As a child, I used to think 

about the stories and poems 
I wanted to write when I got 
older. 
Whenever 
something 

funny happened, I thought 
of how I could write a story 
about it and make someone 
else laugh too. Yet, I never 
actually put pen to paper. 
The stories I wanted to write 
 

were 
so 
different 
from 

the books I read, and my 
experiences were so noticeably 
different from those of my 
favorite characters. I thought 
my story wasn’t something 
people 
cared 
about. 
Why 

would anyone want to know 
what an Indian, Muslim girl 
from Michigan thought?

It wasn’t until I learned 

about 
the 
erasure 
of 
my 

history that I realized how 
powerful 
stories 
could 
be. 

As I began engaging with 
social justice, and learning 
 

names for phenomena that I 
had noticed and experienced 
as a kid, I realized that my 
stories had power. The details 
of my life are as important as 
Jo March’s in “Little Women.” 
My talents are as magical as 
Matilda’s. My feelings are as 
important as Hermione’s.

I didn’t write much as a 

child because I was scared. 

I was scared no one would 
like what I wrote, and I was 
scared no one would even care. 
As I grew older and pushed 
myself to write about my lived 
experiences, I found people 
who had experiences similar to 
my own. Finding other people 
who relate to what I have 
been through is empowering. 
 

This is what pushed me to 
write more and eventually join 
MiC.

MiC 
is 
a 
space 
where 

people of color can share their 
thoughts 
without 
policing 

their 
writing 
to 
fit 
what 

society tells us is important. 
We — our most raw and 
 

true selves — are important. We 
belong here. Most importantly, 
we deserve a space to share 
our stories. For me, MiC is that 
space and I hope it can be as 
empowering of a platform for 
more people of color as well.

I spent my whole childhood 

defining 
my 
Blackness 
with 

words that were not mine for 
the choosing. My peers defined 
Blackness by hip-hop, poverty 
and a certain accent, and when 
I didn’t fit their stereotype, I 
was flippantly called an Oreo. 
My parents did what they could 
to give me a solid foundation in 
my identity, but when half of my 
day was spent around people 
who looked nothing like me, 

there’s only so much they could 
do. I was left feeling irrevocably 
inadequate; not Black enough to 
truly be Black. My self-confidence 
ached in the deepest of ways, 
unable to overcome such a deep-
rooted feeling of confusion and 
disconnection. 
My 
Blackness 

was silenced, and worse, I didn’t 
necessarily believe that was a bad 
thing.

It wasn’t until I was exposed 

to the written works of women 
of color that I began to fathom a 
version of self-acceptance that 
was previously denied to me. 
Proponents of radical self-love — 

such as Audre Lorde, Rupi Kaur, 
Michelle Obama and bell hooks 
— were the role models I didn’t 
know I needed. They taught me 
the necessity of unconditionally 
accepting who I am, and that 
includes the histories, experiences 
and 
uniqueness 
inherent 
in 

my identities. And now, I can 
breathe a little bit easier knowing 
I have the agency to define my 
 

Blackness how I please, and I have 
the agency to live out my truth 
unforgivingly. 

Too often the experiences 

of people of color are placed 
into 
hollow 
molds 
that 

condense 
narratives 
into 
a 

single 
experience, 
one 
that 

is 
frequently 
stereotaypical, 

distorted 
and 
derogatory. 

These misconstrued stories not 
only cause misunderstandings 
between communities, but they 
cause internal alienation and 
dissonance 
when 
one’s 
own 

experience does not match up 
with the dominant narrative. I 
experienced this firsthand, and all 
of this could have been avoided if 
the individual narratives of people 
of color were valued in their 
entirety and individuality. 

Michigan in Color is the 

platform I have been seeking 
to affirm the individual lived 
experience of people of color. As I 
work daily to build the confidence 
in my own voice, MiC is dedicated 
to projecting voices that have been 
historically and systematically 
muted. Through my time in MiC, 
I will hope to not only form the 
words of my own story, but to 
unconditionally 
affirm 
others 

in the search for their own. I 
welcome the mutual vulnerability, 
growth and power that will arise 
from such an energetic space.

I am so bad at expressing 

myself. Oh my gosh, you guys, I 
am so bad at expressing myself.

I can pump out boring, 

essay-like pages in a quick 
second; they won’t be perfect, 
but they’ll be readable. They’ll 
make sense. But putting my 
feelings 
and 
thoughts 
into 

coherent words is just an 
entirely different journey, and 
the thought of doing that on 
a regular basis this semester 
makes my skin crawl with 
uneasy, jumpy nerves.

But I want to.
(I 
am 
already 
halfway 

regretting writing this but 
I’ll soldier on in the most self-
deprecating way possible.)

Having followed Michigan 

in Color, the corner desk of The 
Michigan Daily, for a long time, 
I have seen talented, intelligent 
writers draft up the most 
wonderful pieces. The thought-
provoking, heavy and nuanced 
discussions 
have 
genuinely 

prompted me to examine the 
way I wanted to present myself 
in the world.

My 
relationship 
to 
my 

identity has been a paradox 
of stubborn belief in who I 

am mixed in with a shit-ton 
of insecurities. The stubborn 
belief part came a little late. 
My life story goes: Born in 
the United States, spent years 
abroad living in four countries, 
came back to the U.S. for high 
school and steadily becoming 
hyper-aware of my capital O, 
quotation marks “Otherness.”

I 
think 
we 
all 
have 
a 

complicated relationship with 
who we are. I think it’s a mess 
of emotions and deep thought. I 
think a lot about how I present 
myself, the ways I suppress 
myself, the ways people see 
me, my culture, my language, 
my home life, my strained 

relationship with my kind-of 
hometown Lahore, Pakistan. I 
think, in the U.S., it’s hard to 
pin yourself down and make 
yourself a place because the 
ground beneath you is always 
shifting and rejecting parts of 
you. But I think that MiC is a 
pretty great place to be around 
others who might feel the same. 
We can be unsure together.

In the future, I want to do 

this whole journalism thing — 
for better or for worse, against 
all family wishes because they 
are pretty brown. But, I am 
not cut out for three years of 
law school, sorry Mom! And 
to do that, it is so important, 
vital, necessary, to read as 
many narratives as possible — 
to know all of the corners of 
the story, the whole picture. It 
is so important in journalism 
to represent people and their 
identities as responsibly as 
possible. It is up to the writers 
to train themselves. I want 
to help bring stories to the 
spotlight. I want to make sure 
that race isn’t just an angle for 
someone to take, but a voice 
seamlessly 
woven 
into 
the 

account. 

I am beyond excited and 

honored to be heading over to 
Michigan in Color. There is so 
much we could be talking about 
— so much. I can’t wait to be a 
part of that discussion. I can’t 
wait to help cultivate and open 
that discussion. Oh my gosh, 
you guys, I can’t wait.

“Your hair, it is so…” fill 

in the blank: “fluffy,” “big,” 
“weird,” you name it. People 
said these things to me while 
they ran their hands through 
my hair as I walked to my 
history class. They were not 
used to the natural hair of a 
Black girl who always wore 
her hair slicked down and 
straightened. Needless to say, 

I never did it again. It took 
too much time out of my day 
running to the bathroom in 
between classes to tame the 
frizz that had occurred in 
my twist-out because people 
continued to touch my hair 
without my permission. This 
was my life for 12 years at a 
predominantly white Catholic 
school in Ann Arbor.

Being 
Black 
was 
not 

necessarily something I was 
proud of growing up because 
I was different from everyone 

else, and it is not easy to 
embrace something when no 
one is else similar is around 
you. To me, being a part of 
Michigan in Color is a way 
to not only get to know more 
about myself and my Blackness 
relative to the world around 
me, but to get to know other 
people of color who may have 
experiences similar to mine. I 
love being able to connect with 
people over storytelling and 
I think that MiC gives me the 
perfect opportunity to do just 
that, even if it makes just one 
person on this campus feel like 
they have a community that 
supports them. Becoming a 
part of MiC allows for different 
perspectives to form and new 
relationships between people 
of color on campus to develop, 
and in this turbulent time 
period, that is what is needed 
most.

 There is power in 

storytelling 
and 
sharing 

our experiences with other 
people, and I think Michigan 
in Color is a perfect platform 
to ameliorate the voices of 
those that need to be heard 
the most. I have already seen 
the 
growth 
that 
so 
many 

contributors have had during 
their time at MiC, like Adam 
who was vulnerable about his 
personal growth since joining 
Michigan in Color. Knowing 
his experience gives me hope. I 
am but one person, but I know 
that my passion to learn about 
the experiences of people of 
color, as well as sharing my 
own, is what is going to make 
the biggest difference of all. 

Michigan in Color
Thursday, January 4, 2018 — 3A
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Why I joined MiC: Nisa Khan

Why I joined MiC: Zainab Bhindarwala

Why I joined MiC: Lorna Brown Why I joined MiC: Na’kia Channey

I’ve 
always 
known 
that 

Michigan in Color is a space 
to reclaim narratives and an 
opportunity to be vulnerable 
yet subversive. That is why 
I joined in the first place; 
however, I’ve come to realize 
that Michigan in Color is more 
than a publication space. To 
me, Michigan in Color is a 
community.

Over the past years, I’ve been 

so honored to work with some 
of the most incredible writers, 
activists and dearest friends. 
There was De’Mario and Toni 
who led me my first year, and 
Alyssa, Ashley and Sabrina who 
inspired me to speak louder as a 
Filipino American. Then Ashley 
and Jason took over my second 
year to lead Adam, Areeba, 
Halimat, Neel, Sivanthy, Tanya 
and I. As a senior editor and 
summer managing editor, I’ve 
had the privilege of reading 
and editing so many important 
stories from amazing people.

Michigan 
in 
Color 
has 

given me so much direction in 
my life. I’m forever grateful 
for all the late nights at the 
office, brunches and editorial 
photoshoots. 
Though 
there 

were fun times filled with 
sugary coffee and banter, the 
more serious moments were 
lessons for me to grow. Though 
speaking out isn’t always easy, 
I’ve come to acknowledge and 
use the privilege I have to 
help uplift others who are not 
immediately afforded the same 
luxury.

I cannot thank my former 

editors enough for being in 
my life during my highest 
of highs and lowest of lows. 
They are truly the friends that 

have encouraged me to pursue 
my creative endeavors. I’ve 
learned so much about myself 
as a person of color and the 
importance of storytelling to 
both myself and others.

As 
my 
third 
year 
with 

Michigan 
in 
Color 
comes 

around, I cannot help but 
be excited to expand this 
community. 
There 
are 
so 

many thoughts that must be 
expressed and so many voices 
that need to be heard. As I have 
been supported to speak louder, 
I want to continue to do the 
same for other people of color 
on campus by passing on the 
MiC.

CHRISTIAN PANEDA

Senior MiC Editor

NISA KHAN

Senior MiC Editor

ZAINAB BHINDARWALA

Senior MiC Editor

LORNA BROWN
Senior MiC Editor

NA’KIA CHANNEY

Senior MiC Editor

Why I joined MiC:
Christian Paneda

Though there 
were fun times 
filled with sug-
ary coffee and 

banter, the 
more serious 
moments were 
lessons for me 

to grow. 

