W

hen discussing my 
enrollment 
here 

at 
the 
University 

of 
Michigan 
with 
anyone 

other than a fellow 
student, I am always 
asked 
the 
classic 

question “What are 
you studying?” and I 
always hesitate before 
I say, with a cringe, 
“I’m 
undeclared.” 

I quickly follow up 
with a rushed answer 
of what I am planning 
on declaring. It does 
not matter that this 
is my first year, or that I have 
another year before I need to 
decide; it is expected that I 
have an answer. 

But there is a problem 

with trying to force students 
into a major too quickly. By 
pressuring myself to have an 
actual answer for everyone 
who asks me this, I now have 
tunnel vision. My constant 
repetition of this one answer 
has solidified it in my mind as 
my only option, and it leaves 
no room for consideration 
of other majors. It is like a 
brainwashing 
technique 
I 

have performed on myself.

In addition to needing my 

major decided upon, I also 
apparently need to know what 
job I want, what kind of career 
I want to dedicate my life to. 
This has happened to many 
of us. When your answer to 
“What’s your major?” is met 
with more questions like “And 
what can you do with that?” 
instead of offering words of 
encouragement 
for 
having 

one part of our life decided, 
we are expected to not only 
know our five-year plan, but 
also our 10-year plan, even 
our 15-year plan.

Our lives are expected to 

be planned out by the time 
we graduate, with an outline 
that includes not only the first 
job we have lined up, but also 
our entire career plan for the 
rest of our lives. According to 
our family and bosses, if we 
do not know where we want 
our lives to go, we will forever 
be wandering, lost with no 
purpose motivating us to go 
to work. We are told our key 

to success is to plan out every 
second of our future so we 
always know what the next 
step is.

As a result of this 

pressure, we begin 
to force ourselves to 
make choices that 
limit our options 
for the future. We 
see this in the types 
of internships we 
choose, the classes 
we take and the 
higher 
education 

we pursue. Rather 
than keeping our 

doors open when searching 
for jobs after graduation, we 
are narrowing our focus to 
a one-way track that can fall 

apart if one step does not 
happen as planned.

For instance, if one wishes to 

become a professor, a Ph.D. is 
required. You make it through 
graduate school, potentially 
incurring 
thousands 
of 

dollars of debt, and enter the 
job market ready to change 
the world by teaching the next 
generation. However, based 
on a study done on the 2014 
U.S. Ph.D. recipients, a little 
less than half with definite 
job commitments said they’d 
hold a job in academia. This 
shows that even after earning 
a Ph.D., it’s not unusual for 
your career plan to change 
and force you to adapt to the 
new circumstances you find 
yourself in.

With no alternative, we 

leave ourselves with no room 
for the unexpected, no room 
to adjust to unplanned events 
that can put damaging kinks 

in our tightly wound plans. 
For example, there is that 
one class, possibly a few 
classes, in every major that 
is critical to moving on to the 
higher-level 
requirements. 

We try hard to do well in 
those classes, and we tell 
ourselves if we are meant for 
that major we should do well 
in them, but when some of us 
still end up with a far less-
than-satisfactory grade, that 
may throw a wrench in the 
coveted life plan we have been 
prompted to establish.

We begin to question if 

this major is what we should 
do, 
yet 
because 
we 
have 

only devoted our time and 
thinking into this one option, 
we have no backup plan. So, 
instead of asking students to 
force themselves into making 
decisions some may not be 
ready to make, we should 
be allowed to consider all 
options one at a time and not 
be afraid to diverge from the 
original plan if necessary.

We need to accept that 

there is no one specific path 
for each of us as individuals or 
even to get to a specific career; 
everyone will get to where 
they are in life a different 
way. At one of the workshops 
during my orientation last 
summer, we were shown the 
familiar diagram that links 
some of the larger majors in 
LSA to the numerous careers 
each can lead to. We should 
refer to this to inspire us, and 
relieve some of the anxiety of 
picking a major and deciding 
upon a career.

Therefore, answering the 

question “What job can you 
get with that major?” does 
not need to bring us to our 
knees in an effort to explain 
our reasoning for making 
this choice. We must remind 
ourselves that a career is not 
made out of one decision we 
make when we are 19, and 
we must trust ourselves to 
eventually find the job and 
career path that suits us — 
something no one can tell us.

S

pring Break may be over, 
but for me, profound 
experiences 
remain. 

It was my first time leaving 
and 
returning 
to 

the country as a 
green-card 
holder. 

The 
most 
salient 

moment 
of 
my 

trip 
was 
coming 

back to the United 
States 
through 

immigration 
with 

such 
ease. 
The 

swiftness 
of 
the 

process startled me 
because that was not 
the case 11 years ago when I 
first came to the United States 
from South Korea with a visa.

When I first arrived to the 

States, I was 10 years old — 
quiet, 
unfamiliarized 
and 

curious about the new life 
ahead of me. This anticipation, 
however, did not begin with 
hopes and dreams but was 
sunken by a skeptical Customs 
and Border Protection officer 
who scrutinized me and my 
family. 
At 
immigration, 
I 

observed my parents trying 
their best to catch the officer’s 
quick utterances and articulate 
back a response with their very 
imperfect English.

After many questions and 

answers that went back and 
forth, there came a moment 
that I’ll never forget. My mom 
answered no to a question that 
actually applied to us. My dad 
corrected the answer but this 
confusion put us aside for a bag 
search. I observed the people in 
dark blue uniforms take out my 
personal items one by one. If 
you don’t know what this feels 
like, imagine being stripped of 
your clothes in public piece by 
piece. That’s what it felt like 
to me, as a 10-year-old in a 
strange, new place, naked and 
violated.

Because of this incident, 

airports 
quickly 
became 

unpleasant and invasive places 
for me. What used to symbolize 
freedom, 
bravery 
and 

adventure, I no longer believed 
in. Since then, when I would 
hear friends were flying out 
to places such as the Bahamas, 

Cabo, Cancun, etc., 
it never occurred to 
me that I, too, could 
enjoy the process. 
I wanted to travel, 
but I felt restrained. 
I wanted to explore, 
but I felt unable.

As 
a 
result, 

I 
avoided 
any 

subsequent 
opportunities 
to 

travel by air. And I 

became envious of those who 
led exuberant lifestyles, not 
because they flaunted their 
wealth, 
but 
because 
they 

embodied something that I 
didn’t — carefreeness.

In 2009, I became a green-

card holder. From what I 
understand, holding a green 
card 
makes 
things 
easier. 

People question you less. You 
blend in more with the crowd. 
Your 
contributions 
to 
the 

country start to be recognized. 
I knew these things to be true 
because this sense of belonging 
grew inside of me.

While these feelings grew, 

they were still small and 
incomplete. After years of 
saying no to visiting friends 
from out of state and family 
back in South Korea, a friend 
approached me to go on an 
international trip this Spring 
Break. 
I 
was 
conflicted. 

All the excuses that I’ve 
collected 
in 
my 
lexicon 

swarmed over me — flights 
are too expensive, planning 
a trip is hectic and traveling 
is just not worth the energy. 
Boy, was I wrong. Deciding 
to go on this trip changed my 
life. There were challenges 
along my travel but it taught 
me many things that may 
be trivial to most people but 
nonetheless invaluable to me.

I learned that I can’t use my 

nickname on the travel-agency 
site. Otherwise, I can’t fly out. 

(Yes, I missed my flight.) I 
learned that I have to put my 
laptop in a separate bin than 
my backpack for security. In 
addition 
to 
navigating 
the 

rules of travel, I learned that a 
tennis player from University 
of Toledo was headed to San 
Diego and takes pride in his 
bad haircut. I learned that a 
generous man who let me get 
in line before him had missed 
his flight the day before like 
me. (We exchanged a few 
chuckles.) These social aspects 
of a hectic day of travel were 
delightful. 

Above all, I learned that 

it is possible to feel safe 
and secure while traveling. 
Coming back, I was guided to 
use the mobile passport app 
to hasten the customs process 
like everyone else. Passing 
immigration, I was put in the 
same line as U.S. citizens, 
and the CBP officer greeted 
me with a “How are you?” 
without one question about 
my travel. I was stunned at 
the difference between going 
through security 11 years ago 
compared to now. 

This trip was significant 

because I was finally able to 
experience traveling in the 
way that people always spoke 
about. And I realized that 
this was a privilege. I came 
to understand how my visa 
status has determined my 
sense of personal freedom 
thus far. Therefore, I felt 
proud, and not ashamed, of 
my immigration status and 
was humbled by the privilege 
that 
came 
with 
being 
a 

permanent resident in the 
United States.

“Never forget where you 

come from,” they say. My 
parents worked hard to come 
to this country. And this was 
a special moment for me to 
remember that fact. 

Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
 
 
4A — Wednesday, March 15, 2017

REBECCA LERNER

Managing Editor

420 Maynard St. 

Ann Arbor, MI 48109

 tothedaily@michigandaily.com

Edited and managed by students at the University of Michigan since 1890.

EMMA KINERY

Editor in Chief

ANNA POLUMBO-LEVY 

and REBECCA TARNOPOL 

Editorial Page Editors

Unsigned editorials reflect the official position of the Daily’s Editorial Board. 

All other signed articles and illustrations represent solely the views of their authors.

Carolyn Ayaub
Megan Burns

Samantha Goldstein

Caitlin Heenan
Jeremy Kaplan

Sarah Khan
Max Lubell

Alexis Megdanoff
Madeline Nowicki
Anna Polumbo-Levy 

Jason Rowland

Ali Safawi

Kevin Sweitzer

Rebecca Tarnopol

Stephanie Trierweiler

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

Letting go of life’s baggage

GINA CHOE | COLUMN

What’s your major?

ALEXIS MEGDANOFF | COLUMN

Alexis Megdanoff can be reached at 

amegdano@umich.edu.

Gina Choe can be reached at 

ginachoe@umich.edu.

ALEXIS 

MEGDANOFF

EMILY WOLFE | CONTACT EMILY AT ELWOLFE@UMICH.EDU

I 

hated Hebrew school. The 
monotonous 
repetition 

of prayer and cultural 

history always went in one ear 
and out the other — I found 
more joy in the laughter of my 
classmates after I was sent 
to the principal’s office for 
intentionally frustrating my 
teachers. Nevertheless, my 
parents insisted that Judaism 
remain a part of my identity, 
whether or not this learning 
occurred in a stained-glass 
sanctuary.

What stuck with me most 

growing up, unsurprising for a 
kid too stubborn to comprehend 
the religious significance of 
the events, was the celebration 
of holidays. Celebrated last 
weekend, Purim is one of the 
holidays that struck a chord 
with me. While much of my 
Jewish experience as a kid 
felt forced, such as my parents 
making me keep Kosher and 
attend synagogue on Shabbat 
mornings, Purim’s festivities 
never felt this way.

Purim, 
at 
its 
core, 
is 

a 
celebration. 
Barely 

understanding why, I dressed 
in 
elaborate, 
carnivalesque 

costumes with my younger 
sister as we sang and danced 
in place of traditional prayer. 
The festiveness of this holiday 
shines through its customs 
— eating Hamantaschen (a 
traditional 
Jewish 
dessert), 

using noisemakers and adults 
getting drunk (at the judgment 
of a rabbi, of course). I kind 
of thought of it as the Jewish 
version of Halloween.

But it was only recently, as 

I reflected on recent events in 
our community and country, 
that I began to grasp the 
underlying significance of the 
celebration of Purim.

Over the past few months, 

Jews across the country have 
experienced a shock with the 
prevalence 
of 
anti-Semitic 

threats 
toward 
schools, 

synagogues and other Jewish 
institutions. 
On 
March 
7, 

Chicago Jewish Day School, a 
mere 30 minutes from my house, 
received a bomb threat. This hit 
home. Even at the University 
of Michigan, threats in the 
form of hacked emails have 
rocked students like myself 
who never believed this hatred 
could exist on our campus. 
Coinciding with the rise of 
xenophobic, 
un-American 

attitudes and ethnically driven 
immigration bans, the anti-
Semitic sentiments come at a 
time when much of the country 
lives in fear.

Of course, these attitudes 

are not news to Jews across 
the world; some have even 
compared Trump’s rhetoric to 
Adolf Hitler’s use of the “Big 
Lie” during the rise of Nazism. 
And it was not until Feb. 21, 
after weeks of criticism from 
Jewish organizations for his 
lack of interest in the anti-
Semitic threats, that President 
Trump 
issued 
a 
public 

statement about these issues.

So, when the highest official 

in our country neglects to 
pay proper attention to the 
dangers of these ideologies, 
manifested in threats toward 
our communities, where do 
we turn?

Though we can look to 

our government for answers, 
hope for change can be found 
much closer to home, in the 
shape of a three-cornered, 
jelly-filled cookie.

Purim 
celebrates 
the 

Jewish victory over Haman, 
an evil associate of the Persian 

King who devised a plot to 
wipe out all of the Jews. Ring 
a bell? At no better time does 
this holiday, commemorating 
the defeat of anti-Semitism 
in ancient history, fall on our 
calendar.

No FBI investigation will 

completely stop the wave of 
recent threats, and it will 
certainly not eradicate the 
pervasiveness of anti-Semitic 
ideology across the country. 
Purim reminds us that one 
way to combat the hatred 
prevalent in our society is to 
laugh, dance and celebrate.

Acting as a festival of 

sorts, Purim encourages even 
the least religious people to 
come together in a joyous, 
collective motion of pride, 
identity and hope. Eating 
the 
Hamantaschen 
cookie, 

symbolizing 
the 
three-

cornered shape of the villain 
Haman’s hat, represents in 
a 
comical 
yet 
significant 

way 
our 
destruction 
of 

discrimination.

So, last weekend, although 

I did not dress up or attend 
services with my family, I 
kept in mind the significance 
of the holiday. Whether it 
occurred in the kitchen making 
cookies or in a sanctuary, Jews 
across the world celebrated 
a previous defeat of anti-
Semitism in an attempt to 
make change in the present. 
And in the process, many 
realized that their Jewish 
identity is not grounded in 
education, but in thought and 
action that lie beyond the 
constraints of a classroom.

Maybe 
I 
did 
learn 

something in Hebrew school 
after all.

Dancing in the face of anti-Semitism

BEN CHARLSON | OP-ED

Ben Charlson is an LSA freshman.

GINA CHOE

We need to accept 

that there is no 
one specific path 
for each of us as 
individuals or 
even to get to a 
specific career.

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