The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Michigan in Color
4 — Wednesday, March 10, 2021
The next step
The scent of my mother
I have always been waiting. When I
was too young to be in school, I envied my
older siblings for having math homework.
When I was in elementary school, I woke
up at the same time as my older siblings,
who were in middle school and high
school, because I wanted to make sure I
was ready to be on the “big kid” schedule.
When I finally got to middle school, I
bubbled with anticipation while spinning
the dial on my brand-new locker, but this
excitement quickly faded; after all, high
school was more intriguing than a locker.
By the time high school came around, I
was determined to get into a good college
and spent my time doing everything I
could to prepare for that next step. Before
I went to sleep, I imagined scenarios of
what my life would be like on a college
campus. I saw myself decked out in maize
and blue at tailgates. I pictured the rush
of being in the Big House for my first
college football game. I fantasized about
making new friends and bonding over
our everlasting love for John Mulaney.
The next night, I would be at the library
studying for a biochemistry exam. I
imagined nearly all mundane activities
becoming slightly more tolerable once I
was in college. I slept knowing that my
dreams for the next step might just be a
reality. I slept peacefully and with hope.
Now, as a freshman, I sit here typing
this in my Ann Arbor apartment after
getting kicked out of the University of
Michigan residence halls. Though I’m
quite literally in the place I spent four
years dreaming about, the satisfaction
I expected to come along with it didn’t
come the way I imagined it would.
Making new friends comes with the
anxiety of COVID-19 exposure. Sleepless
nights cramming for exams at the
library have become me sitting at home
alone, without friends — studying and
coming to the bitter realization that my
time management skills have become
subpar. It’s far less glamorous than I had
anticipated. Days blend into one another,
all consisting of an endless cycle of
homework, Zoom and staring at the four
blank concrete walls of my apartment.
On top of it all, my constant need
for being overly prepared for the next
step seems to have disappeared. When
you’re younger, the milestones are so
clearly predetermined. You get your
driver’s license when you turn 16 years
old, and you pursue higher education if
you have the means and desire to. No
one ever mentioned how the next steps
get fuzzier when you’re older — how,
to a certain extent, you have to choose
your next step. You can decide what
the future holds for you, but now with
the pandemic, the future is filled with
uncertainty more than ever.
Preparing for the next step isn’t what
it used to be. It’s no longer as simple
as waking up at 6 a.m. instead of 8 a.m.
It’s not as easy as spinning the dial on
my brand-new locker. What I can do
is learn how to be content with the
way things are, instead of drowning in
sorrow that things aren’t as picture-
perfect as I had imagined them to be. I
can bring light into the seemingly dark
four walls around me and have that be
enough. Life appears to be at a standstill
with the ongoing pandemic, yet the vast
majority of people are still clinging to
their hopes of what they want to do in the
future. With estimates of herd immunity
being achieved in 2022, it’s becoming
increasingly apparent that I shouldn’t
waste a year of my life glorifying what’s
next. As college students, we often
forget that we are still so rich in time.
The ongoing pandemic makes it so easy
for us to see how much time is slipping
away, but we are still young in the grand
scheme of it all. The pressure that I put on
myself in my youth to be over-prepared
for the next step has always been self-
inflicted. Recognizing that there is time
to prepare at a normal rate while still
learning to enjoy the nuances of everyday
life is something that is more than
achievable for me. I’ve spent so much of
my life waiting for the next step. I’m done
waiting.
MEGHAN DODABALLAPUR
MiC Columnist
mysterious as a 1975
alchemical creation concocted out of
132 perfumes from her symphony of sweet
florals dusky ambers & oceanic linens
all fused with her natural
chemicals and last night’s kimchi stew
yet her underlying melodies
simply untraceable like the base
colors of Pollock paintings
like the diffuser of life
she inhaled her pride while i
spewed secrets in english:
words she would stumble upon
as she carried dictionaries of puzzles
piling them gently despite her clogged
filters
she exhaled only the shasta daisies
into my lonely garden
i’m sorry umma but how can i forget
those sighs and salty tears
you wiped with the hands that carried
whiffs of burnt bulgogi
hoping to conceal the embarrassment
of which i was the cause
with spritzes of patience and fresh
nectarine blossom
when it’s already imprinted in my
memory and your memory foam
i now dive straight into its fluffy haven
and kiss the nostalgic whiffs, scrambling
for hints
that’d later haunt me like the unopened
letter stashed away in my suitcase
if only i could then forget how your
bruises
hardly appeared to heal
i’m sorry umma but i needed time
to heal as my spit-out sharp-edged
words slashed rare diamonds unabatedly
yet
the mother in you knew my whimpers
were sirens so you’d pretend not to
crack while bruising internally saying
nothing yet everything with your smile
lines
your light spritzes of nectarine hope
your scent is medicine without
expiration
taken on nights i grapple with my
future becoming and as your scent
permeates my mind i bottle you up in my
heart’s crevices
knowing you’ll want me to wear my life
proudly the way you could not.
Design by Erin Shi
I love learning that I’ll have the apartment
to myself for the day. Just the words “I am
heading out for a few hours” send endorphins
rushing through my head because of the
realization that I now have several hours I
can dedicate to tidying up my apartment. The
prospect of organizing my life by cleaning
overtakes my mind as I start a load of laundry
while “Neon Guts” by Lil Uzi Vert blasts
through my speakers.
Before I moved to college, I was a hoarder.
If you’d taken a peek under my bed, you would
have found my McDonald’s receipt from four
months ago, my middle school yearbook and
the Adidas Superstar shoebox I got with a
shoe purchase from three years ago. But after
discovering the inner peace I gained after
using my own will to remove useless junk
from my space, I changed my lifestyle from
that of a hoarder to that of a neat freak.
Cleaning had always been a chore to me. My
mother taught me how to do laundry and iron
my clothes when I was nine and clean dishes
when I was ten. By twelve, I was hovering over
her shoulder as she taught me how to measure
the perfect amount of salt for any dish. With
my Indo-Caribbean heritage, it was expected
of me, the girl of the house, to learn to cook
and clean from a very young age. I began to
dread cleaning because I was required to live
up to this cultural standard while my brothers
would never have to fathom the idea of using a
bucket and a mop to wipe the hardwood floors
every Sunday morning. The scent of Clorox
wipes and Scrubbing Bubbles Bathtub Cleaner
attacked my lungs, choking me slowly as I
scrubbed the dirt and grime off the bathtub
walls. Eventually, I became Cinderella before
she received her magical carriage, gown and
glass slippers; my free time was spent picking
up after my older brothers. While my brothers
were able to laugh in the hallways as they
got ready to go see their friends, the sound of
water coming from the kitchen sink was my
small companion for the weekend.
Having to clean up after yourself and be
responsible for the adults in your household
is an emotionally grueling task as a child. It
sours your perspective on cleaning because it’s
a parent-mandated duty rather than an act of
self-care. After moving to Ann Arbor for my
freshman year, keeping my side of the dorm
room clean was initially challenging. It was
frustrating to come home to my room, with
makeup and clothing scattered across my desk
and my unmade bed, serving as a constant
reminder of my terrible time management and
sleep schedule. I felt defeated every day as I
shoved my little black makeup bag under my
desk and into an organizer. My eyes felt heavy
and exhaustion washed over me, because I
was always wondering when this cycle would
come to an end.
One day, I discovered Marie Kondo’s method
of tidying, where she worked with those in
cluttered spaces to declutter their environment
and introduce them to a new perspective on
cleaning. Kondo would ask people to only keep
the items which “spark joy” in them, meaning
that if someone held an object in their hand
and did not feel excitement or happiness, then
they would remove the object from their space.
Ultimately, the purpose of the exercise was to
declutter by getting rid of various old items and
creating space for something new.
After coming across the KonMari
method of cleaning, I decided it was time
to purge my room. I ran to my dresser,
starting with the top drawer, and removed
every piece of clothing one by one until they
were heaped into a mountain on the floor.
Band t-shirts from middle school and jeans
from my first year of high school had all
followed me to college. I was holding onto
memories that I felt neither emotionally
connected to nor thought were relevant
to me as a freshman in college. I did not
understand how holding onto old pieces
of clothing could block me from reaching a
sense of peace until I took the time to hold
each garment in my hand and ask myself,
“Does this spark joy?”
Once my wardrobe no longer consisted
of old clothing, I felt as if I had been set free
from all the weight that had been holding
me down. Though I was thankful for my
past memorabilia that accompanied me
throughout summers in New York City and
time spent with friends, I was approaching a
new beginning. All of a sudden, the sun looked
brighter and the breeze came through the
dorm windows. There was an extra skip in
my step as I lined up my three garbage bags
of clothes against the wall to take out. I stood
in the middle of my room, looking at the small
pile of clothes I had left, and smiled. Finally,
cleaning made me feel good.
Decluttering is now a weekly routine of
mine. A surface can be properly cleaned
without having to move something. A
workplace is like a temple, so having a
clean environment is essential. In a time
when everything is virtual, keeping items
that “spark joy” can keep you motivated,
happy and focused. Nurturing your
environment with sunlight and plants
is a way to improve your mood and your
point of view towards work. You deserve
to study, work and play in a stress-free
environment this semester, so give
yourself a chance to fall in love with
cleaning.
Why you should keep items that spark joy
ANCHAL MALH
MiC Columnist
I am a Gemini sun, Libra moon and Cancer
rising. To people well-versed in astrology,
these placements indicate that I am an idealist,
easily approachable and generally easy to get
along with, but I tend to get bored almost
as soon as I start a conversation and cannot
make a decision to save my life. However, most
people, when I begin discussing the practice
of astrology, think that I am a complete fool.
Many people, mostly other men, dismiss
astrology as some ridiculous practice that
only unreasonable people, mostly women,
believe in. This idea, of course, is narrow-
minded, condescending and misogynistic. I
invite disbelievers to see astrology through
the perspective of people who actually do
take it seriously and perhaps listen to my
account before completely disregarding the
topic. Astrology is often the butt of many
jokes, but it has helped me discover newfound
confidence, form connections with other like-
minded individuals and further challenge my
understanding of human behavior.
In the summer of 2019, I attended a summer
writing program in Ohio, about 4,000 miles
away from my home in Kapolei, Hawaii. When
I was young, I had always kept to myself in the
back corner of the classroom. In this program,
I was suddenly dropped into completely new
and unfamiliar territory, surrounded by 200
brilliant writers from all over the country.
When I arrived, I was terrified beyond any fear
I had ever felt before. I thought my writing and
ideas were neither poetic nor important enough
to share, and I found myself subconsciously
muting my child-like fascination with fireflies
and willow trees (neither of which existed on
my island home) in order to fit in with my peers.
Even when the residence hall common rooms
echoed with laughter and excitement, my body
tried to merge into the concrete walls — until
an outgoing stranger named Minnie asked
me if I knew anything about astrology. I had
never believed in astrology before, but I was so
desperate to make friends that I was willing to
learn more about it just to appeal to this kind
stranger.
She first used an online natal chart
calculator to show me my own placements
and help me understand how astrology
may play a role in my own personality. For
instance, my moon in Libra suggests that
I strive to maintain peace in my personal
relationships, which may lead to surrender
during arguments. My shy nature has always
made me despise confrontation (even now
that I have become more confident), so
this description was dead-on. It felt nice to
know that Minnie was able to gather this
information about me without me having to
actually be vulnerable with somebody I had
met one day prior. After doing a little more
research on the anatomy of the natal chart,
I found a wealth of information about all the
even more intricate parts of astrology like
houses, decans and Chiron: all important
sections and celestial bodies of a natal chart
that can be easily overlooked.
However, simply learning more about the
inner workings of astrology didn’t convince
me that any of this information was worth
learning about –– or truthful, for that matter.
One of the biggest reasons for my skepticism
about astrology was that it is not supported
by scientific evidence. Even now, I recognize
that astrology is not backed by scientific
discovery; what does planetary orbit have
anything to do with my character? I could
easily find correlations between my behavior
and the planets’ positions in my birth chart,
such as my scattered thoughts and curiosity
about others’ lives reflected in my mercury
placement in Gemini. However, I still
found no evidence to prove that these were
more than mere coincidences, even if these
connections seem eerily accurate. Though
my TikTok application’s For You Page is full
of explanations of planetary returns and
energetic frequency, I still find concepts
such as Mercury retrogrades and planetary
placements illogical. So, why do I still believe
in astrology? Well, that’s simply because I am
not a logical person.
Irrationality is a fundamental part of
the human experience. Astrology may
be irrational, but so were my impostor
syndrome and intense fears of social rejection.
Nevertheless, these manifested in very real
ways, and I still clung to my anxiety toward
approaching new people. If I could believe
one irrational theory, what was stopping me
from believing in astrology as well? As I tried
to wrap my head around the petroglyphic
symbols scattered around my birth chart,
I realized that believing the stars influence
our personalities is no more unreasonable
than believing that I was an unintelligent and
unlikable person. Logically, upon having this
realization, I could now recognize that my
fears from before were irrational, but I was
still afraid of judgment. In order to combat an
irrational fear, I decided to approach it with
another irrational belief system. I decided to
learn more about how the astrological traits
of the signs in my birth chart could help me
grow.
When I read more about the traits of
Gemini suns, I discovered that they were
typically popular, outgoing and loved sharing
their knowledge with others. Suddenly, I felt
like I had the potential deep within me to
overcome my intense fear of social rejection.
I simply had to embrace my innate Gemini
characteristics and grow into the person
I was destined to be. At the same time, I
learned that it was common for Geminis to
frequently shift their personalities to appeal
more easily to a wide variety of people. I
wasn’t aware that I was shunning parts of
myself to fit in at the time, but reading about
it made me realize that this was a fault I
wanted to correct. Without reading about
the common tendencies of Geminis, I may
never have realized that I was hiding parts
of myself away. My birth chart never told
me something about myself that I didn’t
already know; it just made me confront the
perception of myself that I never desired to
acknowledge. I used astrology to analyze
myself. When I confronted the shy, anxious
parts that I wanted to change, I formed a
clear vision of the person I wanted to be. After
years of conscious growth and introspection,
I am much more outgoing and expressive
than before. I am much happier with the man
I am today than the shy young boy I was that
summer.
Over the course of the two-week program,
I continued to ask Minnie about astrology and
her journey as a writer and her dreams for
the future. Together, we spent many hours
editing each other’s poetry, running around
the campus and talking until the late hours of
the night. Two years later, she remains one of
my best friends. Had I scoffed in her face and
told her that astrology is irrational and fake, I
surely would have never been able to form the
connection that I did.
I understand why people often don’t take
astrology seriously, but without astrology, I
would have never formed connections with
others who shared my interest in astrology,
and I would not have become cognizant of the
unique parts of myself that I repressed in order
to assimilate. I’m not saying that everyone
has to adopt the practice of astrology; people
should do whatever works for them. I think
we should all take the time to examine the
things that we have initially dismissed as
unimportant. Perhaps remaining open-
minded and focused on our own growth is
more important than forming a rigid and
perfectly rational worldview.
Reaching for the stars
ANDREW NAKAMURA
MiC Columnist
Design by Janice Lin
Design by Emily Gordon
By Rachael Kong, MiC Columnist