Sitting through the paperwork for a visa feels like a second job

Staring at the screen in Apgujeong

I remember walking into an office in Apgujeong last summer. It was one of those places that specialized in helping people navigate the maze of getting a US permanent residency. The lobby was quiet, almost too quiet, filled with people who looked just as tired as I felt. I had been reading about how the approval rates for the EB-3 were fluctuating and how the NIW requirements felt like they were constantly shifting every time I checked. It’s hard to tell what’s actually true and what’s just marketing fluff when you’re looking at these agencies online. I had spent weeks trying to decipher the USCIS website on my own, but staring at those government forms at 2 AM really makes you question if you have the right documents.

The endless cycle of consultation fees

I sat there for an hour with a consultant who kept nodding as if he understood exactly how my background in engineering would fit into their internal matrix. It’s funny, the way these 1-on-1 sessions go. You pay a fee—around 150,000 KRW for the initial consultation—and you walk out with more questions than you started with. They talked a lot about the ‘bespoke solutions’ they provide, but I couldn’t help but notice that they had a stack of the same pamphlets for everyone else in the waiting room. I left wondering if I was just another line item in their monthly report. I still don’t know if I actually received ‘custom’ advice or just a very polished sales script.

Worrying about things that shouldn’t matter

Around the same time, I started hearing news about the Justice Department pushing to revoke citizenship for some naturalized individuals. My friend, who had already gone through the process years ago, called me in a panic. It created this weird, low-level anxiety. It’s not like I’m at risk of losing anything yet, since I don’t even have the visa in my hand, but it makes you look at the whole system differently. You realize that even if you jump through every hoop, clear every medical check, and pay every fee, the goalpost can shift because of a policy change on the other side of the Pacific. It makes the process feel incredibly fragile.

Why simple travel feels like a test

Then there was the ESTA situation. A minor incident from years back kept nagging at me. Every time I looked at that ‘Have you ever…’ section on the online form, I spent forty minutes debating whether I needed to track down a criminal record certificate or if I was overthinking it. It’s frustrating how a single box on a digital form can keep you up at night. I ended up calling a law office just to ask if a past misdemeanor would trigger a denial. They told me that if I wasn’t sure, it was safer to apply for a full B1/B2 visa instead of risking an ESTA rejection. So now I’m back to square one, looking at months of potential wait times for an interview instead of a five-minute online submission.

The ambiguity of being ‘in process’

I attended one of those study abroad expos at COEX later that month. It was chaos. There were booths for IELTS prep, TOEFL tutoring, and consultants trying to push their immigration packages. I walked past the sections offering help with settling down in the US, but I didn’t stop. I felt like I had already had enough ‘strategy’ sessions to last a lifetime. Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it to keep pushing, or if I should just stay here and accept that my current life is stable enough. There isn’t a clean ending to this process. You just submit the papers and wait. And wait. And sometimes, you wake up and wonder if you’re still waiting for a life you actually want, or if you’re just chasing a document that represents a version of ‘abroad’ that might not even exist anymore.