D
ear Pamphleteers,
Oh, how I used to
hate your guts. The way
you
owned
the
bricks
of the Diag.
Intercepting
me at every
conceivable
pathway through the heart of
my campus. Unavoidable obsta-
cles. Your arms extended, long
towards me, blue, yellow and
pink papers between your thumb
and hand. “Come to my group’s
event! Ahhh!” How you battered
me with your announcements.
How, just to spite you, I’d take
your pieces of worthless paper.
Oh, I would smile back. Smile
at you. Look you in the eyes and
tell you I couldn’t wait to “Check
it out.” Then I would proceed
to fold your pamphlets into the
sharpest of paper airplanes, hop-
ing you were still watching me,
hoping that you felt your dreams
being crushed and folded, and
then I would fly them, ever-so-
gracefully, into the nearest gar-
bage can where they would crash
and whimper. I’d hoped you’d
notice that I’d opted for the trash
as opposed to the blue recycling
bin — the two are literally right
next to each other — just to spite
you more, secretly hoping that
enough people would do as I
did, and in some weird swing
of events that was completely
irrational, highly powerful “offi-
cials” would have to ravage the
Diag garbage cans in the middle
of the night. They would find
thousands of your papers that
were
perpetually
demanding
things of me. They would see all
of the paper you’ve wasted that
could’ve been recycled.
Best case scenario: your group
would be disbanded, or at the
very least, suspended, and you
would have time to think about
what you’d done.
Oh, but time. Time. Time.
What a mover and a shaker of
minds. Like those paper airplane
pamphlets, time has flown past
me and found its way to waste.
Now, it’s summertime. I sit here
attempting to type, my butt on
a concrete block, my feet on the
brick where yours once stood,
my only thoughts of you. You’ve
been replaced now by sun, trees
and the chirping of birds. But to
say you’ve been replaced, if we’re
going to be real — and I’m ready
to be real now — is to be mistak-
en. You are irreplaceable.
Ssshhhhhh….. Do you hear that?
Well … there’s a little whisper
of wind. A few birds. But, no, I
didn’t really hear that. No! That’s
because there’s nothing to hear!
You’re all gone! No one is here to
haggle and barter for my time.
“Have you heard about this
App I invented?” “Pizza House
Fundraiser on Thursday.” I can
only hear you in my head. I’m the
only one here.
To be alone is the worst condi-
tion for someone who spends the
vast majority of their time mak-
ing fun of other people. I’m the
only one left. I can only make
fun of me for so long before I get,
like, offended, you know? This is
a lot different than previous sce-
narios. I feel my feelings. But I
don’t feel your feelings. I am left
to be oppressed by the spirit of
my own silence, haunted by my
best memories of you. They play
over and over again in my mind
… Every replay another menacing
paper eagle, dissecting my weav-
ing intestines, my butterfly stom-
ach and my waning, regret filled
heart. I’m chained to the top of
this concrete block.
There’s Groove banging away
on the tops of metal garbage cans
while they stand on top of ladders.
I used to cover my ears when I
walked by, grimacing. But, oh, how
they would smile, enjoying them-
selves, playing their music! There’s
the Every Three Weekly, who I
could’ve sworn were out there like
every three days with their satiri-
cal commentary that made me
so envious wallowing in my own
lack thereof. There’s DoRAK, the
a cappella groups, the activists, the
artists and the religious guys with
their bibles and flags. And how
could I forget the Hare Krishnas?
I simply never will.
And my most favorite of all. My
very, very favorite. I really should
make a shrine to her on top of
one of the other concrete blocks,
maybe sculpt one into a statue of
her with a chisel and hammer or
something. The brunette girl con-
ducting a simple survey for her
psychology class. She was ask-
ing fellow pamphleteers, fellow
students and simple passersby
how they felt about the Squirrel
Watching Club on campus.
She asked me.
I knew it would be too easy to
criticize her and her survey. Look
at her. She’s probably a freshman.
Cute, young, innocent. Out here
in the world, this big world, this
tiny Diag, collecting opinions like
acorns, storing all of the crucial
data in her pantry of a three-sub-
ject notebook.
I did it anyways.
I said, “I think everyone in
that club needs to get a job.” I
said, “Including the squirrels!
I mean who do they think they
are?” Then I said, before turning
away, “You’d probably be better
off picking a job up too,” and I
didn’t turn around to see her
face or her reaction.
The horrible irony of it all. I
didn’t even have a job at the time.
I didn’t get one until like yester-
day. Who was I to say any of that?
But even if I did have a job, that’s
so stupid. What a terrible thing
to say. The Diag is the domain
for life. People doing what they
like. Hey, the point of her going
to school is to get a job anyways.
I’m so dumb. Spirit of my silence,
how can I forgive myself?
Dear Pamphleteers,
I don’t want to be bound to the
walls of my own subpar, comic
nutshell any longer. I want you
to know I’ll be waiting for you
on my concrete block. I can’t
wait to see and hear about all of
the events and fundraisers and
action plans you have lined up
for me in the fall. I can’t wait
to hear about all of the dreams
you’ve been dreaming up — all of
the ink you’ve put on paper.
Sincerely,
ES
— Elijah Sparkman can be
reached at esspa@umich.edu.
Dear Pamphleteers
5
Thursday, May 14, 2015
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com OPINION
ELIJAH
SPARKMAN
the time after I called my mom
panicking, worried I would be
unable to sign up for the next
semester of classes because of the
financial hold on my account. We
have always somehow found the
money, waiting until the closest
paycheck or borrowing from fami-
ly. One semester, I personally took
out a loan from my local credit
union with my mom as a co-signer.
On my second FAFSA applica-
tion, I claimed my dad’s income as
my parents had officially divorced.
He had recently started a new
welding job after being laid off by
his previous employer; I received
a Pell Grant and was able to do a
work-study job. During the next
few tax cycles, my mom claimed
me as her dependent, as she was
the one helping me financially
far more than my dad. However,
her income was increasing as
she excelled at work, becoming
a regional manager for Amtrak
engineers in five short years. I
received federal loans.
After moving out of the dorms
sophomore year, I moved to Ypsi-
lanti for cheaper rent and began
working as often as possible to pay
off the loan from my credit union
and to pay for living expenses.
That year, I finally became actively
involved in a student organization;
something that is seemingly man-
datory during a university educa-
tion. Life became too much of a
burden, financially, emotionally
and physically. I slowed down my
schooling, unable to fit all of the
required classes for my dual degree
into my remaining semesters. My
summers were spent working to
save up money for school.
After finally figuring out what
I wanted from college, I have four
classes to take to finish my sec-
ond degree. So, I was in the crowd
among family and friends. But, I
know I’m not the only one.
FAFSA
measures
our
lives
through a year of numbers. It
doesn’t ask whether your parents
nearly lost everything in the finan-
cial crisis of the early 2000s, how
many times your house was almost
repossessed, whether any of your
family members suffer from a crip-
pling mental illness or if there has
been any long-term issues that
may affect your financial situation.
FAFSA, like most financial aid,
doesn’t care about the big picture.
They are only concerned with a
snapshot of the present.
A year changes things, but only
so much. Analyzing how much a
family makes in one year, while
helpful, doesn’t necessarily pro-
vide adequate financial aid to all
applicants. FAFSA is an important
tool in helping students across the
nation attain higher education. In
order to further help students, it
should start to consider long-term
circumstances that affect a stu-
dent’s economic status.
— Aarica Marsh can be reached
at aaricama@umich.edu
— Presidential candidate Bernie Sanders said on CBS’s “Face the Na-
tion” on May 10 when asked about the need for Super PAC funding
in order win a political election.
“
NOTABLE QUOTABLE
I don’t think we’re going to
outspend Hillary Clinton or
Jeb Bush or anybody else,
but I think we are going to
raise the kinds of money
we need to run a strong and
winning campaign.”
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