Life Update: Moving to D.C., Starting School, and Navigating Grief
It’s been a while. Truthfully I never intended to go this long without posting—in fact I had even spent the end of summer creating enough content in advance so that I wouldn’t have a noticeable absence—but I guess you could say that life has been life-ing lately. To get back into the swing of things I thought it would be good (or at least cathartic for me) to share where I’ve been, what I’ve been up to, and how I’ve been feeling during this transitional period in my life.
A Train Ride to Somewhere Far Away
Portland Union Station.
After a long, long year of Zoom University and weeks of preparation, I finally packed up my life and headed east! Looking back, the entire month of July feels lost in a haze of errands and to-do lists, shopping, and packing, but somehow I was able to cram everything into some suitcases and boxes and head out.
On August 1st I left Portland on the Empire Builder, a two-day train ride through the northwestern states. After being holed up for a year in the sundown town suburbs my parents relocated to during the pandemic, I felt like I needed to make up for all the living I missed out on. Without the freedoms I’d had living in the city, I rarely ever left my parents’ house and by the end of my time there I felt so trapped, aching for new faces and a change in scenery. Taking the long way to college, something my family imagined unbearable, felt like it would be a formative journey and a great way to mark the end of what had proven to be a draining and difficult year.
I spent my first night on the train in the observatory where I sat for hours watching the shining waters of the Columbia River wind beside the rails. Riding along the Gorge, going through tunnels that left the entire car in darkness for minutes to emerge to a golden sunset on the other side felt like the closest thing to magic I’ve ever experienced. I was in awe the entire night.
Early the next morning, I parted my curtains to find Glacier National Park outside the window. With nothing but evergreens for miles interspersed with rocky rivers and clear streams, I found myself longing to disembark at the next stop with all of the other passengers who had brought their backpacking gear to hike the park. However, just as travelers left new characters came aboard. At a stop somewhere along the Montana route, the train picked up a father-daughter duo who played guitar and sang for the passengers in the observatory as the plains of North Dakota and farmlands of Minnesota flew past.
Sunrise in Glacier National Park.
At the end of the line, I got off the train in the heart of Chicago desperate to stretch my legs. Walking from the platform to baggage claim inside the station, I couldn’t help but think about the hundreds of strangers I’d traveled with—the father-daughter musical duo, the elderly couple looking to escape to nature, the enthusiastic parents traveling to see their adult children, the millennial women excited for a girls trip in the windy city, and all my fellow solo travelers—people who I’d likely never see again but who I had shared such an important journey with. As I explored uptown Chicago with my cousins, took touristy photos at Cloud Gate and around Millenium Park, tried my first deep dish pizza, and finally met my first Howard friend after a year of online school, I kept thinking about all those strangers and all those stories, wishing there was a way to hold onto every detail.
Cloud Gate.
Millennium Monument at Wrigley Square.
Soon, I was on the rails again, this time to my final destination: Washington, D.C. While the Capitol Limited was still in the station, I offered a disinfectant wipe to the passenger next to me and made a fast friend. In minutes we were launched into stories of our travels on Amtrak which soon became a much deeper conversation about where we come from, our experiences in the pandemic, our journeys of self-discovery from tattoos to mental health to sexuality, what we believe we’re in college for, and the mark we hope to leave on the world in the future. Before we knew it, five hours had passed and we were speeding farther and farther from Chicago, the view from our windows fading into the inky darkness of night. After sharing two hot cups of lavender chamomile tea, we fell asleep somewhere between Indiana and Ohio.
When I awoke the next morning, it was to the orange rays of sunrise glinting against industrial Pittsburgh. Though I lazily drifted in and out of sleep that morning, I remember listening to Jeff Buckley as I caught fleeting glimpses of the Potomac from between tall trees that ran alongside the train tracks. Toeing the line between Maryland and West Virginia, I couldn’t keep my energy from rising as I realized D.C. was fast approaching. By late morning I was wide awake, craning my neck to read plaques explaining the ruins of Martinsburg, Virginia’s B&O train depot that had been burned by Confederate troops in 1862 and listening for the conductor to announce Harpers Ferry where abolitionist John Brown had raided the Federal Armory in 1859. Before I knew it I was back in the District, the heart of so much history and culture, hugging my new friend goodbye and walking the great halls of Union Station for the first time in two years, oversized suitcases wheeled behind me and what felt like my whole future in front of me.
Return to the District
The gold leaf ceilings of Union Station D.C.
After meeting my parents at baggage claim, we were off to explore southwest Washington. Seeing the city and being back in the place of some of my favorite memories from short stays in the District as a kid and teen was such a joy and felt kind of surreal after all the disappointments of having a virtual freshman year.
To offset the chaos of the day’s travels and recharge for what would likely be a hectic move in the next morning, my parents and I decided to have a nice dinner outside at The Wharf. Time seemed to stretch on that balmy night as the three of us enjoyed our meal and took a slow stroll along the waterfront, catching up on all that had happened during the two weeks since I had left. Though I had enjoyed my time traveling alone and the sense of independence I gained, it was nice to finally be able to let my guard down and relax with my family.
String lights along the pier.
Stars and lights hung above the streets.
The next day was move-in and it was, as we’d guessed, jam-packed with things to do. After a quick breakfast, the three of us packed my bags into the back of a taxi to head uptown to campus. There was so much organizing and paperwork and last-minute shopping to do but we made it through, even finding time to get Ethiopian food at our favorite spot in Shaw. The only thing that could’ve put a downer on my mood was moving in during a summer storm that left my dad and I drenched to the bone as we moved my final boxes into the building. By the time we were done, my boxes and the contents inside were soggy and I was forced to meet all of the schoolmates I’d known for a year as online friends while being totally soaked. Luckily my dad and I found it terribly funny.
On the last day with my parents, we did a little bit of dorm organizing then decided to cut out and take a long walk along the National Mall. As we strolled on the gravel path in the light rain, we had a perfect view of the sunset as it framed the Washington Monument and gothic Smithsonian Institution Building with a watercolor orange sky. When we turned around to walk back in the direction of the Capitol, we got to enjoy a large rainbow with a hint of a double rainbow over the building. The surreal sunset and beautiful rainbows felt like such good omens, something I tried to remember when late that night my parents and I tearfully said goodbye.
Sunset behind the Washington Monument.
Rainbow over Capitol Hill.
Arriving at the Hilltop
Stairs to the valley on campus.
On my first day in the city alone, I packed up my journals and took a walk up to the yard to write. Seeing the Toni Morrison bench, hearing the Founders clocktower as it chimed “Lift Every Voice and Sing” at 6 pm sharp, and sitting in the shade of the Divine Nine trees that my dad and I had walked under on our tour of campus two years prior had felt like such a full-circle moment.
The last time I had been on Howard’s campus was as a nervous junior, about to start my senior year with no clue of whether I’d get accepted and what direction my life after high school would take me. Signing in for my tour that summer, I remember meeting a student volunteer who had told me that he knew he would be seeing me on campus soon, despite all the doubts I expressed to him. Now two years had passed and I had not only been accepted, but I’d also completed a year of university and was walking in as a sophomore. Though I don’t know the student’s name or if he has graduated by now, I hope that wherever he is he knows that he really spoke a blessing for my journey that day and I’ll always remember it.
A Final Goodbye
With the end of August came the start of classes and an end to the nonstop fun of move-in and freshmore week. The night before my first day I could barely sleep, partly from my sleep schedule still being on PST, partly from night-before-first-day excitement, and partly from nerves about what the semester would have in store for me. Those thoughts of am I good enough, will I have what it takes, am I ready for it all seemed to swirl in my head, but somehow I managed to fall asleep.
The next morning, after attending my very first in-person college class and having lunch on campus for the first time, I returned to my dorm and received a call from my godmother. It turned out that while I had been in bed that night, back home her father who had been a significant figure in my upbringing had passed away.
Folks who know me (or saw that one fucking TikTok) know that her father Ed was like a grandfather to me as well as a lot of the neighborhood children and has been there for me my whole life. As a child of immigrant parents, I did not have the privilege of a close bond with my grandparents due to time, distance, and our language barrier. A lot of my kinship in Portland was chosen, especially my elders. Mr. Ed was the one who came to my grandparents’ and special friends’ days in elementary school, watched after me on snow days when my parents were working, attended my talent shows and dance recitals, he was the one who was there for everything. Every holiday, every birthday, and every day in between.
It’s hard to put into words the impact that another life can have on your own. I feel like I move through this world and see it as I do because of his presence in my life. I’m a writer because for a while he was the only voice telling me I could do it. My love for nature stems from his green thumb and the fact that he taught me how to care for plants when I was just a little kid. My fascination with seeing the world comes from his stories of traveling Europe after finishing his military service at the end of World War II. Most importantly, I think that my sense of home came from the fact that he had helped build the house I grew up in and was always right next door whenever I wanted to talk, watch Blazers games, play darts and cards, or just sit quietly while working on a crochet project and having a cup of tea.
When I received the news in my little dorm room I sank to the floor and was absolutely inconsolable. To lose someone, to lose someone who has been there your whole life, and to lose someone in this transition when you’re so far from all the things that remind you of them, was unbearable. I felt untethered and alone, struggling to ground myself when it was as if I’d lost a piece of who I am. We’re so accustomed to thinking of the people we love as fixtures in our lives that we forget how temporary life really is and how much of a miracle it is to have been able to share the world with them at all. Navigating all of those feelings without much of a support system out here was challenging, and it still is.
I spent a lot of those first few days after receiving the news reflecting on my last conversations with Ed. When I saw him before leaving, I was so scared to say goodbye. Everyone in my family said it would be hard for him to see me go and I was so afraid that leaving for Howard would break his heart, but when I made my last visit with him and told him about my upcoming departure, he took my hand and said to me “I watched you work so hard for 18 years and now you finally get to live your dream. Now I can say one of my kids is in D.C.”
I can never think about that without crying, and I’ll always cherish that conversation even though I didn’t know it would be our last. With his words that day he liberated me and encouraged me to live my life without guilt about leaving to try something different even if it meant leaving some people behind. When writing about it that night, I remember the sharp realization that I would one day have to do the same for him, to one day let him go. As I watched his health decline in his later years I was always aware of the possibility, but I just didn’t think it would be so soon. I thought I’d at least get to see him over winter break. I didn’t think that goodbye would be forever.
I flew back to Portland for the funeral a week later and read at the service, facing my slight fears of flying and public speaking, and I thought that dropping everything at school to go would give me a sense of closure. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Home didn’t feel like home anymore and campus never did, and when I came back to D.C. I was far from okay.
For a while, I felt guilty for feeling so sad because I was where he wanted me to be and where I’ve dreamed of being since I was 15, and yet I’ve been so unhappy here. Unhappy with the university housing crisis causing health problems those of us living in poorly maintained dorms with flooding and mold and financial hardship for those who were forced to sign leases in D.C., unhappy with my minor and the university policy that prevents students from minoring across colleges like Fine Arts where I hoped to study fashion design, unhappy with the respectability politics that are reinforced by faculty members who tell us that careers in the arts are side hustles, and unhappy with all of the bureaucracy on campus that makes trying to achieve anything with administration impossible. It got to the point where I started thinking of transferring to one of the liberal arts colleges I had turned down to come to Howard.
It’s been weird finally getting this thing I’ve always dreamed of and realizing that it isn’t all that, kind of like grieving but for an idea that existed in my head of what my college experience would be. If it weren’t for the bonds I have with my friends and my professors here, as well as the current student movement to occupy the Blackburn Center in protest of the university, I’m not sure if I would’ve stayed as long as I have. Maybe I just need a new dream. If institutional issues don’t improve by spring I think I’ll start looking at transferring to another institution more seriously.
“Are you the revolution? Are you a stooge for the oligarchy?”
Lately
I hate to end on such a low note but I feel like I’m all caught up to the present. This post is more like something I’d post on my old Blogger page from back in high school, but I felt like I couldn’t move forward with content without addressing all of the changes I’ve been experiencing and will likely still continue to experience. Lately, I’ve just been taking things day by day and I think that’ll just have to be okay for now.
With midterms over (and the newfound confidence boost of having survived them), I do hope to return to a more regular posting schedule and finally share some of the content I have, as well as cook up some new tutorials. Though I did have to leave my sewing machine behind during the move, I’ve been getting back into knitting so keep a lookout for that on the horizon! Until then, I wish you all the very best as always.
Sincerely,
Selam
