Jinsi made her own breaks, reaps rewards

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Robert L. Jamieson Jr.

Monday, August 11, 2003

Jinsi made her own breaks, reaps rewards

By ROBERT L. JAMIESON Jr.
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER COLUMNIST

The men were so dapper, the drinks so colorful. Jinsi Jundt, an enchanting cocktail waitress, was catching many lust-hungry eyes.

That Jinsi was even holding down such a good job was a major victory. The 31-year-old woman had battled alcoholism, homelessness and low self-esteem before graduating six months ago from FareStart, the revered Seattle job-training program.

The bar gig in South Seattle paid her well. Jinsi could make almost $70 in just two hours. But the temptations of the job were threatening to send her backsliding, right back to the boozy bacchanalian nightmare that nearly spelled the ruin of her.

"I kept thinking, 'Just one sip,' " Jinsi recalled, "but that is exactly what has made my life hell in the past -- men and alcohol. A deadly mix."

So Jinsi did something remarkable for someone with so few options: She quit the job.

It saved her life.

FOR ANYONE who has ever felt worthless, defeated or hopeless, Jinsi is an inspiring example of possibility -- a testament to how one can change his or her life.

Jinsi took responsibility for her lot. She got a helping hand or two along the way, battling to keep a healthy distance between the Jinsi of old and the new Jinsi.

I first met her in February at her FareStart graduation. She had a captivating smile and a voice of steely determination. She also cried. A lot.

The tears telegraphed a painful past. She was born to an African American father and a Korean mother and lived overseas for several years.

When she was 11 years old, a family in Yakima adopted her, but her relationship with her adoptive family soured, straining under the weight of her struggle with ethnic identity.

Jinsi was 18 when her family showed her the door. She soon fell in with a bruising crowd. Drug binges. Alcohol fests. She did unspeakable things with her body. Her self-esteem crash-landed. The more depressed Jinsi felt, the more she sought refuge in the bottle.

After years of poor choices, serendipity brought her to Sojourner Place, a transitional housing facility for women in North Seattle. There, Jinsi met Polly Irish, a Sojourner executive, who saw something in Jinsi: oceans of potential.

You can do better, Polly encouraged. Jinsi's esteem began to rise. Take computer classes, Polly suggested. So Jinsi signed up. Go to FareStart, Polly offered. "I did," Jinsi said. "I became a good listener."

On her graduation night Jinsi vowed to me she would make good. As tears rolled over a cheek, she told me, "I'm crying tears for all of the right reasons."

She asked me to check back with her in a few months: "You will see," she vowed.

SO I DID. I caught up with Jinsi last Friday. She was laughing and giggling -- for all of the right reasons.

Blessings, she said, were raining down on her.

"I'm whoopin' and hollerin' at life," she said.

After Jinsi quit the bar job, she saw an ad in the paper. She called and called -- wouldn't take no for an answer. That is how she landed a housekeeper position at a downtown Seattle hotel where she puts in 32 hours a week.

She also is enrolled at Seattle Central Community College, where she is taking classes in computers and weight lifting. She is on the waiting list to enroll in the school's venerable culinary arts program this winter.

The pay from her hotel job is directly deposited into a checking account. "It's the first time I've ever had direct deposit," she beams. "I have a job with a major corporation!"

For the first time in a long time, Jinsi is saving money, paying bills on time.

Each Saturday, she spends hours with her young son who lives with his father in a nearby city. Mother and son squeeze the hours out of the day at his aikido class. Or they play pingpong, shoot hoops or walk, hand in hand, around Green Lake.

Jinsi has taken an interest in gardening. She grows zucchini, bell peppers and cilantro in the garden behind the Sojourner Place residence. The parallels of gardening and her own life are not lost on her. "I'm trying to clear out all the weeds," she says.

If everything works out, Jinsi soon plans to set down roots in her own low-income apartment. She takes anti-depressants to chase away downer moods, and the medication has helped her feel stable, focused.

"I have no excuses now," Jinsi says. "The way I look at it there is no other alternative but to get things done."

I'm stunned. Jinsi has made cosmic leaps in six months.

She's still sober. She's financially responsible. She's in school. She's mapping out her career in food services.

Thankfully, a few good people in Seattle didn't give up on the young woman who refused to give up on herself.

"My head is huge," Jinsi says with a sunny smile. " I can't believe it. I'm looking at myself as valuable."

Believe it, girl!

P-I columnist Robert L. Jamieson Jr. can be reached at 206-448-8125 or robertjamieson@seattlepi.com

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