And this week.

For someone like me, who keeps the passport in a little box by my bed for hasty international getaways or emergency travel exits, relinquishing possession is terrifying. For a whole ten days, I felt naked and vulnerable without my passport. There is nothing though, like the joy of that self-addressed registered envelope returning to my hands, sender stamped: Embassy of Brazil.

Visas are wonderful things. Powerful and strangely beautiful papers glued into the most important document one could ever possess in the free world. Unflattering photos, unfamiliar inscriptions and shiny security details reflect a glimmer of new countries and cultures and experiences to come. My passport is my most prized possession, both a physical document and abstract symbol of freedom. A brag book of places been; a blank slate for unwritten journeys.

This week, I have my passport back. I am free.