I’ve been watching the debate over illegal immigration in the U.S. with personal interest, because I am planning to emigrate to Scotland. And let me tell you, immigrating to the U.K. is a bitch and a half.

First off, you have to acquire some sort of job skill that A) they need in Scotland, and B) literally nobody already in Scotland has.   I’m serious.   In order to get you a work visa, your employer has to prove that you offer something that a U.K. citizen could not do equally well, so that you’re not taking British jobs.   This is next to impossible if you are, say, an actor (like me).   Being an actor will get you deported immediately. You’ll never make it out of Heathrow.

Once you get a job in the U.K., you can start the clock.   You must now remain employed for five years straight.   You can be out of the country for a total of nine months during those five years.   You have to get a new work visa every time you get a new job.

I’m explaining this to illustrate how much the U.K. doesn’t want me there.   I will be a smart, creative college graduate, prepared to leave everyone I know and my family behind in order to start a new life in an old country because I am so in love with it, and the government is doing everything they can to keep me from moving there.

Now, I understand some of what motivates Westminster to keep me out.   There are a hell of a lot of people who want to move to the U.K., and the government is having a hard enough time dealing with all of the asylum seekers (they’re doing a horrendous job of it, too).   It’s a small country.

I don’t quite understand the motivation of some other countries to keep people out.   Italy, for example, has a 10-year waiting period with a work visa.   This is a country with a declining birth rate.   What would compel them to keep young people from immigrating?   People will be on Social Security by the time they can apply for citizenship.

And then, of course, there’s us.   The U.S.   We take numerically fewer refugees from Iraq than Sweden does.   Not proportionately.   Numerically.   We get thousands of illegal economic immigrants a year.   And we charge $355 to apply for an immigrant visa, plus a $45 security surcharge.   Does anyone who needs to come to the U.S. because they can’t feed their family have an extra $400 sitting around?

That seems cruelly unfair to me, but it’s not the main point of this column.   Because I want to look at nationality in larger terms.   So for a minute, divorce yourself from practical considerations and consider this idea:

I think Westminster should want me.   I want to be Scottish.   I have never felt so much at home as I did when I was in Scotland (ahem: study abroad should be made affordable for everyone).   Scotland suits me in a way that the U.S. never has, which is pretty scary for me.

Think about all the different countries in the world, with different cultures and systems of government.   What if you could live in the one most perfect for you?   Would it be the U.S.?   I spent seven years learning Spanish, and somewhere along the way I realized that it probably wasn’t the right language for me.   There are so many wonderful Spanish-speaking countries, but none of them pulled at me the way Scotland did.   So now I’m learning Scots Gaelic, and I am motivated in a way that I never was for Spanish.

This isn’t the reason most people immigrate.   But you know what?   It should be.   Instead of just worrying about how to deport the desperate people who come here illegally to work, we should be figuring out if there’s anything we’re doing to put them in those desperate straits.   If Mexico were doing better economically, it wouldn’t be bleeding workers over the border.   I’m not saying that Mexico’s entire well-being is our responsibility, but we might want to at least minimize any problems we’re causing.

Most people like the place they grew up best.   I’m an exception.   Most people find home in the place they come from, and they should really be able to stay there if they want.   I’m hoping for a day when immigrants will be like me, moving home for the first time ever, instead of running from home because of poverty or violence, only to be met by armed guards and a fence.