My new passport arrived in the mail. Those crispy pages between the shiny cover just BEG to be worn down by stamps. I picked up my old passport, cover fraying in a corner, pages a little soft from turning, and lovingly looked through the stamps and visas again, one last time. Each page, stirring memories and rousing nostalgia. Officially expired, I retired it to the filing cabinet, now to take permanent refuge among other paperwork deemed important.
My first passport. My formal invitation to the world.
It felt anti-climactic, retiring it to the old filing cabinet. Pushed aside. Like that emotional scene in Toy Story 2 when the girl leaves her box of toys on the side of the road. And you suddenly want to hug your childhood blankie. Cue when she loved me.
So I suppose – out of respect or to pay homage or to honor it, I’ve written a letter to my dearly beloved expired passport, reflecting on a decade of travel and adventure, change and growth.










