Hello!
In
a
staggering
demonstration of self-flagellation, I
wanted to go over my college essay
I used to apply to the University of
Michigan. Maybe this could be a
nice send off for myself.
Before we start — who was
17-year-old Nisa Khan? She was an
insecure thing — not much different
from
the
soon-to-be
college
graduate (Inshallah!!) she is now —
but she was a little sad.
I will not dive so deeply as to
why — I am not quite certain that
I remember — but I know that I
felt very disconnected with the
community around me. I could not
relate with Americans. I could not
relate with desis. I did not feel like
the University was my home. It was
just another pit stop in the series of
places my family moved to.
Let’s get started. Fair warning,
she wasn’t a fantastic writer.
Bold are the comments from
present day me.
I
was
born
in
Hershey,
Pennsylvania. I moved from the US
to Saudi Arabia, then to Pakistan,
then to Qatar, then to Maryland,
and finally to Michigan. When I
relay this in conversations, I get
a variety of replies: “Why do you
move so much?” to “That must have
been hard.” I relate to the latter one
the most. Already she’s getting
dramatic!! I love it.
The small town of Hershey was
the center of my world for eight
years.
(From what I remember, it
felt like such a bright first few
years. It’s a bizarre place, very,
very small-town-like that also
has huge tourist attractions.
We lived near the amusement
park
and
I
still
remember
our vacations in the summer,
Halloween, Christmas — the four
of us walking through the park’s
carnival-like existence, with the
neon lights and pure joy from
everyone around us.)
A wild Pennsylvanian youth shows
her mother the reaps of her hunt.
My family ate Chinese on
Christmas because it was the
only place open. I had a name that
made substitute teachers cringe
as they came across it. (If I can be
completely honest, there is a good
chance that I am pronouncing
my old name incorrectly due to
my accent. Fun facts: The oldest
root that I personally know of
was that it was the last wife of the
Mughal emperor Jahangir— she
went by Nur Jahan but her real
name was Mehr-un-Nissa. She
even died in Lahore, which is my
family’s home town.
However, I don’t think my
parents knew this. My dad claims
it’s from an old female family
member— Khair-un-Nisa. My
mom claims it was from my dad’s
ex-girlfriend.)
(Nisa (rhymes with Lisa), for
the record, was a name born out
of my sister’s mispronunciation
of my name. The true “Nisa”
sound in Mehrunisa is more like
“Nyssa.”)
I always hailed these as making
me a unique individual. Bad
grammar. Yet, while I was proud
that I could dress up as a pretty
mean Hermione Granger due to
my unruly hair (I still make a
great Hermione, but oh Nisa, you
would not imagine how much
JKR would let you down.), I was
also rather ignorant of my culture,
or my parent’s culture. My mother,
father, and both sides of the family
— everyone, really — would beg me
to speak Urdu. But I was insistent
that it was ultimately useless. The
pride! The assimilation! Drag
her! Ignoring my serious threats
of chaining myself to the house,
my parents moved us to Lahore,
Pakistan, after the death of my
grandmother. My swashbuckling
confidence would soon come to a
sudden halt.
My most piercing memory in
Lahore occurred when I was in my
fifth grade classroom. My hands
were clenched to the stair railing
as I listened to the bombs going off
in the distance. My legs were weak
and my heart was lodged in my
throat. We hid in the classroom’s
closet
where
I
lamented
my
parents’ decision to move me here.
I did not fit in this strange country
with its spicy food and people who
laughed at my lack of knowledge
concerning my culture; the latter
filled me with shame. I could never
imagine myself getting used to this
way of life where explosions were
commonplace. I missed Hershey,
where the chocolate smell wafted in
the peaceful air.
But then, with my time spent in
my new home, with my classmates,
and with my extended family, I
came to appreciate the Pakistani
lifestyle: its clothes, food, and
language. I could finally carry on
a conversation in Urdu, although
with an extended “A” sound that I
struggled with due to my American
accent. Still have it. I no longer
felt the need to hide from my
background because I was where
the background was accepted. I
wanted to join in with my cousins
and the kids at school. I wanted to
assume a greater identity. After
only a year, I was far more adjusted
than my father. He would be scared
to send us to our school after bomb
threats but eleven-year-old Nisa
would assure him we couldn’t live
in fear.
Three
year
later,
I
visited
Hershey. This magical little town
— the sweetest place on Earth —
seemed like it was just any other
suburban town. The city seemed to
have lost its whimsy.
In reality, the town did not
change; I just grew up. I knew a
life outside Hershey and childhood
nostalgia no longer had as firm of a
grasp. If we had stayed in Hershey,
I would have never truly embraced
my Pakistani culture. Some people
do not have to leave home for that
experience, but I did.
This is actually a lot more
honest than I remember it being.
But it is, of course, not always so
simple.
Perhaps a part of me still has
that bit of resentment for Lahore
from my experience — a part of
me that still remembers those
few, horrible days. A part of me
still scared for my sister, my
extended-family, even though I
am so, so lucky to live in a city and
country that is mostly stable and
that my loved-ones are safe. And
sometimes I feel ashamed about
it. Because I do love Lahore.
I think coming back to the
United States has made me more
attached to my Pakistani identity.
Coming back to this country did
not feel like a homecoming — it
felt even more alienating than
the international schools I went
to growing up. I became a quieter
person — a stark contrast to that
bright, bubbly girl from Hershey.
My first day back in an
American school, a girl asked
me if I knew how to put together
to bomb. If I knew Osama Bin
Laden. I smiled tightly and said,
“Please don’t joke about that.”
And
her
smile
disappeared,
shaken at my sudden change in
demeanor. (And she was 14 — and
14 year olds can say dumb things.
I don’t hold it against her. I barely
remember her name.)
I think it makes sense — when
you are in the States and you
feel alone, you want something
to call your own. To grab on
and say, “Hey, this is me. I look
like them, my name sounds like
theirs.” I think this, and my own
expansion of what social justice
was, gave me this boost to be like:
Yeah, I am Pakistani-American.
It taught me the value of
communicating and connecting,
to be more open to our world. Yes,
moving around was hard, but my
eyes were opened to the world with
all its challenges and possibilities.
And going to the University of
Michigan helped.
It’s been the longest I have
stayed in one place. My parents
feel at ease in this state. And,
because of The Daily, I find myself
weirdly passionate about the
culture and politics of this state.
Because of the friends I made
here, I feel suddenly attached to
the Midwestern identity (at the
chagrin of my East Coast raised
sister who I love dearly and
demand to be present more in
this essay).
Being in Michigan, finding
more people of color and Brown
and Asian and Muslim friends,
finding people who care about
politics
and
journalism
and
social justice and talking about
bad horror movies and comic
books and artsy nonsense, gave
me my home. And Michigan in
Color made me think about my
place in the world, my identity in
relation to it, and what I can do to
be a better and more thoughtful
person.
I will always aim to grow — I
will always want to grow. I will
slip up, say something wrong,
do something wrong. I know the
people around me will make sure
to help me correct my mistakes,
to be a humble and gracious
person.
I do not know where I will be
in the next few years but, despite
any of the rough times I had
in college, I will miss being in
Michigan. I will miss The Daily
and this wonderful space. I will
miss this part of my life but I hope
that leaving college will not stop
me from growing and expanding
my world.
On December 6, 2015 —
the night of my 18th birthday
— I received an email that
began, “Congratulations! We
are very happy to inform you
that you will be one of the five
Senior Editors of the Opinion
section for the Winter 2016
term!” The paragraph went
on to name the four other
editors I’d be working with,
and ended with an invitation
to brunch the next morning.
In hindsight, that email was
one of the best birthday gifts
I’ve ever received — although
I didn’t know it at the time.
I
was
nervous,
shocked,
but, most of all, excited.
Nonetheless, I never could
have imagined what the next
few years would bring.
From
my
one
semester
as an opinion senior editor,
to my two years as a MiC
managing editor, no evening
in the newsroom was identical
to another. As a result, it’s
tough to distill my time at
420 Maynard into a short
reflection — but I’m always up
for a challenge.
First, to Ashley: I truly
can’t believe you didn’t rip
my head off over the past few
years (although I suppose
there’s still time). While I
had a blast during my time in
the newsroom, I’d be lying if
I said we didn’t also have our
fair share of stressful nights.
However, even in the depths
of our most chaotic moments,
you were still able to prioritize
the needs of the section and
the paper — even if that came
at the price of a late night
or missed assignment. Your
dedication, drive, and passion
are truly admirable, and we
couldn’t have accomplished
a fraction of what we did
without it. Thank you for
being my co-ME, and, above
all, thank you for being one of
my best friends.
Second, I’m so thankful
to have been a part of an
organization with as much
tradition and history as The
Michigan Daily. While being
surrounded by century-old
copies of The Daily offered
a sobering reminder of how
short my time on campus
is, the knowledge that I
was contributing to such a
renowned space never failed to
excite me. More importantly,
however, I’m so honored to
have had the opportunity to
help shape these traditions
as the paper evolved over the
past four years.
And third, in light of our
turbulent social and political
climate,
I’m
even
more
thankful for the broader Daily
community.
Without
this
space, I honestly don’t know
how I would’ve expressed my
frustrations with inequities
both on campus and beyond.
Furthermore, I feel lucky
to have been able to give
others a similar opportunity.
From working with student
organizers to publish their
lists of demands, to exposing
incidents of hate and vitriol
around
campus,
I
feel
immense privilege that I was
able to be, in some small way,
a bullhorn for the voiceless.
And in a world seemingly gone
mad, The Daily remained my
sanctuary.
To all of the friends I’ve
made over the past four years
—
Sophie,
Adam,
Tanya,
Christian,
Alexa,
Emma,
and countless other — thank
you. Thank you for crying
with me during my lows and
celebrating with me during
my highs.
To Na’kia and Carly, I have
no doubt you’ll do wonderful
things next year. You’re two
of the smartest and hardest-
working people I know, and
I am so eager to see how you
will carry the space forward
into the future.
And finally, back to Ashley,
thanks for the wild ride — I
think we made a good team.
I can’t wait to see how the
paper evolves over the next
year and beyond. Here’s to 128
more years!
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
Monday, December 10, 2018— 3A
Goodbye Seniors: What We’ve Learned
In a way, The Daily is the
one constant throughout my
college life. From my start as an
Opinion writer to the strange
events that led me to becoming
an ME, The Daily gave me the
space to learn what it means to
be a writer, an activist, and a
leader.
I continue to be thankful
for, and look back fondly, on
the
opportunities
I’ve
had
here. Some of it is the nature
of the job: I just got to do some
incredible things as a member
of Michigan in Color. Others are
from being around wonderful
people. Nights spent talking
until 5 am, Jeopardy kickbacks,
and wreaking havoc with Jason
and Sophie — it’s difficult to
describe the beautifully weird
moments that happen when
you put sports stars, theatre
kids, social justice warriors,
meme
creators,
responsible
journalists, and more in the
same room 5 nights a week.
I like to think The Daily and
MiC have changed and evolved
over the last few years. MiC
grew from upstart column to
full-fledged section (with a
desk!). The Daily became more
willing to accommodate the
needs of this campus’ most
marginalized — in our coverage
and our workspace. I feel
privileged to have witnessed
and been a small part of that
change, and hopeful that the
necessary changes will extend
far beyond my time.
As
I
write
this
senior
goodbye, I struggle reconciling
what it means to be a part of
both Michigan in Color and The
Michigan Daily. In my mind,
the two are distinct entities
—
though
perhaps
closer
together
than
they
first
appear. In a perfect world, MiC
wouldn’t need to exist, yet here
we are.
Working for The Daily is
a privilege. The ability to
have your work spread across
campus or meet alumni who
work for this country’s most
esteemed publications is not
an opportunity afforded to
everyone. From my time here,
I look back on warm memories;
looking forward, I see opened
doors. It is my hope that one day
every student who strives to
find those same opportunities
in our newspaper can — and
will.
Though my time at Michigan
in Color was short, it was
memorable. My experience at
The Michigan Daily seemed
to be a culmination of all the
lessons I learned in college.
This space taught me how
to navigate complicated and
controversial issues without
losing sight of my values. I
learned how crucial it is for
platforms like this to exist in
a world that isn’t inclined to
give people of color the space
to voice our opinions. This is
a community that truly strives
to live our values. Michigan in
Color has been a space where
I’ve felt affirmed, appreciated
and accepted. I want to thank
the entire Michigan in Color
family for being a part of
this community that meant
so much to me this year. I’m
happy I decided to be a part of
this incredible group of people
this past year, and I’m sad to
say goodbye.
I joined Michigan in Color
as an eager sophomore that
just rediscovered her love of
writing. I did not know exactly
what I was signing up for but
never imagined I would gain
the support system and home
I have in MiC.
Being a Senior Editor was
one of the most challenging
yet
rewording
things
I
have ever done. I came in
knowing the stories of my
peers varied vastly, but I
left
with
an
appreciation
and
understanding
of
the
magnitude of the weight they
carry on their shoulders.
MiC has opened so many
doors for me, metaphorically
and literally. Growing up I did
not have the privilege to even
think of a career in writing. I
did not realize and could not
even to begin to imagine myself
as a professional writer, let
alone editor. MiC has given me
the space to publish my work
and release some of the weight
of my deepest thoughts. MiC
has lifted my writing to new
heights and helped me receive
the attention of foundations
that want to pay to hear my
voice. But above all, MiC has
give me the opportunity to
uplift other voices.
Even though my MiC family
started with just 8 people, it is
the most meaningful network
I have. I watched my fellow
editors land jobs of their
dreams in D.C., New York
and California, and knew no
matter where we all ended
up I will always have them.
Now as I get ready to head to
medical school, a feat they
supported me every step of the
way through, I am incredibly
humbled to have been a part of
Michigan in Color.
NISA KHAN
Senior MiC Editor
HALIMAT OLANIYAN
Senior MiC Editor
ZAINAB BHINDARWALA
Senior MiC Editor
“In a world...
gone mad, The
Daily remained
my sanctuary.”
JASON ROWLAND
Managing MiC Editor
ASHLEY TJHUNG
Managing MiC Editor
Interested in writing for MiC? Email
michiganincolor@umich.edu for
more information.