Being stuck in an airport terminal without a passport is like being a second-generation Kiwi in New Zealand.

It’s all the same. Stuck between two worlds, in the awkward space between two countries, two cultures, two identities — it’s confusing and constraining.

My passport is my identity. A tapestry of the different parts of my background that make me who I am. This New Zealand passport is filled with pages stamped with visas from my native Indonesia. But in this country I call home I’m still made to feel excluded because I don’t fit this reductive idea of what a Kiwi should be.

This terminal isn’t where anyone should call home. But I’ve long had my Kiwi identity erased, my passport taken away. To have my entry denied is to have my entire being rejected.

I’ve come to terms with my identity. I belong here just as much as anyone else. It’s time I claim back for myself and make my mark as a Kiwi. And I encourage you to do the same.