W

hen I was 14, my 
dad passed away 
from 
pancreatic 

cancer. 
It 
happened 
very 

quickly — he was diagnosed 
in 
February, 
placed 
into 

hospice in May and died in 
June — but I valued the time 
I had to prepare myself and 
to mourn. Even so, these 
months, and the months and 
years afterward, were some 
of the hardest times of my 
life. I often felt as if I couldn’t 
get through the day without 
thinking of my dad, and the 
fact that I was frequently 
pessimistic and bitter made 
it hard for me to relate to my 
peers.

So as an adult, I felt that I 

had already endured as much 
as I could mourning-wise and 
that the deaths and loss of 
anyone outside of my close 
friends and family would 
leave me sad, but not nearly 
as upset as when my dad had 
died. Believing this gave me a 
feeling of resilience, of grit, 
as if I were stronger than 
those around me because of 
what I had gone through. And 
then my dog passed away.

His name was Hercules 

and he was the best puppy 
in the whole world. I know, 
everyone says that about their 
dog, but only I’m honest when 
I say it (I’m kidding — kind 
of). He was a gentle dog who 
loved cuddling, was afraid of 
the vacuum and loud noises, 
and really only barked every 
once in a while. My family 
adopted him from the humane 
society when I was about 10 
years old. And even though 
he couldn’t talk and usually 

smelled bad, he was there 
for us during my dad’s death, 
my mom’s remarriage and 
my family moving out of my 
childhood home.

After I started college, he 

was one of the main reasons I 
looked forward to going home 
during breaks, and the reason 
I got so jealous of any other 
dog owner on campus. He 
was loyal, caring, sweet and 
a great friend. Admittedly, all 
dogs share these traits, but he 
was mine, you know?

So when he died, I didn’t 

realize just how upset I would 
be. I cried, I was angry, I had 
a hard time focusing on my 
school work — all traits I had 
exhibited after my dad had 
passed. Friends asked me if 
I wanted to talk about it and 
family members sent their 
condolences. What made it 
worse was that the vet found 
the tumor on Friday and he was 
gone by Saturday afternoon.

My mom, who had spent 

the most time with our dog 
and was possibly the most 
emotionally 
affected 
by 

Hercules’s 
death, 
had 
to 

make the decision on her own 
whether to put him down. 
Because of this, I wasn’t 
made aware of his death until 
after it had already happened, 
giving me no time to prepare 
myself for the mourning. It 
was rough and I was much 
more upset than I thought I 
was going to be.

You 
can’t 
control 
what 

saddens you or how you react 
to stressful situations. I’ll be 
the first to admit that losing a 
pet doesn’t even rank on the 
list of top tragedies a person 

can go through and that I’ve 
probably rolled my eyes before 
at people torn up at the loss of an 
animal companion. But for me, 
aside from being just my dog, 
Hercules was also a reminder of 
my dad and the times I was able 
to spend with him.

After we moved away from 

my hometown, he was a little 
piece of my childhood that 
came with us. This may sound 
selfish and cliche, but to me, 
Hercules was more than just a 
pet; he was also a connection 
to my past. Losing him feels as 
if I’m losing a part of myself, 
or a part of who I once was, 
and I didn’t realize this until 
he was already gone.

There’s 
nothing 
wrong 

with mourning the things that 
others might find frivolous, 
and there’s nothing wrong 
with mourning in the way that 
makes most sense to you. It’s 
pretty pointless to compare 
and contrast the pain in your 
life. For me to assume I’d be 
immune to being sad over the 
loss of a pet beacuse I had 
already witnessed the death 
of my dad was, as I now see, 
pretty naive.

So if I learned one lesson 

from this experience, it’s 
that toughness is overrated 
and you should always let 
yourself grieve. In the end, 
if something affects you in 
a negative way, you should 
always take time to deal with 
it. You can’t force yourself to 
not get upset over something, 
the same way you can’t teach 
an old dog new tricks. 

Opinion
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
4A— Monday, October 2, 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.

EDITORIAL BOARD MEMBERS

Carolyn Ayaub
Megan Burns

Samantha Goldstein

Caitlin Heenan
Jeremy Kaplan

Sarah Khan

Anurima Kumar

Max Lubell

Lucas Maiman

Alexis Megdanoff
Madeline Nowicki
Anna Polumbo-Levy 

Jason Rowland

Anu Roy-Chaudhury

Ali Safawi

Sarah Salman
Kevin Sweitzer

Rebecca Tarnopol

Stephanie Trierweiler

Ashley Zhang

I 

must confess: I am a 
perpetual procrastinator. 
I wait until the last minute 

to do absolutely everything. 
This piece was one of those 
things, but not just because I 
am lazy and easily distracted — 
the source for most of my usual 
procrastination. Writing this 
article was different. I knew 
exactly what I wanted to say, 
how I wanted to say it and the 
audience I hoped to reach for a 
week and a half now. Yet, I’ve 
sat on this piece, staring at a 
blank page and blinking cursor 
until my deadline today.

I am scared. My fear is the 

reason for my procrastination. 
This 
piece 
will 
focus 
on 

my reactions and thoughts 
regarding the racist events that 
transpired on campus during 
the past two weeks. I realize 
there have now been hundreds 
of opinions on the incidents 
on campus and throughout 
The Michigan Daily, on social 
media and in the news. I am 
scared that because of this, my 
opinion has become devalued.

Who 
wants 
to 
hear 

yet 
another 
Black 
person 

complain about how racist the 
University of Michigan has 
become, how tired they are 
and how hurt they feel? I feel 
as though my piece will just 
be lumped into this general 
narrative of “disgruntled Black 
people.” On the other hand, I 
fear my writing will promote 
this idea or label about my 
identity which includes words 
like “activist,” “political” or 
“radical.” These notions don’t 
just come from the public 
sphere. My mother tells me 
things like, “Who knew college 
would turn you into a Black 
Panther?” 
My 
sister 
says, 

“Can you maybe write about 
something not Black?”

That 
said, 
I 
am 
at 
a 

crossroads. Do I write and 
publish 
this, 
subsequently 

becoming just another angry 
Black 
woman? 
Or 
maybe 

portray myself as an activist, 
protester and social justice 
expert? Truth be told, I am 
not any of these things. I am 
Stephanie; I am a daughter, a 
sister, a student and a friend. 
But it just so happens that I 
am also Black. More important 

than that, I just so happen to be 
Black on this campus in 2017 
where I am told I am unwanted 
… an outsider … a problem … a 
nigger.

Notice my usage of the word 

here. I didn’t allude to it, or say 
“N-word.” Since it seems as 
though my peers and University 
community have become so 
comfortable seeing and using 
this word, there should be no 
uneasiness reading it here in 
my writing, right? There is a 
general sense of comfort in 
knowing that this is the way 
things are supposed to be. Why 
do we expect this? Why do we 
anticipate hate and violence 
from one another? People tell 
me things like, “Keep your 
head up” or, “Don’t pay them 
any mind” when these sorts of 
incidents happen.

Why 
has 
it 
become 

normalized 
to 
ignore 
and 

deflect? Why have we become 
comfortable? No one ever tells 
you how to sort these things 
out, how to respond to threats 
or how to protect your identity. 
Then, when you attempt to 
talk about it, these external 
and internal pressures push 
you into a binary. Are you an 
activist? Or are you an angry 
yet complacent bystander? It 
was while pondering these 
questions that I decided to 
write a letter to myself, my 
overeager high school senior 
self, that is. It was then that I 
wished I had someone to tell 
me what to expect throughout 
my college years.

Dear Stephanie,

2015 will be one of the 

hardest years that you have to 
endure. You will feel as though 

you don’t belong, you will want 
to go home. You will regret 
your decision to attend the 
University of Michigan.

In 2016, you are going to 

experience Islamophobia when 
you see #StopIslam written 
in the Diag. You will also see 
posters that label you and other 
members of your community 
as 
“dangerous,” 
“ignorant” 

and “unintelligent” by nature. 
You and other students of color 
will be threatened and taunted 
with 
violent 
messages 
on 

public University spaces.

In 2017, someone will urinate 

on a prayer rug in the library, 
emails will be sent out that 
threaten you and the lives of 
Jewish students, praise of the 
KKK and white supremacist 
sentiments 
will 
overwhelm 

you. Kendrick Lamar will drop 
one of your favorite albums of 
all time. Students will have 
racial slurs written on their 
dorm 
room 
doors. 
Racial 

slurs will be spray painted in 
downtown Ann Arbor. People 
will identify you and members 
of your community as niggers. 
Violence and protests will 
ensue.

A student will intend to 

kneel in the Diag for 24 hours 
to protest hate rhetoric on this 
campus. Not even 48 hours 
later, a man will urinate on 
printings of the words “Black 
Lives Matter” in the very spot 
where this student kneeled. 
You will feel shaken, disturbed, 
frightened and enraged. You 
will feel alone. People will tell 
you to ignore it. People will 
tell you that this is tragic, that 
things will blow over. None of 
the perpetrators of these hate 
crimes will be found, but you 
will be told to believe racism 
does not belong here by the 
University 
administration, 

including President Schlissel 
himself.

Are you uncomfortable?

You should be.

With love,

Stephanie

 Embracing grief

 ELENA HUBBELL | COLUMN

 A letter to myself

 STEPHANIE MULLINGS | COLUMN

Stephanie Mullings can be reached 

at srmulli@umich.edu. 

Elena Hubbell can be reached at 

elepearl@umich.edu.

J

ust 
like 
most 
other 

20-year-old males, I, too, 
disrespected yoga. From 

the outside, how can anyone 
take it seriously? 
It 
appears 
as 

though 
you 
pay 

money to stand on 
a mat, stretch and 
meditate. Can’t you 
do that at home?

I’ve 
been 
an 

athlete my whole 
life. There’s no way 
I was going to stand 
in a room and bend 
over when I could 
run, lift weights, swim or do 
pretty much anything else. 
Yeah, I know that stretching 
is healthy, but dedicating an 
hour to contorting my body in 
odd shapes when I’m not even 
flexible seems excessive.

My parents have been doing 

yoga — specifically hot yoga 
— for 15 years. When I finally 
decided to accompany them 
to a class, purely to stop their 
constant pleas that I try it, 
I didn’t expect myself to get 
hooked. After going consistently 
for about a year and a half, 
I realize that yoga is widely 
misconceived and is associated 
with many unfair stereotypes. 
Though some are true, most are 
products of ignorance.

When I try to take people 

to a yoga class, they almost 
always say, “Thanks, but I’m 
not flexible.” You don’t need 
to be flexible to do yoga. As 
you become more advanced, a 
degree of flexibility becomes 
an 
eventual 
requirement, 

but everyone’s inflexible to 
some extent when starting 
out. In fact, in the beginning 
of one’s yoga journey, the 
biggest challenge isn’t even 
the stretching — it’s trying to 
survive.

The type of yoga I do — and 

the type you should do too 
if you want to have a truly 
humbling experience — is 
called “Hot Vinyasa.” It’s yoga 
on steroids. It’s fast-paced, 
physically 
demanding 
and 

hotter than the ninth circle 
of hell. It’s the true definition 
of a full-body workout. People 
who have never gone to yoga 

don’t realize that the 
greatest challenge of a 
class is the core work 
intertwined 
with 

balancing 
postures 

that 
make 
the 

deepest fibers of your 
muscles burn with 
incomprehensible 
pain.

At 
the 
end 
of 

class, you feel as if 
you’ve been reduced 

to nothing — as if you want 
to melt into the puddles 
of sweat that have already 
accumulated on your mat. In 
the morning, there are sore 
parts of your body that you 
never knew existed.

If 
you’re 
a 
guy, 

unfortunately, 
yoga 
isn’t 

going to make you “huge.” 
Instead, 
it 
lengthens 
the 

muscle to make you lean 
and toned. But it’s not the 
observable benefits that got 
me hooked to yoga, it’s the 
unobservable 
benefits 
that 

keep bringing me back.

Although 
Vinyasa 
is 

high 
intensity, 
there’s 
an 

underlying theme of trying 
to calm the mind and forget 
about the outside world. The 
heat is supposed to burn away 
worries, stress, anxiety, etc. 
Trust me, I know how cheesy 
it sounds because I was once 
in your position. But with 
experience, 
you 
learn 
it’s 

true. The classes are so hard 
and exhausting that at the 
end you don’t have the energy 
to worry about anything — 
and it’s extremely liberating.

Especially for a pre-med 

student like myself, yoga is a 
way to temporarily escape. At 
times when it’s felt as though 
I were going to lose my mind 
from constant pressures and 
workload, yoga has kept me 
sane. The teachers who lead 
the classes remind you to 
think positively and look at 

the big picture rather than 
let yourself be consumed by 
the smaller worries of life. 
It is therapeutic and helps to 
shift your outlook to a more 
positive perspective.

Don’t believe me? Well, 

according to various studies, 
yoga 
has 
been 
shown 
to 

enhance 
social 
well-being 

and improve symptoms of 
depression, attention deficit 
and sleep disorders. It also 
improves mood, awareness, 
mindfulness, etc. — the list 
goes on. From my personal 
experience, I can say with 
confidence that for students 
and professionals who are 
overly stressed, yoga is an 
underutilized tool. 

 Yoga has countless physical 

benefits in addition to mental 
benefits, increased strength 
and flexibility. For example, 
it helps reduce blood pressure 
and strengthens the immune 
system. Name a better way of 
surviving finals and flu season.

Doing yoga every day of 

the 
week 
isn’t 
necessary 

to begin experiencing the 
benefits. Going a couple of 
times a month is better than 
not going at all. Yoga can even 
complement other workout 
routines due to its ability 
to help with recovery and 
decrease chances of injury.

I know that some may be 

embarrassed by the idea of 
attending a yoga class, and I 
understand because I know 
the feeling. I thought I was 
going to be the only guy 
surrounded 
by 
girls 
with 

dreadlocks. Even though this 
proved to be false, I didn’t 
enjoy my first yoga class — but 
no one enjoys their first yoga 
class. It’s those who sum up 
the will to return who learn 
to 
disassociate 
yoga 
with 

ignorant misconceptions and 
appreciate the practice for 
what it truly is. 

EVAN SIRLS | COLUMN
Learning to appreciate yoga

Evan Sirls can be reached at 

esirls@umich.edu. 

JOE IOVINO | CONTACT JOE AT JIOVINO@UMICH.EDU

 “I am a daughter, 
a sister, a student 
and a friend. But 
it just so happens 
that I am Black.”

EVAN
SIRLS

CONTRIBUTE TO THE CONVERSATION

Readers are encouraged to submit letters to the editor and op-eds. 
Letters should be fewer than 300 words while op-eds should be 550 
to 850 words. Send the writer’s full name and University affiliation to 

tothedaily@michigandaily.com.

