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 YOUR WEEKLY Scan this QR code to see your full horoscope! Read more at MichiganDaily.com Read more at MichiganDaily.com