Before we went up to Seattle for school, Sally and I decided that we would come back down to Vancouver during the second weekend of school by train. So, of course, since the train station is in downtown Seattle, we would take the bus there from our dorms.

Simple, right?

Right?!

Read on.

Last week, I trip-planned our destination on the Metro website; we would be taking bus 73 at 3:27 pm. Ok, sounds good.

We decide to meet up in front of Lander Hall–probably about a 3-5 minute walk to our bus stop. I wait in front of Lander…my behemoth-sized Northface backpack crammed with laundry and an alarm clock that I didn’t need at school hanging off of my right arm, my messenger laptop bag strapped across my shoulder, and my painfully-heavy-black-international studies-textbooks-filled tote bag weighing down on my other shoulder. That workout this morning at the IMA, by the way, turned out to be totally unnecessary. Sally, meanwhile, comes into view with an equally-large Northface backpack weighing her down as well, a gigantic rolling luggage bag trailing behind her.

We trudge our way to the bus stop–bus 73 arrives right on the dot at 3:27. We flash our Husky Cards to the driver, who says “Pay as you leave.”

…Never heard that before, but ok. The man says to pay as we leave, so we’ll pay as we leave.

The bus is jam packed with people. Sally, somehow, amazingly gets her luggage bag through the tiny aisle without knocking anyone out (I think) while I have some struggle getting through with three different bags hanging off of my arms. I think I might’ve hit someone with my Northface backpack.

The ride begins. I let out a sigh of relief…we’re on bus 73, on our way to downtown Seattle to Amtrak.

We drive down along the Ave and I wonder where it is exactly that we’re going to get off. We eventually start driving in a neighborhood, there are houses everywhere…is this really how we get to downtown? Must be. I specifically remember saying “This must be the long way or something.”

3:52…we are STILL driving in this anonymous-looking neighborhood. According to the trip planner, we were supposed to be at Amtrak two minutes ago. Uh…

I turn to a girl wearing a Jack O’Lantern hat at the seat next to me, asking her “This bus goes to downtown, right?” She gives me a blank stare.

A girl comes up next to me and Sally, questioning the same thing. Low and behold, she’s trying to get to the same bus stop as we are. We ask the driver, who explains that this bus was going completely in the opposite direction of downtown.

…?!?!

Sally, Girl-Who-Made-the-Same-Mistake-We-Made, and I haul our butts off, crossing the street to get to a bus stop to wait for a bus that was actually going in the RIGHT direction. We wait for a good thirteen minutes. There was a Nubian Salon and a Cafe Wein-something across the street. Behind us was a dentist office. The only reason I remember this is because the girl kept saying that she was thirsty and wondered where she could buy something to drink.

Finally, our bus comes. I let out of a whoop of excitement (not really, but I WAS excited) as I gather my bags once again. I eagerly step on, displaying my Husky Card high and proud in my hand to the driver when I realize…

That it was the SAME driver from before. He pretty much rolls his eyes and laughs. He flicks his hand a couple times to indicate that he remembers us. I thought it was pretty hilarious myself–we actually got off a bus only to get back on it again thirteen minutes later. Lovely. Just lovely. Sally and I were howling with laughter. He must have thought we were pathetic.

Thus, we drive back through the neighborhood again, back down the Ave from which we came, and finally back to the street where we got on the bus stop about over an hour ago. Yes, over an hour ago. In one hour, we had rode up and down the Ave, up and down a neighborhood, and finally back to where we initially started–three to five minutes away from Lander Hall.

There were even MORE people on the bus as we were actually going to downtown. People standing in the aisle were right in front of our faces. Sally smelled them as we ate sour gummy egg candy things.

We FINALLY arrive at the bus station when we encounter yet another conundrum: where in this immense bus station do we get off to get to Amtrak?! I slid my cell phone cover up and down every other minute to check the time.
With about 45 minutes left until our train leaves, we look apprehensively at each stop, pondering whether or not we should get off. Finally, I look behind me at a man wearing a red and white striped shirt, asking him if he knew where the stop was to get to Amtrak. Turns out that this fellow was going to Amtrak as well! Splendid.

We finally reach our stop at the very end of the tunnel. People were rising all at once to get off, but I didn’t want to lose sight of this man, our savior. Sally and I rush off, trying to follow him. He takes a flight of stairs. We, of course, laden with 500 pounds of luggage, opt to take the escalator, which apparently, is much slower than taking the stairs.

We get to the upper level, panting and completely exhausted, but the man is already several feet ahead of us. We walk faster (not that much faster, though) to keep up with him, but the next thing we know he is gone from our sight–disappeared into the thin air, he did. I honestly have never been so amused in my entire life. We were both laughing so hard that we were practically crying.

So. Now we were lost. Where was the damn train station?!

Across the street. Duh.

We come across some MORE stairs (what is it with Seattle and stairs anyway?), on which Sally has to drag the luggage bag, which, by the way, isn’t even hers. That luggage bag seemed to add the hilarity of our day–it kept getting stuck in potholes.

And FINALLY, we get inside the train station and rush into line to get our tickets, laughing uncontrollably at all of this absolute insanity. I don’t know about Sally, but I really was on the verge of tears.

The train ride itself was a very calm one. Sally slept for most of the time, and I studied while iPoding. I could write about that as well, but that just wouldn’t be very entertaining. Oh, wait. I just did.

And besides, I’m really tired. Abrupt ending ends here.

But it seems like it’s only today that it has finally hit me that I’m leaving in a mere day. The first “Rewind” was written while being distracted by a violent, 9 year-old, video game player who called me a tramp for not helping him kill a gigantic minotaur. Sweet kid.

Today I hit up the local mall with a friend A.K.A. “butt lover,” ran around to random stores, chit-chatted about things and stuffs, drooled over condom-dispensing Halloween costumes, hugged and kissed a few witches, ogres, and monsters, and went fishing for green and yellow fish. It was great and amazing times. Always keep in mind that malls are not just for shopping for jeans and sweaters.

Rewind: when I was four years old, give or take a few years, I was getting my ears pierced at a store that was located next to Nordstrom’s on the upper level. I was completely terrified, scrambled out of that highchair, and ran to the entrance as fast as my short legs could carry me. I stood there bawling my eyes out, looking left, then looking right–I so desperately wanted to run away, but the mall was a big, scary place that day. I vaguely remember an old man staring at me curiously while walking by.

*****

Later today I went to the Nordstrom Rack with my mom to run an urgent errand: return shoes my mom got for a wedding but didn’t end up wearing. An hour or so later we finished our oh so important errand and left to walk around randomly in downtown. It was late and it was already dark.

Rewind: a few years ago my mom took me to downtown to hang out, shop, and get some Starbucks. We sat at Pioneer Courthouse Square and listened to the music–something jazzy and Latin. It was hot. Too many people, too many bodies. I had an iced-coffee instead of my usual mocha frappuccino. I was grumpy because she was leaving that weekend to go to the beach with her new boyfriend (her current fiance). She felt bad–this was her way of trying to make me (and herself) feel better, but I was still pissed. She yelled at me for complaining.

*****

Then we went to the post office–I don’t know why…we were just there on Monday. There was only one other lady there…she stood for an abnormally long period of time in front of her post office box. We only got three new letters today, insurance stuff, hospital bill crap, and a Cache coupon for 25% off.

Rewind: I wasn’t actually here for this, but during the fifth grade, my parents went to pick up a Korean CD that I was waiting for for weeks. They told me someone took a crap in the recycling bin. I’ve always loved the post office. I love walking past the walls covered entirely of little post office boxes, opening ours, which was located at the perfect height, and pulling out our mail and sifting through them to see if I got anything.

*****

The final destination of the day was stopping by at our old house. Yes, I admit it. I was curious to see if anything had changed, if there was an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway, if the lights in the house somehow looked different. Surprisingly, everything was the same. There were no lights on at all aside from the driveway lights (the right side was still burned out). Our neighbor reported that he hadn’t seen anyone moving in. No trucks. No furniture. No boxes. Strange.

Rewind: I used to hit tennis balls against the garage there. I used to collect cool rocks beside the driveway with my neighbor. I used to ride my tricycle and thought I was going faster than the cars. I used to chase my old German Shepherd in the yard. I used to pretend I was a princess in a forest. I used to just sit there and read. I used to watch Jackie Chan movies my dad rented from Blockbusters. I used to pick plums from the plum tree. I used to have a fish pond and a sandbox in the backyard. I used to dance and sing in the front yard. I used to help my dad paint. I used to help my mom cook. I used to live there.

*****

I’ve been rewinding this entire summer. I want to hit pause. I’m scared, but excited and anxious to push play. I want to know what happens at the end, but I don’t want to fast forward.

But it doesn’t matter–I’m going to have to hit play in about thirty-six hours whether I like it or not because…

I MOVE TOMORROW!

I finally have one more week until I haul my butt out of Vancouver, up North, and to Seattle. So, here is my agendum for this significant and final week (even the most trivial errands are listed):

1. Clean up the old house so that the buyers can move in. I must say that I am very excited.

2. Pick up my pants from alterations at Nordstrom’s.

3. Hang out with some comrades.

4. Do some last-minute shopping for the apartment up at UW.

5. Go to Tacoma

6. Pack

7. Replace the hard drive in my old computer. Yes, I know how to replace the hard drive. I took apart my computer this morning with a screw driver. I should work for the Geek Squad.

Excited much? Good God, yes. This summer has pretty much sucked to say the least. There were ups and downs, although it seemed like there were much more downs. A good roller coaster, I suppose.

The Ups

• Selling the house and the moving process was pretty fun actually–meeting the real estate agents was interesting–real characters, they are–fixing the house up, reorganizing the furniture, showing it around, etc.
• Getting Lasik done and finally having 20/20 vision. My surgeon, Stanley L. Crews (he’s located on Mill Plain across the street from the New King’s Buffet) rocked. Honestly, he is the coolest man alive. If your vision sucks, tell him Kim Lee sent ya.
• Spending good quality time with my mom.
• Went to Seattle a lot.
• Played tennis and worked out like crazay.

The Downs

• My parents’ divorce. It brought about way too much crying, fear, lies, secrets, jealously, migraines, anger, frustration, and sadness. I am not exaggerating when I say this was the worst time of my entire life.

But it’s nearing the end. I just have the future to look forward to.

So let’s push play and let’s keep rolling.

The stoplight by the Chevron gas station turned green after about a minute and 14 seconds and we allowed the loud-music-playing car to catch up to ours. I automatically turned my head to catch a glimpse at the fellow who decided to share his music with the rest of the people on Fourth Plain Blvd at 1:30 PM, preparing to restrain myself from sighing and shaking my head.

There to my right I saw a white car (for those of you who believe that “white” isn’t enough to describe a car, which I totally understand as there are many, many white cars on this Earth, it also might’ve been a Honda…or a Saturn, a Toyota, or a Kia), with a pale guy in his early twenties, a cap turned in that gangsta-angle sort of way on his head. Gangsta, also, appears not to be a well-established word; Honda and Toyota are, while Kia is not. That’s interesting.

Seeing this guy turned out to be the greatest thing I saw in my entire day (obviously, considering that I’m dedicating an entire post to this total stranger I saw on the street). There he was, beaming right back at me like he had the sun in his mouth, yelling (presumably singing) the words of the song he was listening to, waving his left arm up and down in that gangsta-style to the beat of the song, his head bopping up and down simultaneously. From what I saw, he was completely alone in his car.

He continued driving down the boulevard, all the way past Alberton’s and the Grocery Outlet, in this same manner, yelling (singing?) at the tops of his lungs, left arm waving out the open window, his head bopping up and down. We caught up to him again, and again, he grinned right back at us, not ceasing his enthused singing, arm waving, and head bopping. Drivers on the opposite lanes stared at him curiously while riding by. An old couple in a blue Mustang convertible driving in front of them shook their heads as they eyed him in their rear view mirrors. In the opposite lane, a young red-headed girl sitting in the passenger seat caught sight of him and started waving her arm and bopping her head as well, laughing and grinning at the guy while her mom smiled.

I admit I was endlessly entertained. I’ve never seen a guy so happy. My mom said “It’s hormones.” I wanted to video-tape this guy and follow him (I think he would’ve been a success on YouTube), but most unfortunately, we had to stop by at ARCO for gas.

The above is the introduction to one of my English essays from last year. I type this post only to enlighten, to help some random reader become more aware about something that I’m passionate about, rather than just coming across my blog, clicking on my “Facts and Random Stuff” page, and learning that I like clocks and gummy bears. In-depth details and statistics are pretty much non-existant–if I wanted a post slightly shorter than Anna Karenina then I would include them. Sources aren’t included (hopefully you’re not an English professor), but I assure you, all of this information is totally true. But if you want sources and stats, then no worries, I’ve got them.  

Moving right along… 

Recall what you were doing at the age of five. Playing dress-up, chasing girls if you were a boy, running away from boys if you were a girl, wearing light-up shoes with cartoon characters on them, eating grape-flavored chapstick, waking up early to watch those cool Saturday morning cartoons, pretending you were the Power Rangers (I myself was the pink one), etc. You get the idea. Life was bliss. Your only worries were catching cooties and eating yucky vegetables at dinner. And those monsters in the closet?! Yikes. A whole year later at six, you were probably STILL watching Power Rangers. Maybe, just maybe, you still are. 

But at age six Zegewhechu Kassa wasn’t doing any of the above–she was married.  

“What?!”

Yeah, I asked myself the same thing when I first learned about her. The explanation: in some cultures and countries, it’s normal for parents to marry their daughters young without their permission—it’s a way to better their reputations and their futures. It’s the parents’ way of showing that they love and care for their children. It’s the only way. 

Early marriage itself seems like an absolute preposterous idea here in the United States, but its effects is really what is unbelievable: early pregnancy, obstetric fistulas, and quite possibly death if proper (and simple) treatment is neglected. For those who are forced to marry young, it is inevitable that she will become pregnant from forced sex. Zegewhechu herself became pregnant when she was twelve years old (during her second marriage, by the way…she divorced two months after her wedding).  

But get this: a twelve year old is usually only BEGINNING development. In addition to that, early marriage/early pregnancy is often linked to poverty–medical treatment is scarce and out of reach.

Both of the above lead to the following: days and days of labor without any pain medication….Zegewhechu went through three whole days of labor. If you’re a woman who has ever had children…three days of labor without any sort of pain medication. Chew on that.

Most often, the baby doesn’t make it. Most often, the mother also doesn’t make it. But those who do must suffer the consequences of her prolonged labor: an obstetric fistula. In layman’s terms, an obstetric fistula is a hole between either the rectum and the vagina, or the bladder and vagina. Is three days prolonged labor? I’d say so.  

The fistula causes constant leaking of urine and feces. Zegewhechu’s second husband, like most husbands with a wife with an obstetric fistula, left her. Her family shunned her because of the unavoidable smell. She is seen as unclean and dirty. She is humiliated and ashamed. 

The most disheartening thing of all with obstetric fistulas isn’t the fact that the victim can be left with nerve damage and paralysis in her legs without proper treatment, or that she may not ever have any other children again, or that the constant dampness causes rashes and blisters. The most disheartening thing of all is that the fistula repair surgery (with a success rate of 90%) is a mere $300–most cannot afford that much money or simply don’t have access to the treatment. As a result, fistulas are among the leading cause of death among those ages 15 to 19–70,000 adolescents die every single year because they are not physically ready for labor (ok, fine, so I threw out a few statistics for you).

• To read about Zegewhechu: http://www.pathfind.org/site/PageServer?pagename=Programs_Ethiopia_Stories_Zegewechu

•  The title of this entry is from http://endfistula.org

(I’d have a major guilt trip if I at least didn’t cite that). 

• Fistula video:

If obstetric fistulas aren’t devastating, then I don’t know what is.