There is a ticking clock in the back of my head.

November 10, 2027. That is when my visa expires, and when, due to the intricate complexities of decades of policy, I could be sent away. 

Not home, of course. My home, whether at my flat in Townhead or my mum’s house in Peterhead, is in Scotland. My family lives here, my sisters and brother, and this is where my father died. 

Yet, I live in a constant state of precarity.

In 19 months, you see, I will have to make enough money to qualify for a skilled worker visa, for the honour of which I will then pay £1,035 per year for the NHS and £885 to apply. 

And that’s because I am considered a ‘new entrant’ to the workforce.

After the age of 26, the salary threshold rises again. 

The author moved to the UK in August 2020, during the pandemic.

The limit is at the upper bound for us scribes these days, especially for someone who is a year out of university.

I am not, of course, asking for your sympathy. I had just turned 18 when my parents moved here for work. I could have stayed in the United States, alone, and gotten on with life. 

But I chose to follow. 

If I can scrape together enough as a hack to earn a visa, I should be eligible to apply........

© Herald Scotland