Bureaucracy, Patience, and the 5 Points that Changed Everything

The plan was simple: Fly from Kupang in Timor -Indonesia to Darwin in Australia, then do a bit of traveling, and see what that country has to offer. I found out soon enough! after five months, the Red Continent had me hooked. I was head-over-heels. The fastness, the vibe—I could already see myself sitting on my own veranda in the Outback with a cold beer. The decision was made between two rounds at the pub: I’m staying. For good.

The problem? The Australian Immigration Department didn’t find my romantic vision particularly moving. Back then, the rules were ironclad: You couldn’t apply for residency from inside the country. You had to leave. Going back to Switzerland wasn’t an option (it was winter, obviously). Return to the States? No thanks. Plus, my bank account was looking about as flat as the Nullarbor Plain.

The solution sat 2,000 kilometers to the east: New Zealand. The plan was as pragmatic as it was optimistic: Work in NZ while the Australian bureaucrats stamped my paperwork. On February 1st, 1995, I boarded a flight from Sydney to Auckland. I figured I’d be back in a few months. Spoiler: It drifted into a stay that seemed to have no clear end.

The Bureaucratic Steeplechase

Australian bureaucracy is like a bushwalk without a compass—just when you think you’ve reached the clearing, another hill appears. I became a professional document collector. Police clearances, birth certificates, medical exams, and the dreaded Trade Assessment.

The refrain was always the same: “That’s all well and good, but we need it translated, certified, and sent again.” My postman back home must have hated me.

Then came the English test. Listening, reading, speaking, writing. I sweated bullets, but in the end, I absolutely nailed it, finishing with nearly a perfect score. This was crucial because Australia worked like a video game: you needed points to level up.

• Age: Under 30 gets you the maximum boost. I submitted my application at 29. Perfect timing.
• Trade: My vocational training was scrutinized like a suspicious suitcase at customs.
• The Goal: 100 points. I was sure I had it in the bag. Or so I thought.

The 110-Point Gut Punch

While I was stuck in New Zealand, surviving on one visa extension after another doing the odd job here and there and waiting for that golden envelope, it happened: New Year’s 1996. With the new year came a massive blow. Overnight, the Australian government hiked the requirement from 100 to 110 points.

When the end results-letter finally arrived, I stared at the number: 105.

Five points. Five measly points stood between me and my “dream life.” “Disappointment” doesn’t even come close to describing the feeling of realizing I’d spent over a year pushing papers for nothing. The plans for the house, the job, the future? Deleted.

Flight to the Front (via India)

What do you do when you’re stuck in New Zealand and Australia slams the door in your face? You keep moving. Since it was still winter in Switzerland (it’s always winter there when I need a plan), I booked a flight to Bangkok.

On April 3rd, 1996, I left New Zealand, spent ten days in Thailand, and landed in Delhi on April 14th. India was the perfect antidote to the organized madness of visa applications.

After a summer stint working back in Switzerland to refill the war chest, I sat down to think. My heart was still whispering: Australia.

The Illegal Finale

I decided I didn’t care about the residency anymore. I grabbed a six-month tourist visa and flew back to Sydney. My new plan: stay as long as I liked, regardless of what the passport said. I stayed for two years, one and a half Illegally, without the blessing of the authorities.

And the irony? After those two years, I realized I’d had enough. The magic had faded. Maybe failing to get those 105 points wasn’t bad luck—maybe it was fate. If I’d gotten the residency, I might still be there today, “integrated” into a life that looked perfect on paper but had worn thin in reality.

Sometimes, those five missing points are exactly what you need to keep you from getting stuck in the wrong place.