“I couldn’t believe the summer was ending. Just a few weeks ago, I remember holding my passport and a dog-eared dictionary in my hand as I waited impatiently for my backpack. It was easy to spot, covered in patches that I’d hand-sewed from every city I’d ever visited. Usually I would sit on a hostel floor, armed with the needle and thread and as if it were some kind of ritual, I would sew on the newest one the last night in a country.”