officer asked my dad whether this was the first time I made a passport. He confidently said yes. People, remember this ok? HE SAID YES.

 

Then,

“Are you sure you never made one before?”

“Yes.”

“Then why does it says here you did?”

Eh?

I looked. There written clearly at the back of my birth certificate was:

Dikeluarkan Pasport Malaysia No: …………..pada…………..berlaku……………

I called my dad.

ONLY THEN HE SAID, “Yes, I forgot! You did!”

Eh?

“You have to bring your passport along. Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to issue a new one. We’ll have to report it and then you’ll have to wait for-,”

“A month,” I cut him in. I already knew this from Syafiqah. And I remembered telling her I hoped what almost happened to her wouldn’t happen to me since I was planning to do mine last minute.

Why is this happening to me?????????????????? I don’t have a month! I need it by this weekend!

The truth is, the only reason I dragged my lazy ass from bed early in the morning after months of ignoring my parents’ nagging is because my uni called on Saturday. They were asking for my passport so they could apply for my visa by this week. The glitch? I haven’t made one yet.

So yes, I don’t have one month okay? No passport, no visa. No visa, no India.

When I told this to my dad, he said, “Don’t worry, it’s in the drawer at home.”

So we went back home. For the second time.

 

He opened the drawer and tadaa!!

 

My passport wasn’t there. Nope, it wasn’t stacked along with the others’ passports.

The first thing that crossed my mind wasn’t, “Omg, I’m dead. Bury me on a hill overlooking the beach,” (bunyi cam cliff kat Kolej jak,hehe)

Instead, it was, “How come mine was kept separately? Were they planning to chuck me out???”

I know, I can be so dramatic at times 😉

Anyways, after some time, we found it.

Let me tiru Sya’s way:

DSC00213

Gosh, my signature was nice right? 😛

 

Went back to the immigration office for the third time and finally, finally my passport can be picked up today.

I hate you passport.

 

P.S: To Effa and Syafiqah and my parents, you guys ARE NOT ALLOW TO SAY, “I told you to do it earlier,” or yang sewaktu dengannya. All ended well right, so there’s no need to kerepak2.  Life is all about spontaneity and going with its flow. Otherwise, it’s no fun. Ok? 😀

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