Refugee or Foreigner

The uniform finds the US visa stamped in the middle of my I.C. He asks me to wait and walks to another room with my document while others with regular passports hurry by, relieved to have been allowed on American soil. 

The uniform returns and asks me to place my fingers on a scanner. 

“Where is your final destination?”

“Sir, I have a connecting flight to Irvine, California. I will be starting my Ph.D. in Anthropology at the University of California Irvine.”

After stamping it, the uniform hands me back the yellow oddity, acknowledging my presence. 

“Best of luck with your Ph.D. You can go in and pick up your bags.”

“Thank you so much! Have a good day, Sir!”

I collect my documents and walk towards the baggage claim area. My muscles relax and I take a deep breath. I look around for ཨ་ལྕག་ལགས (a lcag lags), but I don’t see her. She must have reunited with her husband. I imagine she , sharingshares my sense of relief, andrelief and wonder if she is now beginning her long journey towards legal citizenship. Tens of thousands of Tibetans have already made this journey: from people of a lost country to refugees and finally holders of a national passport. 

I catch sight ofcollect my bags, a white ཁ་བཏགས་ (kha btags) [1]  tied around each of them for easy identification. This is an old Tibetan trick to identify personal belongings during long travels. My grandparents did this during their exodus from Tibet. I do this in my travels from India to the US. The trepidation of rejection binds us, across generations. For many, it is just another day at the airport and the bothersome routine of going through Immigration. For ཨ་ལྕག་ལགས་, me, and others, these are sites of scrutiny, trials, and performances of identity.  

I walk out of the airport, my yellow document is now hidden, put away, out of sight. It has fulfilled its role in this ritual.