A friend once sent me a photo from a corridor with flickering lights: a numbered slip, two stamps, and the message “Does this mean I’m in?” That was my cue to start digging. I didn’t work on HOPES–Madad, but people close to me did well because of it, and I got used to being the person who reads the small print, phones the office that never updates its website, and writes the useful bit down.
This blog is what I do with that habit. Small pieces, checked as best I can, written by someone who likes research and hates sending people in circles. I pick one knot and untangle it: how to prepare for a short counselling chat so you leave with one clear action; where recognition rules usually hide online and how to read them without guessing; what to carry so you don’t lose half a morning to a missing copy. If a rule or deadline matters, I link to the official page and get out of the way. I’m not authority. I’m the after-dinner researcher with a notebook and too many tabs open.
What you’ll get isn’t theory. Each post tries to land one move you can copy this week. A way to ask a question so it doesn’t drift (“Could you confirm if this certificate meets the entry requirement for the next intake?”). A subject line that gets opened (“Recognition query — [title name]”). Which desk to try first, and what to say second if the first answer is “no.” It’s the last mile between rules on a page and a person at a counter.
I keep people safe. Names change. Places blur. Outcomes stay honest. Sometimes I blend a few similar stories into one so nobody is exposed; if I do, I’ll say so. If I’m wrong, I’ll fix it in the post so you can see the correction.
The personal half is just my life around all this. I live on Spain’s Costa Blanca. I married an Englishman who came for a week and never booked the return. We have two kids, two school apps, and a family calendar that breeds. My day job is unrelated, so this site gets made in the edges: the car outside the sports hall while futsal runs late, a bench near the playground when there’s a rare five quiet minutes, the kitchen table after the dishwasher beeps. I keep a stubby IKEA pencil in my bag because pens vanish in public offices. Also a two-euro coin taped inside the notebook for the copier in our Ayuntamiento that refuses cards. Press “Reset” first or it eats the money. Ask me how I know.
How I research is not glamorous. I read the official line, ring the number on the second page, and check if the rule changed last Tuesday. I compare three versions of the same form and look for the box everyone forgets to tick. When I’m unsure, I write what I can stand behind and mark the rest clearly so you don’t waste time.
If you arrived looking for a full guide, I’ll point you to the best one I can find. Come back here for the lived part underneath. Read what helps, ignore what doesn’t, and if something’s out of date, tell me. I’ll fix it and thank you.
