I have a powerful passport, according to international standards. Scoring 142 visa-free points, it is ranked at 21 in the list of most globally-powerful passports. But this doesn’t make me feel powerful at all. In fact, the term powerful has a very shallow meaning that dresses up the arbitrary grant of passports in black-and-white terms. It seems unfair that some passports open so many doors to people who did nothing to obtain them, while others have to put in so much effort to meet visa requirements.

Since attending college, I’ve learned that this passport hangs over my head like the Sword of Damocles when it comes to travel. I’ve also learned that the name of the country on the cover of my passport serves as a powerful identifier that can either limit or broaden my mobility around the world.

I am wary of the spiritual connection I have with the country where I was born and raised, and I don’t feel a sense of pride in being a citizen. Now, far away from the place that I called home for 19 years, I’ve become detached. When I look back, I realize that national identity isn’t a concept I resonate with. All I could hear on TV were callous remarks that denigrated my perception of my country through negative news about diaspora and the failures of the economy. Eventually, I stopped attaching a sense of patriotism to my passport.

Having lived in Europe my entire life, I have noticed an unrealistic mindset that makes people attach so much value to the U.S. American passport. I have seen my compatriots’ eyes sparkle at the sight of the golden letters printed on a blue background. The U.S. American Dream of a better life has made them imagine boundless opportunities and skyrocketing careers. Suddenly, the scarlet color of their own passport as well as its importance faded away in the face of the entitlement of holding the long-desired blue passport.

Now, as I look at my dark, blood-colored passport, I have ambiguous feelings. I used to be swept up into the vivid dream pictured by those people who covet the U.S. American passport. As in a card game, I used to imagine that the more powerful the symbols printed on my cards, the greater were my chances of winning the big prize. The green card signified all the good things that could happen in my life: the recognition of my past achievements, a good education, the security of a good life. And becoming the holder of a green card was beyond my imagination, my biggest desire.

The arbitrary distribution of passports seems unfair. I own my passport by the right of descent from two parents whose ancestry traces back to the inhabitants of the same territory. The clout of having more than one passport was not a privilege given to me. Unlike me, some individuals with a diverse ethnic background may benefit from the advantages of dual or multiple citizenship, acquired either by birth, marriage or naturalization. These perks can include a easier transit between the countries of origin and the right to vote in either country.

For me, the ability to travel around the world is limited by the power of my passport. I have freedom to move across Europe and I don’t need a visa to travel in most of South America or Australia for less than 30 days. However, I need to pass through a tedious process to obtain a U.S. American visa. Because of the politics that govern this process for non-citizens, it takes time and money to obtain that visa.

In a world where the passport is an indispensable instrument for travel, there are countries that understand the efficiency of reducing the bureaucracy that is a detriment to freedom of movement between borders. The European Union, for example, has instituted the Schengen Agreement, allowing visa-free travel within the area. Similarly, some African countries have taken steps towards creating a single African Union passport.

Last week, as a result of the removal of the Canadian visa for the last of the European countries under visa restriction, I lost another restriction. My passport is valued at 143 points now. But I don’t feel any more empowered. Should I?