Following a comment on a previous post, I ended up on this blog. It's a cool blog, too bad it's dormant. I browsed through and read this post, a personal experience about this serious and interesting subject that is selective immigration [1] .

I've always had restless feet. I left France when I was 15, studies in three different countries, lived in no less than a few cities, worked abroad and next door, learned languages. And here I am in Germany. Where I moved to not because of economical reasons (on the contrary to Sourisdansroquefort), but in part thanks to economical reasons. I was kind of unemployed at the time I met my German Man and moved to live with him.

So I moved for love. Not so much love of a country, as you may have gathered reading this blog, but for love of a person. Still. I am part of those selective immigrants. Not those selected by a selective immigration policy, but of those who can afford to be picky as to where they are going to go. I could probably have chosen to immigrate pretty much where I wanted. Of course, some countries are easier to get to than others, but still. I am French and apart from sounding sexy when I speak a foreign language, it is an etiquette I find easy to wear, and it has always been so, even in Freedom-fries ridden America. Easier than many others.

I've always wondered if that gave me the right to shut up, or rather the right to criticize, since I chose to come and didn't "have to come" in any way. I guess I'll have to think about this further. In any case, it's a cool tag to have, that of "Immigrant who chose".


[1] This is the original article in English on which the French article cited by Sourisdansroquefort at the end of her post