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
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