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

