not exactly an epiphany

I've been reading Tina Fey's Bossypants lately and in one part of the book she discusses the first time women felt they had entered into womanhood. In summary, most "knew they were women" when they heard their first cat call. Now normal people would assume that womanhood starts exactly when a preteen girl finds that horrifying red dot that has mysteriously found its way to the front of her brand new white capris just before she has to go on stage for a dance recital. No? I guess I was just unfortunate.

Well the first time I felt like a real woman of the world was yesterday, when I faced the first real obstacle that endangered my well-being and sanity:

taking public transit home alone.

I was pretty spoiled in San Jose with 3 older brothers to chauffeur my ass around. I was never really grateful of this privilege until I made my way home from language school yesterday for the first time.

-

If you've ever been in any station with the word "central" attached to it, then you'd understand me when I say that I was literally shitting my pants looking for the right train from Hamburg Central Station to my part of town. There were people with luggage, students, businessmen, little old ladies - I think the whole of Germany had gone to Hamburg just to confuse me.

Tip for CBYX students: in language camp, the teacher will hand out a metro map that applies to your region that you should A) keep in your pocket at all times or B) tattoo it to your forearm. If they don't, get one. I would probably be in Istanbul right now if it weren't for that sacred paper.

After 30 minutes of shoving through mobs of extremely hard shoulders I finally made it to the train to Harburg station. Just to make sure, I ask a group of girls sharing a bucket of KFC (idk Europe's weird) and they assure me I'm on the right track.

I took my lovely 14 bus to the very last stop in hopes of a blissful nap when I realized I never asked my host mother the way home from the bus stop. "C'mon, kid, you won a scholarship to get to Germany," I told myself, weaving through the streets of Fleedstedt, "you can handle a 10 minute walk home." I must have passed the same Rewe twice until I decided to test my luck and follow a path that was somewhat similar to our route when we got home.

To those who have to take more than 2 trains/buses to get to and from language camp, I salute you.

-

As to why I felt so mature just because I rode a couple buses by myself, I'm not exactly sure. It's just not the same as when you're in your hometown and you pass by the same Targets and McDonald's that have been there your entire life. The fact that I was by myself for a couple hours in a foreign country and managed not to get kidnapped or deported is amazing to me. I was sheltered and pampered growing up: being the only girl and the youngest of 4 didn't exactly give me that many freedoms, nor did it give me much responsibilities.

Being in this country for just little less than a week helped me realize how freedom and privilege are not excuses for carelessness. I still have the rest of my year to go, and I know I'm going to fuck up more times than I can count. But I'm not scared of making those mistakes because I know there is no better way to learn or grow.