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OPINION

Thursday, May 4, 2017

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

N

owadays, I feel that we 
are out of touch with true 
kindness. Kindness is seen 

almost exclusively on phone screens 
through social media, where selfless 
people feed the homeless and leave 
extra-large cash tips at restaurants, 
where 
abandoned 
puppies 
are 

adopted by strangers and giant teddy 
bears distribute roses on the streets.

Kindness is no more than a brief 

tinge of inspiration before we scroll 
down to the next meme, the next 
corgi video and the next inspirational 
clip to which we tell ourselves, “next 
time.” Guilty as any other, I decide 
that the people in the videos are 
who I strive to be — but when I pass 
a homeless person on State Street, 
when I am prompted to “donate 
to ___ Charity (any amount will 
do!),” I think about what an extra 
dollar can buy me with my college 
Amazon Prime and, begrudgingly, 
decide again:

“Next time.”
Next time, I will put a stranger’s 

needs before mine. Next time, I 
will be rich enough, brave enough 
to make a sacrifice. Next time, I 
will be kind.

It has become a major trend in 

our generation, but it’s not that 
we don’t have good intentions. 
And it’s certainly not that we don’t 
care. Nevertheless, our routine 
hesitation to show kindness never 
speaks as loud as to those who are 
searching for it.

Without realizing it at first, 

searching for kindness is exactly 
what I set out to do. While I’d 
developed a certain distaste for 
those using the internet to boast 
acts of kindness, I had no problem 
using social media to promote 
it. Last semester, I had recently 
decided to become more involved 
in a student organization of 
mine, the Pre-Pharmacy Student 
Organization. 
Seeing 
that 
it 

was Relay for Life fundraising 
season, I took on the role of the 
“shameless advertiser”: sharing 
events 
on 
Facebook, 
posting 

updates on my Snapchat story and 
nagging virtually every human 

soul I encountered to come to our 
Chipotle fundraising event today 
from 4-8 p.m.! And what shame 
did I have, publicizing a nationally 
proclaimed fundraiser for cancer 
research? I truly wanted to make 
a difference — to my club, to the 
cancer patients, to anyone I could, 
really — but it was the usual lack of 
cooperation that met my newfound 
bout of benevolence.

The day of the fundraiser, there 

were the PPSO members who 
attended because they had to, 
and the few friends who attended 
because I told them to — earning 
from me a high-pitched “OMG 
thank you!” Mostly, there were 
the “next times”: the ones who 
didn’t have time that day, the ones 
who have already spent too much 
money on food that week and the 
ones who accepted my Diag flyers 
as simple courtesy — if at all. And 
I couldn’t blame them, because I 
too am busy, poor and experienced 
in the art of flyer evasion. I 
asked myself if I would be going 
to Chipotle that night if it was 
another organization holding the 
fundraiser, even though I already 
knew that the answer was no.

Hence, it was not in particularly 

high hopes that I announced the 
fundraiser to my evening medical 
ethics seminar. I expected my 
announcement to affect one or 
two listeners at best, and it was no 
secret that my classmates, feigning 
interest, expected the same. Thus, 
it did not occur to us that when 
our professor decided to “end 
class 10-15 minutes early to get 
burritos — on [him]!” that he was 
not even a little bit joking. As he 
addressed our dropped jaws with a 
smile, I cautiously asked if he was 
sarcastic, to which he replied, “of 
course not, it’s a great cause!”

And a great cause it was – to the 

class, to PPSO, to the Relay for Life 
foundation, but to me, especially. 
As dramatic as it sounds, I had 
been splashed with cold cynicism 
throughout 
my 
long 
day 
of 

minimally successful advertising, 
such that I began questioning 

why I was still pushing for the 
fundraiser at all. Was it truly out 
of desperation to help others, or 
simply out of obligation? Or was it 
just to look more passionate, more 
involved?

Our 
professor 
didn’t 
want 

to look like anything. Rather, 
he wanted purely to donate to 
charity, sending the whole class 
to Chipotle with $200 in cash and 
wishing us the sincerest “enjoy!” 
before rushing home to spend time 
with his kids. As we walked out of 
Mason Hall into the cold Michigan 
evening, a classmate noted he was 
not wearing a coat. In fact, he 
had given his jacket to a medical 
resident at work, refusing to let her 
out in the cold without her own. It 
was not the first time he absolutely 
inspired us.

Needless to say, my Chipotle 

bowl tasted especially good that 
day. There is something about 
the immediate presence of sheer 
kindness that punctuates a moment 
so easily mistaken for mundane. I 
felt more touched than I had been 
in a while — for the first time, I did 
not have to beg, persuade or offer 
any reward for someone to do so 
naturally what most would not. It 
was a much-needed reminder that 
not every modern act of kindness 
is of the “staged, filmed and posted 
online” variety, and that the most 
commendable of actions are free 
of credits, likes and a tirade of 
negative comments.

A few months later, I can’t 

say that I now drop $200 on 
fundraisers or lend my belongings 
without question, but hey — I’ve 
developed a new appreciation for all 
the good causes to explore on this 
diverse campus, as well as the pesky 
Diag flyers that promote them.

While I can’t say how many more 

“next times” are down the road, I 
invite us to ask ourselves: if we don’t 
inspire each other, who will?

—Angela Chen can be reached 

at angchen@umich.edu.

One of a kind
Telling your friends they don’t matter
I

t was about 2:50 p.m. on a Tuesday 
in one of the larger lecture halls 
at Michigan State University. 

Class had been going on for nearly an 
hour, but my two friends and I sitting 
in the back of the room had basically 
checked out. While lazily scrolling 
through Twitter on my Mac, I was 
daydreaming about my upcoming 
weekend plans — I had a few parties 
to go to, some friends I wanted to see, 
and my roommate and I had to figure 
out how to, again, haphazardly sneak 
nearly sixty beers into our dorm 
room. 

And suddenly, an email popped 

onto my screen. In all caps it 
screamed, “CONGRATULATIONS 
YOU HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED 
TO...”, and without even having to 
open it, I knew exactly what it was. 
Screaming silently to myself I realized 
that I was going to transfer to my 
dream school, one the most prestigious 
and elite public schools in the world, 
the University of Michigan.

I excitingly showed off the email 

to my two friends. They had known 
how badly I wanted to be part of the 
University of Michigan, yet almost 
instantly, their dismissive sighs and 
shaking heads highlighted a trend 
I should’ve recognized. I selfishly 
ignored them, and switched from 
daydreaming about my weekend to 
imagining what was a pure fantasy 
about how amazing my life would be at 
the University of Michigan.

I imagined that now, after having to 

spend my freshman year at my “safe” 
school of Michigan State — I was finally 
going to join the most elite students of 
University of Michigan where my 
“actual” college life would begin.

But unfortunately that life, whether 

or not I wanted to accept it, already 
had begun at MSU. That year I spent 
there was not dominated by self-pity 
and jealousy toward University of 
Michigan. Instead, I experienced an 
incredible freshman year of college 
life, going on date parties, attending 
football tailgates, playing volleyball and 
spending entire nights with friends 
cramming for exams. I had every 
cliché college experience at MSU and I 
enjoyed nearly every second.

And this life I had created was 

a massive investment; I had spent 
considerable 
time 
and 
energy 

understanding 
my 
identity 
and 

building a group of friends. I had 
become a permanent student at MSU 
— I knew every road, building, frat 
house and bar in the city, I had friends 
scattered across campus that would 
see me anytime and my wardrobe was 
adorned in MSU’s green and white that 
I always looked forward to wearing 

with a subtle pride.

Yet 
somehow, 
I 
allowed 
my 

pessimistic ego to get the better of 
me. My unending desire to be part 
of the elite crowd at the University 
of Michigan fueled a disastrous 
perspective that was able to blind me 
from all the positives in my life at MSU. 
I allowed my selfish thoughts to make 
me believe I had lost my potential 
and had been trapped in permanent 
mediocrity at the “little brother” school 
to the University of Michigan.

So when that transfer acceptance 

arrived, I was overwhelmed with this 
selfish joy that satisfied the jealousy I 
had toward students at the University 
of Michigan. I felt “happy,” excited, 
and finally felt as if I had accomplished 
something. I wish I had known that 
those feelings were only temporary. 
Because not only do those feelings not 
last, but the expectations I had built in 
my imagination about the University of 
Michigan could never be met.

And more importantly, I was 

throwing away everything I had 
built on MSU’s campus, and was 
basically telling my friends that they 
did not matter in this decision. That 
the campus, the school, the football 
tailgates, the late nights laughing 
and stumbling around the city, none 
of that was good enough for me. 
That underneath all of the fun and 
amazing times, I was unhappy and 
unsatisfied with all of them. And 
my transfer acceptance reaffirmed 
all of that. I was leaving, I thought 
I was better, and it looked as if they 
didn’t matter — that I thought I would 
make new, smarter, wealthier, well-
connected friends at the University of 
Michigan.

Yet my friends seem to know 

something I didn’t, that the University 
of Michigan wouldn’t make me 
“happy,” 
that 
a 
school 
doesn’t 

automatically change your life for the 
better. Sometimes you have to make 
a decision for your future, sometimes 
you sacrifice things you think you love 
in the hope that later on, some greater 
return will come. But sometimes, these 
decisions are clouded from jealousy 
and selfishness.

Transferring to the University of 

Michigan changed my entire college 
experience; I left behind a life I could’ve 
embraced at MSU and often think 
about what could’ve been if I had just 
stayed. My friends were right though, 
a school doesn’t make you happy — it’s 
what you make of it.

—Michael Mordarski can be 

reached at mmordars@umich.edu.

MICHAEL MORDARSKI | COLUMN
ANGELA CHEN | COLUMN

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