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

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Caitlin Heenan
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Sarah Khan
Max Lubell

Alexis Megdanoff
Madeline Nowicki
Anna Polumbo-Levy

Jason Rowland

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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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