I am easily intimidated by men in uniforms, especially these two big, green-suited giants who pulled back the door on my train compartment and held out their hands, waiting for me to dig my passport out of my backpack. They were not smiling. To add to the drama, it was the middle of the night, so my groggy self couldn't find the bloody blue book that would tell them I was who I am. I'm always like this at border crossings. I get so nervous I convince myself that I am truly guilty of some crime that even I didn't know I had committed. This nervousness is particularly pronounced when I, a child...