For my last day in Seattle I decide to go to one of my favorite place.
Bellevue Square: a mall where fashion is very important.
As a child I remember all of the well dressed men and women and expensive purses and shoes. I remember the tiny dogs popping their heads from their carriers. I remember my mother joking about the fact that ladies would even get their hair done before going to Bellevue Square. It's not that Bellevue is anything but a mall, but it is a mall that houses so many high end brands. You'll find Louis Vuitton, Prada, Tiffany's, Coach, Kate Spade, Burberry and so much more.As I walk around the mall I see the new generations of men and women still dressed up like their parents used to. I still see small dogs popping their heads from the bags. Bellevue is still the same.
I walk through all the fancy stores and admire all the beautiful clothes and shoes. I think how one day I'll be wearing clothing like that- though there will be no tiny dog peeking from my carrier.

As we leave the mall and head for the airport I think back about our trip.
I will always miss the pikes place and watching the men sing as they throw customer's their fish. The crazy lines of those wanting to drink at the first Starbucks. I remember just how much the city has changed though. There is no more King Dome where I watched my first Mariner's game. There are no more rides beneath the space needle and there is now a rock museum.
As the plane pulls away I look down over the city and know that Seattle will always have a place in heart. I take a deep breath and rest my head against the back of the seat as we fly back to Florida.

It’s a free day from the family. I wonder what I should go do. Take a short drive over to Pikes Place? Make my way over to Kalama and visit my cousin and his fiancé? Maybe just explore? After reminiscing over the various family vacations a few days earlier, I decide to take a trip to the town I was born in. Portland, Oregon. I wake up early to get on the road at a decent hour. I fill the passenger seat with different CD from Nirvana to Jimmy Hendrix. I hop onto the freeway and prepare myself for the long drive. When I get there I see the hospital I was born in, the first house I lived in and think over how it would have been to have fully grown up there. I think back on Walter Benjamin’s critical article “The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction.” I remember a quote from the article “It’s presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be.”I’m glad my life didn’t stay here in Portland. It will always be my first home, but my unique existence was not meant to take place there. As I begin my trip back to Seattle I think about how blessed my life turned out to be. How growing up in Seattle gave me so many opportunities and how I would never change where I consider home.

I had a strange dream last night. 

When I awoke I felt like something important had happened, but could only remember one thing about it though...

Synchronicity. 

The coincidental occurrence of events that seem related but are not explained by conventional mechanisms of causality. 

I think back about the times of my travels. All of the places I have been and things that have happened. I remember a trip to Africa where I was on a ship and I met a man named Marlow. I remember thinking about how strange it was to be in Africa and be meeting a man named Marlow. I could help but relate it to Joseph Conrad's novel Heart of Darkness. Marlow had started off in Africa before traveling up the Congo River. In meeting this man, I wondered if he too every thought about his name being part of the novel or if perhaps it is what led him to travel to Africa. 

Was the character being named Marlow and the man I met being named Marlow just a coincidence? 

Probably. 

Synchronicity. 

Is it more than a coincidence? 

I'd like to think so. I'd like to think that there is more of meaning to events happening. 

I'd like to think that my meeting people has a higher cause.

That perhaps it was destiny. 

Synchronicity.

I hope it is more than just that.

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We arrive at the house and after greeting everyone and exchanging hugs, I decide to take a walk around the familiar house. I see pictures of myself from when I was young. I then find the photos of all our family vacations. I see one from Mexico and Ireland and think about all of the beautiful sites that I saw and the people I met. I then see a scrapbook titled Paris and decide to take a look. Within the book I see photos of my family in front of the Eiffel Tower and my brother posing with a crepe. I then see a photo of all of us in front of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica. Suddenly I find myself reminiscing about this trip. I remember the tiring walk up the steps which seemed to take forever and the beautiful view of the building and the city from when we reached the top. Hundreds of people were gathered around to take in this beautiful place and as I take my focus off of the people I can hear music from a carousel playing from below. I remember the moment being perfect as I smile and turn the page of the scrapbook.

It is a cold winter's night and I can barely take the excitement of knowing that I'm home. My mother turns the car to the left and I can see pike's sign glowing ahead of us, across the street people wait in the cold for their expereince at the world's first starbucks. I watch tourists take pictures together in front of the signs. Next door the french bakery is closing as I see a young man sweeping the floors. I sit patiently in the passengers seat watching the city glow, taking in every memory of it. If I tilt my head over far enough I can see the space needle glowing and remeber all the times of calling it the big green spot as a child. I know that soon we will be there. I remeber all the days spent playing in the field in front of the KeyArena and the nights of watching the trees glow from the Christmas lights. I remember the times spent playing in the fountain as any other child is now your best playmate. The rides in the center below the space needle and the pure fear i felt of the drop from the frogger ride. I take in every memory of growing up here, as I then ease into a sort of peace.