Tied together with nice red tape

Translated from the original in Spanish as requested by him.

The greatest difference between us is not race, gender nor creed.

It is, however, how we assimilate bureaucracy, the red tape.

I was born in a culture where "paper speaks" and I reach the holy altar of the applications window with the kafkian fear of my people.

He, instead, travels under the flag of his optimism, and can't conceive having to go back five times when only one visit should suffice.

I know the unwritten rules and protocols of filling a form, in addition to knowing the archaic language of "hereby", "I, the undersigned", "under protest of stating the truth", "your constant server", etc.

He is used to having documents with variations of his own name, typos, abbreviations.

I trust my own fatalism, knowing before I get there, that I'm surely missing a signature, a copy, the dog's papers.

He thinks that we'll have enough time to have breakfast, go grocery shopping, pick up the kid at school, and that they will process our application in the time they have promised.

I know that I have to carefully document in original and two copies (and another in my purse just in case) that A equals B and B equals C, therefore A equals C, with a signed, sealed and notarized letter where I solemnly swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth so help me God and that there are no pending trials on my name (my holy name, currency of this society), plus signatures of two witnesses, attaching photocopies of their official form of ID and a utility bill on their name (water, phone or electricity will do).

He doesn't understand why we need to keep so many papers.

I get frustrated, people bother me, I get pissed off.

He only gets confused and overwhelmed.

But his optimism never breaks.

I wish, despite everything I know, I could believe the way he does.