The hi(story) of a passport

Ah, U.S. Passport, how I have loved thee!

I have carefully tucked you into my purse or overhead carry-on nearly 100 times in the past 10 years.

Alas, you expired five days ago and now I have to part with you. The government demands you back upon renewal. I have a fresh new passport picture that makes me look like a German spy and gamely emphasizes my crooked face.

There was a crooked girl and she had a crooked smile,
She found a crooked prince and moved a crooked mile.
She wrote a crooked blog, and made a crooked home,
And she told her silly stories in a little crooked poem.

My passport against a backdrop of photos of a memorable restaurant in Johannesburg, South Africa.

Dear Passport, you represent the cosmopolitan, jet-setting me when I traveled the world for my employer. How many times did I finger your navy blue leather cover while standing in customs lines in London, Munich, Johannesburg, Mexico City, Tokyo and Sydney?

I treasure the amazing sights and exotic tastes you introduced me to. Because of you, I remember sweatily jogging around the Farm Cove park while gazing at Sydney Opera House, eating kudu and crocodile in South Africa, shopping at Harrods of London and dining on the world’s best sushi in Tokyo.

Thanks to you, I was always re-admitted to the good ol’ US of A with its population of sometimes overweight and arrogant but always liberty-loving citizens who believe in freedom of speech, the right to bear arms and a two-term limit on the office of president.

While I do not miss airline food and jet lag, I shall miss you, little Passport, and the supplemental pages officially inserted into you to accommodate all my visas. You are special to me, and I’ll look forward to our reunification in 10 weeks, though processing times vary.

Parting with you is like parting with my worldly self. Travel well and come home safe.

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