I’ve been dealing with travel visas for over 25 years—long enough to know this topic is wildly misunderstood by anyone who’s never actually lived it.
You can’t just let people casually wander into a country…
unless, apparently, you’re shopping for votes.
Like it or not, visas are 100% necessary.
Not glamorous.
Not fun.
Necessary.
My travel saga started in the late 1990s, flying for work between Calgary, Canada and Dallas, Texas.
I regularly traveled from our manufacturing plant in Calgary to our U.S. headquarters in Dallas. And every trip began exactly the same way:
Me, arriving at the Calgary airport—already sweating—fully aware that my real journey was about to begin… with U.S. Immigration.
The script never changed.
Agent: Purpose of travel?
Me: Meetings.
Agent: How long?
Me: One week.
Agent: That’s a long meeting.
Me: We have meetings all week.
Agent: Go sit in our office.
Me (internally): Yes sir. Thank you sir. I respect the process and my fragile freedom.
Then came the waiting.
The agents would let me slowly marinate in anxiety—right up until five minutes before boarding.
Agent: You’re free to go.
Me: Immediately sprinting to the gate like I’d just been released from a minimum-security prison.
Every.
Single.
Time.
🏃🏻➡️✈️
Eventually, I graduated to actual work visas.
Real ones.
Laminated.
Official.
Very fancy.
I would calmly present my current visa to the immigration officer, exactly as instructed.
[“DO NOT ANSWER QUESTIONS.”]
The office rules were very clear:
Show the visa.
Say nothing.
Apparently, immigration officers are highly trained professionals whose primary job is to trick you into saying one wrong word, realize you have the wrong visa, and deny you entry—
purely by accident.
On your part.
This never happened to me.
I suspect it’s because they eventually recognized me.
“Oh. It’s this guy again.”
Somewhere along the way, I stopped being “potential international threat” and became “frequent flyer with anxiety.”
Eventually, I moved to the United States full-time, which—shockingly—required an entirely different visa.
I will forever clutch my citizenship like it’s a winning lottery ticket.
Ten years and dozens of visas later, I finally received my United States Permanent Resident card—
the government’s way of saying, “Fine. You can stay.”
“TEN YEARS LATER”
Another ten years passed, and—six months after my green card expired on January 13, 2019—I officially became a U.S. citizen on July 3, 2019.
Yes, there was a brief but thrilling period where I existed in pure bureaucratic limbo:
No longer green-card valid, not yet American enough.
USA Immigration has always loved a good cliffhanger.
Then, just in time for Independence Day sales, fireworks, and historically poor life choices…
I became a U.S. citizen.
Sworn in by DJT himself.
Roll credits. 🇺🇸🎆
My entire immigration journey took roughly 20 years.
Two decades of forms, fees, interviews, fingerprints, photos—and the low-grade terror of checking the mailbox.
So yes, I tend to notice immigration policy.
Between 2020 and 2024, under a Democratic administration, millions of migrants were allowed into the U.S. with what appeared to be minimal vetting. Many arrived with criminal records, some unvaccinated, and many had their expenses covered.
At the exact same time, Americans were required to get vaccinated while enduring shutdowns that hit them financially.
That contrast did not go unnoticed.
The current Republican administration, by contrast, treats border security as non-negotiable. Their 2025 immigration policies can best be summarized as FAFO—and they are the strongest I’ve seen.
And just for context—so this doesn’t sound like vibes-only commentary—I’ve also held travel visas for:
Thailand (three of them), Cambodia, and Vietnam (two).
Turns out, when you’ve played immigration on hard mode across multiple countries, you develop opinions.
Earned ones.
Cambodia Immigration — departing Vietnam
No computers.
No scanners.
No backup system.
Just pens, paper, and deeply suspicious vibes.
Everything was done by hand.
Every passport.
Every stamp.
Every long, silent glance that felt like a background check conducted telepathically.
The process took hours—not because anything was wrong, but because time itself had chosen to opt out.
The heat was oppressive.
The fans were decorative.
The concept of “boarding time” was aspirational.
This was immigration in its purest form:
slow, deliberate, and completely immune to deadlines.
And watching it all unfold, I realized something oddly comforting—
no matter the country,
no matter the technology,
no matter the system…
immigration always finds a way to remind you who’s really in charge.
These Asian visas are extremely strict.
As in: follow the rules… or enjoy a complimentary tour of the prison system.
There’s no confusion about the process.
No gray area.
No “I didn’t know.”
You follow the entry requirements, or there are consequences.
And somehow—miraculously—when you follow the immigration process wherever you go, you avoid those consequences entirely.
Seems 100% fair to me.
Legal immigration history:
It didn’t start with some fancy red carpet—it started when governments realized people moving freely could get… complicated. Back in the 19th century, countries like the U.S., Canada, and Australia were basically like, “Sure, come on in… as long as you check a box or two.”
Then came the U.S. Immigration Act of 1882, which basically said, “Not everyone’s invited to the party.” Fast forward to the early 1900s: Ellis Island became the ultimate checkpoint, where millions of hopeful immigrants faced the judgment of border agents, health inspections, and that ever-important first glimpse of America.
By the mid-20th century, things got organized: work visas, student visas, green cards… a whole bureaucratic buffet. Today, legal immigration is basically a government-approved, multi-step obstacle course—and yes, you can survive it, but only if you brought your paperwork, patience, and maybe a stiff drink. 