Put my Republic of Korea passport together with Easyjet and you get a story. A sad story.

Oh Amsterdam, with its illegal, but tolerated coffeeshops (where they sell marijuana), the antique buildings and the canals, and its red light district where prostitutes come in all sizes and shapes…and colors…and genders.

It was going to be an unforgettable four-day adventure with Katie, Alissa and Rafael.

But I almost didn’t make it. (Those of you know know me well are probably thinking she overslept and missed the plane. But thanks to my friends, I got to the airport two hours before departure.) So why was it?

Well, this is why.

We were flying out of London Gatwick, and because we were flying on Easyjet, we didn’t need to get our passports checked until we got to the gate. There were two lines forming at the gate, where Rafael and Katie got in one line and Alissa and I stood in the other one. The Easyjet flight attendants were scanning the boarding passes and checking the passports for visas if relevant.

Then came my turn. The blonde Easyjet lady flipped through my passport then asked, “Where is your visa?”

I explained I didn’t need a visa for Netherlands because I could travel within the EU without one.

“No, you need a visa.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t.”

“Okay. I’ll call the manager.”

After a short phone call, she came back. “Republic of Korea. You need a visa.”

This was ridiculous, I thought. Was Netherlands not part of the EU? No, that couldn’t be the case. They used the euros.

“I traveled to Spain, France, and everywhere else without visas, and it was fine-“

She wasn’t listening. She was too busy writing “VISA REQUIRED” on my boarding pass.

Alissa tried to help by explaining that we were students studying in the UK. Her response? “Oh, you’re US citizen. You’re fine.”

So Alissa, Katie and Rafael went in. I was directed to the side of the desk, where I waited until everyone was let in. I approached the other lady who had handled Rafael’s and Katie’s passports.

“Can you double check for me if I can go to Amsterdam without a visa?”

“Okay,” she replied, and turned to the guy next to her to go tell the pilot that everyone had boarded and that the plane was ready for departure.

Was she kidding me? It was even before she checked if I could get on or not, and she had basically told the plane to leave without me. “Wait, can you call first?”

“Madame, please wait. I will.”

And after the guy left, she did call. ONLY TO FIND OUT THERE WAS NO REASON FOR HER TO DETAIN ME. “Republic of Korea. Is that South Korea?” She asked me to make sure. I gave her the of-course-it-is-you-bitch look with a nod.

“I’m so sorry. I apologize for the confusion. You should go run to catch the flight.” I did eventually make it, but what I felt was nothing close to gratitude or relief. Anger was more like it. It wasn’t just annoyance or irritation at her attitude though. I wasn’t just angry at the lady for being ignorant about whether Republic of Korea meant South or North. But my anger had its roots in deep frustration—what Koreans would call ‘han’ (한 or 恨, a term used to refer to lament and resentment against injustice and oppression). It’s a “feeling of unresolved resentment against injustices suffered, a sense of helplessness because of the overwhelming odds against one, a feeling of acute pain in one’s guts and bowels, making the whole body writhe and squirm, and an obstinate urge to take revenge and to right the wrong—all these combined” according to some Korean expert.

It wasn’t the first time the passport control confused my green “Republic of Korea” passport for a North Korean one. But it was the first time I felt discriminated against because of the color of my passport. The first time I felt ashamed to be different from everyone else, and the first time I hated the flight attendants for making me feel ashamed. The way she assumed I wouldn’t be able to board made me feel helpless. Powerless. A sore thumb sticking out.

What Rafael said after I got on the plane made me even more angry. “Yeah, she was racist, but hey, you just have to expect it.”

I refused to agree with him because I refuse to accept that is how I am supposed to be treated and that is how I will be treated because of my passport, because of the color of my skin. I won’t accept the invitation to expect the worst. That is too pessimistic for me, and I believe the world can be a better place.

But maybe he is right. Isn’t that the reality of the world we live in? Should we just expect the worst? Because racism does exist. Right here. Right now.