Solo traveling is like jumping into a pool. It may seem daunting at first, but in the end, you’ll be glad you did it. You’ll so want to do it again!
Shit, my turn. The immigration official at the desk in front looks straight into my eyes, a lioness locked onto her prey (he was male, but lionesses do the hunting so…)
An upwards head jerk beckons me. Clutching my backpack straps like a kid walking into school on their first day, I approach.
“Purpose of your visit to the United States?” spits Cranky McCrankface as I hand over a mess of documents.
“Uuuuhh….” I try to recall indeed why I had just disembarked a 16 hour hell ride from Hong Kong. He inspects the photo of a red faced, Kmart-uniform clad teen that resides in my passport, before peering back up with demanding eyes.
“LEISURE!” I burst. Good work brain.
He continues the interrogation, brow furrowed, “By yourself?”
Salty beads moisten my forehead. HE’S GOT ME NOW.
“Yup… first solo trip!” I squeak, in an attempt to convince him that…
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