Wednesday, January 16, 2019 // The Statement
7B
Wednesday, February 13, 2019 // The Statement
7B
F
or
the
last
three
years,
I’ve measured my self-worth by an
admission officer’s decision. I spent
countless hours drafting Common
Application essays about my commu-
nity and “Why Michigan?” to prove
I was worthy of going to the Univer-
sity of Michigan. The first two times
I was rejected, it felt personal. I had
bared everything in my essays, hop-
ing they’d look past my sub-30 ACT
score and two Cs from high school
and see that as a person, I was a good
fit for the University. When I finally
got in, I changed my Instagram bio,
bought a Michigan pennant flag, and
stole my sister’s old block ‘M’ pin to
put on my backpack. Now that I’m
here, though, I’m torn between being
proud of my acceptance and being
ashamed of how long it took me. I
don’t even know which I’d rather
be. My identity crisis has stemmed
not from the need to differentiate
myself, but rather a desire to be like
every other student crossing the
Diag.
In
some
ways,
being
a
transfer
student is a lot like being a
freshman all over again — I, too,
have struggled with a new campus
and navigating Mason Hall’s weird
floor number system. And just like
the other eager freshmen, I found all
my classrooms before the semester
started so I wouldn’t get lost. But as
a transfer student, I’m not naive — I
know how to send an email to a pro-
fessor and manage my time. I’m used
to the demands of higher education
and the freedom of eating cookies for
dinner. Plus, I know how to properly
dress for a November football game
at the Big House.
As a transfer student, instead of
worrying about making friends, I
wonder if non-transfer students can
tell it’s only my first year here. I am
not scared of raising my hand in
class, but rather I am nervous about
my classmates finding out I wasn’t
good enough to get in the first or
even second time. When the inevi-
table “What year are you?” is asked,
I stumble over my words. I issue
a caveat every time, explaining
that I’m a junior but I trans-
ferred. It’s a simple question
and should have a simple
answer, but I think I’d
rather people know my
flaw than think I’m try-
ing to conceal it.
I have a friend who
once said to me, “Liter-
ally no one cares that
you’re a transfer stu-
dent.” It was meant to
be comforting — a keen
observation that I care
too much about how peo-
ple view me. Now though,
when I think about the com-
ment, it comes across in a dif-
ferent way.
I don’t want to belittle the
work I did to get into the Univer-
sity — I had to change everything
in order to be accepted. I started
caring about my grades and meeting
with professors to actually learn the
material instead of memorizing it.
The feeling of getting a hard-earned
A was addicting, and I became an
entirely different student than I
was in high school. I could’ve gone
to a mid-tier, four-year college, but
I decided that the University was
worth it. In some ways it was, but
at times it feels like I’m the only one
who sacrificed something to be here.
And that I’m the only one who can’t
seem to move past the typical “col-
lege experience” I chose to give up.
On the other hand, I’ve never
been surrounded by so many people
committed to their schoolwork. The
general atmosphere on campus and
in the classroom reflects the reputa-
tion the University’s students have
earned, and now I’m part of it. I bond
with my classmates over grades and
studying. We compare classes we’ve
taken and who has had less sleep.
The pressure and expectation of
good grades and a successful career
pushes me to work harder in order
to keep up with my peers and that
excites me.
I remember my dad once took me
on an unofficial tour of the Universi-
ty when I was still in high school. We
walked through Hatcher Graduate
Library and it struck me how many
generations of students have stud-
ied there. Silently, I wished I were
like them: self-motivated and hard-
working. Now, when I walk into the
Reference Room, I view them as my
peers. When I study, I don’t feel like
an outsider. I remember how desper-
ately I wanted to go here and how I
once prayed for the chance to pull an
all-nighter at the library. In this way,
I belong at the University.
People often ask me how the Uni-
versity of Michigan compares to my
previous school. It’s hard to answer
exactly, especially with how much
this university means to me. But stu-
dents here care more — about every-
thing.
We’re connected through our
mutual love for the University, but
also through our passion for aca-
demics. Before this fall, I had never
seen people in the library on a Satur-
day morning. I’d never heard casual,
intelligent conversations about the
doctrine of socialism. I’ve had more
book recommendations this semester
than ever before. I feel as though I’m
constantly absorbing my surround-
ings, soaking up an environment that
will disappear after I graduate. We’re
students who naturally thrive when
we’re learning, and I truly fit in here.
It’s comforting — the feeling of relat-
ing to a larger community. School is
our commonality, and I’ve never felt
more connected to the strangers that
surround me.
In August, at my transfer orienta-
tion, they gave out these little pins
that say “I <3 Transfers.” They told
us to put them on our backpacks so
we could easily spot other trans-
fer students. Is it as easy to spot my
struggle as it is a bright maize pin?
I’ve seen a couple of them around
campus and each time I’m reminded
that I can’t be the only person strug-
gling with this duality. Right now,
it’s sitting on my dresser in my room,
a subtle reminder that I’m a minor-
ity among U-M students. And I can’t
decide whether it’s a badge of honor
or a badge of shame.
BY FRANCES SMITH,
STATEMENT CONTRIBUTOR
Pinned
ILLUSTRATION BY MAGGIE HUANG