The TSA agent, a twenty-something black woman in a ponytail, gave me a little nod, like she knew who I was. I felt my arms tighten. I grabbed my phone, just in case I needed to call someone right away. When it was my turn to show her my Philippine passport—now the only piece of ID I had to travel—with no visa in it, I was prepared for whatever could happen. She smiled when I handed her my passport. “You’re Jose, right?” she asked, lowering her voice so no one could hear. “My brother-in-law is undocumented. I actually bought the magazine.” She pulled out the Time magazine from her bag and asked
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OMG. Held my breath.
The sigh that I sighed.
