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.