4 — Wednesday, November 17, 2021
Michigan in Color
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
The home screen of my Nintendo Switch
lights up with the words “Animal Crossing:
New Horizons” spread out across the screen.
In the background, I can see my villagers
Cherry, Punchy and Leopold running across
the main plaza as the theme song for the game
plays. All of my other villagers are somewhere
fishing, running or in their homes creating a
DIY recipe that I will soon have for myself.
When we were sent home from college in
March 2020, I felt as if I had no control over
what was happening in school or my personal
life. As someone who believes I have the power
to determine the outcome of situations, I strug-
gled because my schedule was thrown into the
wind. Everything was changing, including how
my classes were taught and where I was living.
I no longer lived in a residence hall with my
friends, woke up at an hour that could be consid-
ered “morning” and had all three meals of the
day in a dining hall. Instead, my new schedule
consisted of me waking up at noon and having
my first meal for the day at 2 p.m. All of a sudden,
I had all the free time in the world. At first, this
was exciting because it felt like a never-ending
spring break. I woke up every day, watched
“The Great British Baking Show” and tried
to replicate the recipes I’d see. However, after
about three weeks of failed pastry attempts, I
was over it. I would finish my online classes, try
to make chocolate chip banana bread, fail and
go back to my room to continue watching “The
Great British Baking Show.” Every day began to
feel mundane, and I knew I needed a change in
routine to spice things up.
I contemplated playing video games at the
end of March 2020, but was quick to dismiss the
idea because it was something I was discour-
aged from doing in my childhood. Since I was
the youngest sibling and the only girl, my par-
ents would restrict how much time I spent play-
ing video games. I’m sure they believed gaming
was something only boys could do because of
how gory and violent the games my brothers
played were. Also, during my childhood, I never
took interest in video games because I was only
exposed to first-player shooting games and was
under the impression that violence was a major
component of any video game.
I never owned a Nintendo Switch and didn’t
even know it was a console until the pandemic
hit. After moving in with my boyfriend and
seeing his Nintendo Switch setup, I became
interested and wanted to explore new games.
My only exposure to Animal Crossing in pass-
ing was through “Pocket Camp,” a variation
of the original “Animal Crossing” that can be
downloaded on your phone. He suggested I
play “Animal Crossing: New Horizons,” and
after watching the trailer I was captivated by
the idea of whisking myself to my very own
island getaway.
When I played Animal Crossing for the
first time, I felt I had finally found peace. The
game’s journey started off with being greeted
by Tom Nook, the infamous raccoon who
would soon take all of my bells (the game’s cur-
rency). Once there, as the only human charac-
ter on the island, I met other animal villagers
who accompanied me on my journey. From
there, I was able to build my deserted island
into a paradise, where my new shops and busi-
nesses were able to grow.
“Animal Crossing” is a very relaxing yet
complex video game because it is based in real-
time. Therefore, the time of day will influence
the fish you get, the shrubs that bud, when
your trees have fruit and whether you can
go shopping. You have to play long enough to
unlock certain aspects of the game that allow
you to change the layout of your island.
Playing “Animal Crossing: New Horizons”
helped me find my foot in the gaming world. I
discovered a game that served as a way to help
ease my anxiety about what the world looked
like and provide me with a sense of control.
Now, I still play “Animal Crossing: New Hori-
zons” and have expanded to play “Pikmin 3
Deluxe” and “Stardew Valley.” However, I
always go back to Animal Crossing because
of the vibrant trees, the cute animals and the
endless peace I find when stargazing on my
island.
In elementary school, I learned about the
five senses: sight, touch, hearing, smell and
taste. I would be lying if I said I actively sit
around and think about how these senses
make up my personal reality. In fact, I have
taken these senses for granted for a long time.
I wake up every day to my blaring alarm know-
ing that I will open my eyes to see my messy
room. I make a note to myself to clean it and it
inevitably gets lost underneath papers on my
desk. I grab my phone and feel the slippery
glass screen that’s covered in my fingerprints
because I never remember to clean it. My sec-
ond alarm painfully blares the ringtone that
I’ve grown to hate while I quickly enter my
passcode. I reluctantly get out of bed and pop
a hazelnut K-Cup in the Keurig, and the brew-
ing coffee aroma fills the kitchen. After adding
creamer, I take a sip and purse my lips together.
I always end up making it too sweet.
I go about my day knowing that my reality is
presented to me through these senses, even if I
don’t actively think about it. But lately, my five
senses have been acting differently. They now
serve as a reminder of past moments in my life
— moments that I long for.
S
ight
I aimlessly scroll through TikTok when
I catch a glimpse of the time. It’s 8:00 at night
and I’ve done nearly none of my homework
that’s due in the next two days. I’ll wake up early
and start tomorrow, I think to myself. I slip my
feet into my pink house shoes that are tucked
under my bed and walk toward the closet to
pick out my outfit for tomorrow. My eyes scan
through jackets, sweaters and my long sleeves
until I see it — the one striped short-sleeved
button-up shirt that I “borrowed” from my dad.
I know I should see this shirt and think of
my dad, but I don’t. My mind races back to 2018,
when Thatha, my grandfather, was given a
plain, light blue button-down shirt from a family
member. He looked at it and let out a quiet sigh.
While the other family members were talking,
he turned to me and told me with a small smile
that he has a closet full of shirts that look exactly
like the one he was just given. I laughed and he
said that he can show me the short-sleeved but-
ton-up shirt that he wore to my parents’ wed-
ding nearly 25 years ago. According to him, it
looked just like the one he just got. Before I could
ask him to show me, my auntie asked Thatha a
question, and the short-sleeved shirt conversa-
tion shifted into a discussion about what the plan
would be for tomorrow. The moment slipped
away from us.
Now I stare at my one borrowed striped
button-up, short-sleeved shirt and think of him.
Did he have one just like the one that I have too?
I grab it from my closet, deciding I’ll wear it
tomorrow.
T
ouch
My friends and I pile into the back of a
Toyota Camry and set out towards the Salva-
tion Army just down the street. The car ride is
short and filled with potholes, laughs and quiet
music playing under our loud voices. Once
there, we walk in eagerly. None of us are look-
ing for any clothing item in particular, but this
is our favorite pastime in our suburban home-
town.
As soon as we walk in, the sound of plastic
hangers clanging against each other fills the
room. My friends and I split apart and contrib-
ute to this noise as we look through clothes. I
head towards the women’s section and feel the
clothes, pushing aside the ones that I’m not
interested in. I swipe through fuzzy cordu-
roy pants, a smooth satin dress, pilling cotton
shorts and a rough sequined skirt. My hands
freeze for a second and then scramble back to
find the skirt that I so brainlessly just pushed
away. Once I find it, I delicately run my fin-
gers over the fabric. The seams on the edge of
the skirt are splitting, indicating its age. The
threads poking out from the stitches are so soft,
they slip out of my fingers. The pink sequins
are rough and scratchy to the touch. The skirt’s
thick cotton is exposed in the areas where the
sequins have fallen off.
It doesn’t make sense, but I expect to pull
out a lehenga. There’s no reason why a jeweled
lehenga would be sold in a thrift store in my
predominantly white hometown, but my fin-
gers assume while my brain catches up. I brief-
ly think about how my auntie used to laugh at
me for being too picky when we were shopping
for lehengas for my brother’s Munji, a religious
thread ceremony. I wonder the next time I will
have an occasion to wear a lehenga. I would
have been at my cousin’s wedding if it wasn’t for
school and COVID-19, I think to myself. I push
the thought out of my head, trying to convince
myself that a scratchy sequined shirt shouldn’t
make me miss itchy lehengas and the way my
auntie used to poke fun at me for my particu-
lar taste. I spend the rest of my time roaming
around the thrift store waiting for my friends
to finish, unable to forget the skirt and my fam-
ily that I haven’t seen in years.
H
earing
I step out of my car into the parking
lot of Meijer on Ann Arbor-Saline Road. My
fingers go numb in the frigid weather as I pull
my phone out of my jacket pocket. 11:30 p.m., it
reads. I only have a few things to pick up, but
I quickly walk inside knowing that they might
close a little before midnight.
I head toward the bundles of browning
spinach. All of the good ones have been picked
through earlier in the day. This is the price to
pay for grocery shopping at night on a weekday.
As I dig through the bunches of spinach, I hear
a man laughing behind me. His laugh is so loud,
it echoes in the nearly empty grocery store. The
pitch is low and full, but it feels slightly forced
— as if someone had told him he had to laugh
on-command. I drop the spinach and whip my
head around to the direction of the sound. A
middle-aged white man in jeans and a jacket
is headed towards the check-out. He is telling
another man about his day, and they both smile
through their masks. I slowly turn my head
back around and grab the spinach I’d dropped.
I try not to be disappointed with the person
who laughed. I just expected the man behind
the laugh to be my dad. There is no reason
that my dad would be in my college city’s gro-
cery store at night, I tell myself. Still though,
I thought I would turn around to see my dad
dressed in his work clothes on a work call. I
thought the laugh that I’d heard was his “work
laugh,” the type of forceful laugh that used to
fill my childhood home early in the morning
during the summers. His real laugh is silent, but
his work laugh booms. I wonder if he’s on a call
at home, if he’s been working too much.
S
mell
The elevator opens to the fourth floor
of Bursley Residence Hall. My shoes click as I
walk down the empty hallway. I reach into the
bottom of my backpack in search of my housing
card. Once I find it, I swipe my card and swing
the door open. As soon as it opens, the scent of
jaji (jasmine) floods into the hallway. I stand
in the hallway stunned. The smell is subtle,
yet familiar. It’s sweet and floral, but not over-
whelming. Once I finally walk into the dorm,
I expect to see flowers; but instead, my room-
mate tells me she’s bought a new candle — it
smells exactly like jaji.
The scent takes me back to Gandhi Bazaar.
Amma holds my hand as we walk the packed
streets of Bangalore, her hometown. She
walks with purpose towards a stand in the
corner of an intersection. I follow her, trying
not to get lost in the sea of people. She slows
down and looks at me, smiling in anticipation
of my excitement. We are in front of a stand
that is filled with flower petals weaved on
thread. The flowers hang from the tops of the
stand and lay on the table. Women sit on the
ground carefully weaving the flower petals
onto the thread. The aroma of jaji is so strong
that it momentarily dulls the smell of pollution
from the cars. Amma lets me pick out jaji for
both her and myself. She carefully tucks it in
my hair, which still smells of jaji days after I
take it out.
But for now, I set my backpack down near
my desk that is scattered with notebooks and
pens. I sleep and dream of the next time I will
be able to go to India and put jaji in my hair.
T
aste
After finishing our meal at an Indian
restaurant in my hometown of Rochester
Hills, my parents and I place an order for
Madras coffee. I am chugging my water in an
attempt to get rid of the lingering spicy flavor
in my mouth when the three cups of coffee
come to our table. In the States, Indian food
and coffee usually taste different compared to
what we consume in India. I can never put my
finger on what it is, but something just feels
off. Still though, I hold the small metal tum-
bler that is hot to the touch and take a sip. My
tongue burns in the process.
The hot coffee goes down smoothly and
leaves a slightly bitter taste in my mouth. The
frothed milk on the top of the coffee tastes
creamy but isn’t overwhelming. It’s sweet but
not sugary. Upon my first sip, I don’t just taste
the coffee — I get a taste of familiarity as well.
For the first time, coffee in the States tastes
exactly like the coffee my relatives would make
for me when I visit India. I take another sip and
think back to the times where my siblings and I
would joke that our family is the only family that
would offer you coffee before you even brush
your teeth. Thatha and Ajji would make us cof-
fee first thing in the morning when we were jet-
lagged. We would sit in silence as we waited for
the coffee to kick in. When Amma woke up, she
would ask her parents why they would give her
12-year-old daughter coffee, but I would take a
few sips anyway, refusing to let our coffee morn-
ings be taken away.
***
These moments of nostalgia from the five
senses crept up on me when I least expected
and reminded me of the memories that I hold
closest to me. I took the senses for granted
because I got in the routine of expecting
things to be what they appear to be and
nothing more — coffee as just a warm drink
or a sequined skirt as a niche thrift find. It
was in these unsuspecting moments that
my preconceived idea of the senses became
something entirely greater — reminders of
my past. I didn’t realize the power of the five
senses until their conclusions came first, and
my logic came second. Once we recognize
the duality between the senses’ simplicity
and power, we open ourselves up to a new
appreciation for the things that we once
marked as routine.
Limitations are broken. Barriers and
boundaries fade away. And in a euphoric
and ephemeral instance, we advance into an
ethereal plane of existence. It’s like a spell that
quells any fear and anxiety. In the midst of the
collective art-making experience — whether
it be the synchronous rhythm of a dance, the
communal harmonies of a choir or the coop-
erative unison of an improv troupe — each
elicit a certain kind of forgetting of the self,
which in turn, allow us to transcend our very
being. Today, the self, as a transcendent spiri-
tual entity, remains widely ignored as we stay
stuck in the clutches of a capitalist society.
Indeed, on the stage of late-stage capitalism,
the theatrics of performance from the profes-
sional to the interpersonal are characterized
by that of individualism. In other words, the
essence of capitalism — with its fixation on
commodity fetishism and persistence on
privatized property and resources — robs us
of cultivating a collective experience of daily
living founded on artful expression, spiritual
sustainment and a dismantling of dominant
hierarchies of oppression.
Even in creative fields in which collective
art-making is paramount to prosperity, our
penchant for individualistic modes of thought
and action still persists. The professionaliza-
tion, specialization and commercialization of
arts entertainment industries under capitalism
promote a culture of elitism and competition,
rather than collaboration between artists. The
sanctity of the art-making process is neglected
in pursuit of profit. Artists become brands and
market themselves accordingly. A hyper-fix-
ation on appearance and aesthetics emerges,
eschewing any authentic content creation. Yet
this corrupted creative climate is only a mere
symptom of a major systemic problem. Under
capitalist hegemony, societal institutions, espe-
cially universities, play a massive role in main-
taining our individualistic personas.
Our entire higher-education experience is
highly individualized. Under intense duress,
we’re pressed to put our energy into earning
good grades and passing classes for our own
self-benefit rather than gaining intellectual
insight for the good of humanity. In group proj-
ects, our main concern is always our own good
marks. We’re career-focused on ourselves
rather than collectively focused on our society.
And at this school, especially, making money is
our main goal. We maintain a facade of favor-
ing equity and striving for liberation, while
simultaneously striving to live lavishly in ser-
vice to oppressive corporatized systems, and
see no problem with this whatsoever. Many
of us might espouse anti-capitalist agendas or
say we hold socialist sympathies but how often
does that translate into our real labor practices
and lifestyles? We may justify our journeys
into the corrupt corporate substratum, claim-
ing that “we’re working to make change with-
in the system,” but how often is this truly the
case? How often do we delude ourselves under
the impression that we’re working towards
a collective good while in reality channeling
most of our energy and efforts towards our
own individualistic material gain? How long
must those most affected by the blood-thirsty,
super-exploiting extravagances of imperial-
ism wait while we “work within the system?”
Operating within these oppressive systems
not only has harsh material consequences, but
yields dire, direct impacts in the metaphysical
realm as well. Our current grind culture cre-
ates a spiritual deficiency with such efficiency
that many of us don’t even bother to construct
any form of relationship with divinity or that
which is beyond our own sensory experience.
In today’s time, we’ve forgone the act of caring
for and cultivating our own souls and instead
choose to embark on an endless search for sus-
tainment in material possessions.
In order to free ourselves from the shack-
les of our self-centered chains, we must cul-
tivate what Christian author Timothy Keller
deems as “self-forgetfulness.” In this forget-
ting of the self, we exemplify the true essence
of “gospel humility,” which, as Keller claims,
“is not thinking less of myself, it is thinking of
myself less.”
An ode to Animal Crossing
The power of the five senses
Forgetting the self
MEGHAN DODABALLAPUR
MiC Columnist
ANCHAL MALH
MiC Columnist
KARIS CLARK
MiC Columnist
Design by Madison Grosvenor
Design by
Janice Lin
When the moon
becomes full in your second
house of material desires, your fi-
nances may be at the forefront of
your mind. Now is not the time to
spend frivolously as you may ex-
perience sudden income changes.
However, new work opportunities
may present themselves, so keep
your eyes open.
The full moon shines
upon you! The lunar eclipse and
full moon in your first house of
self mean that you may undergo
a great transformation. Change
can be quite intimidating, but this
moon phase promises a lot of pros-
perity and happiness as you grow
into your most authentic self.
The lunar eclipse occurs
in your 12th house of endings.
You may be going through a really
difficult emotional and personal
change right now. Even though
Geminis are often characterized
by their energetic nature, it’s im-
portant to take time to slow down
and relax. Check in with and don’t
overexert yourself.
Full moons and
eclipses are always
especially impactful for
Cancerians since the moon is
your ruling planet. This week,
the full moon occurs in your
11th house of community,
placing great emphasis on
your friendships.
The full moon in your
eighth house of mysteries reveals
the secrets you’ve hidden yourself to
avoid having to make difficult deci-
sions. Air signs such as Libra often
avoid their emotions, and Libras
especially want to project a balanced
and put-together image. However,
it is time for you to examine your
relationship with intimacy and
finances.
The lunar eclipse oc-
curs in your seventh house
of partnerships, indicating a
radical shift in your platonic
and romantic relationships.
You may suddenly let go of
old feelings or quickly develop
new ones. While tensions may
arise, there will also be many
opportunities to deepen your
relationships as well.
The moon becomes
full in your 10th house
of career ambitions. Your
work life may face a major
change, relieving you of your
current responsibilities and
re-routing your course on
a newer and possibly more
fulfilling career path.
The lunar eclipse
occurs in your ninth house
of philosophy. You don’t al-
ways prioritize your desires,
Virgo. Synthesizing your
productive nature and your
own wishes, you should pur-
sue your intellectual inter-
ests — not just the subjects
that are most “productive”
or conventional.
The sun finally shines
upon you! With the sun in
your sign and your first house
of self-identity, now is your time
to explore your deepest passions
and meet new people. This is
also a great time to step back
and analyze your overarching
vision of your dream life. Think
about your aspirations and
then work toward them.
The full moon and lunar
eclipse in your third house of com-
munication may stimulate your social
life. You may suddenly encounter new
opportunities to meet new people. Try
to be open to trying new things, because
they may lead to new connections. When
the sun moves into Sagittarius and your
10th house of career ambitions, your
work takes a much more central
focus in your life.
The lunar eclipse in your
fourth house of home and family
points to internal struggles relat-
ing to your personal life. You may
be processing difficult memories
or struggling to deal with family
issues. Aquarians often avoid emo-
tion, but confronting your feelings
head-on will allow you to move
forward with your life.
With the full moon in your
fifth house of creation, you may
experience a shift in passion for your
creative projects. Perhaps you’ve lost
the inspiration for a project you’ve
been working on for a long time.
Eclipses lead to sudden changes,
and this can be very disorienting
and stressful, but once you let go of
projects you no longer feel
connected to, you can find
new inspiration.
by A n d y N a k a m u r a
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