Actually, I'm not an illegal immigrant; I'm an overstayer. Being an illegal immigrant suggests that one entered the country illegally (boats off the coast of Spain spring to mind), when in fact, I came in legally (khosher visa et al) and then stayed on.

It was never in my plans to stay on, but these things happen, and perhaps in subsequent posts, I may well share with you some of the reasons which caused me to stay, suffice to say that I didn't think that being an illegal immigrant would be this hard. Not allowed to work, because it wouldn't be a good idea to go about showing documents which are out of date, and therefore no money to live on.

I'm in a very lucky position that I'm married to a good man who supports me financially, and some of the things that man has had to do and the emotions he has had to deal with, only God knows. And sometimes, I think I'm such a bitch for not quite appreciating him the way I should. You see, I'm grateful that I don't have one of those husbands who knock you about for a yes or a no, but I want more: I want to work and make my own money and not have to provide a blow by blow account of what I had spent the money on, or on what I would like to spend the money on. But at this moment in time, I can't, and the thought of that is depressing me more now than ever before.

I have plans to go back to university and finish my education, and I don't care if I have to pay the £7,000 that foreign students have to pay. I also wouldn't mind going and seeing my family whom I haven't seen for a long, long time. In fact, I wouldn't mind having enough money so that I could say a spontaneous "yes" to a cup of coffee, in a coffee shop with a friend instead of having to think long and hard about it, before deciding that having a coffee at mine would be a better option. And I would also like to help the Husband financially.

I was chatting to a friend recently about the various things I was involved in, and she said, with a sigh and a glint of envy in her eyes: "Oh, I wish I had your life." I simply smiled and asked her if she could deal with my life. We laughed some more but I'm sure she didn't really understand what I meant by her dealing with my life. After all, I seem to be having the great life: the ability to pursue my interests and hobbies because I'm a housewife, who according to her, and to many who know me, doesn't need to work.

But if only she knew that I wouldn't mind leaving the house at 6 o'clock in the morning to catch the tube. Or be able to make some plans. At this moment, I cannot say with confidence that in the middle of next year, I'll be able to see my family. Or that in September, I could go to university. Or that I could do this or that. All I can do is hope, and there is so much hoping a girl can do.