Wednesday, May 11, 2022 — 5
Michigan in Color
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
I’m not ready to graduate
VICTORIA TAN
MiC Contributor
Author’s note: I started writing for
the Daily the winter of my sophomore
year because I love to write — plain
and simple. My main intention was
never for my friends or family to
read my work but instead to give
myself a creative outlet and space
where I could grow as a writer and
collaborate with other writers. I’ve
always been extremely self-conscious
about sharing my work because I
tend to write about deeply personal
topics such as self-assessing my
mental health and, more broadly,
navigating the stresses of university
life. My writing is a place for me to
reflect on my life and decipher my
most powerful, and sometimes ugly,
emotions. For that reason, having
people read my writing makes me
want to hide away in a corner because
it feels like I’m exposing the most
vulnerable side of myself for everyone
to judge and prod. That being said,
this is one piece that I want people to
read because I have some things to
say that need to be heard. Thank you
to Michigan in Color for giving me
this space to work out these jumbled
thoughts.
After months of dropping hints
about this sentimental piece I have
been working on, here it is: the article
that sums up (or at the very least,
attempts to put into words) what my
senior year has meant to me. I don’t
say these words lightly; this year has
undoubtedly been the best year of
my life, and it’s one hundred percent
because of the friends I’ve made. This
piece is dedicated to those friends:
the ones who accept me despite my
annoying quirks, like my inability
to show up to plans on time, the
ones who check in on me when they
know I am struggling with a highly
irregular sleep schedule and the
ones who make me want to cry tears
of nostalgia when I look through my
camera roll. When I entered the Big
House at commencement, I wished
this period of my life didn’t feel like
a chapter coming to an end because I
am simply not ready to graduate if it
means leaving my friends, too.
After transferring schools at the
beginning of my sophomore year,
an entire year of online classes
amid the pandemic and realizing
that I was on track to graduate a
year early, I feel like my time at the
University has been cut short. I
remember confiding in a close friend
about how nervous I was to attend
in-person classes at the start of this
year because, although I had senior
standing, I had never stepped foot
into a University building, let alone
felt like I belonged to any community
on campus. Though I joined student
organizations and clubs, it’s hard to
feel close enough to make friends
on Zoom when you don’t even know
basic facts about them, like their
height. I didn’t have a solid friend
group and had spent the majority
of my sophomore year in the sole
company of homework and Netflix
in my room. I wasn’t particularly
close to my roommates either. And
on my birthday, I had dinner with
my parents and a friend, then went to
sleep at 9 p.m.
The majority of the year, I
felt like I was simply existing
inconsequentially.
Did
I
even
really go to this school? Part of
me was indifferent to the start of
winter term classes because I was
unconvinced that this semester
would be any different than the last.
I had dejectedly accepted the fact
that the college experience depicted
in movies and television, surrounded
by new friends having wild nights
out, wasn’t realistic. I never imagined
that everything I wanted and hoped
for could all happen in just a couple
of months. If I had one piece of
advice that I could give to my former
self, it would be to not worry about
still being in that “transition phase.”
(Special thank you to my high school
friends for being there for me as I
stumbled through this transition
period. I don’t appreciate you
exposing all the cringey things I did
when I was 16, but I am so grateful
that you have stuck by my side at two
in the morning when I was stress
crying. It has been an honor to grow
up and blossom alongside you guys.
You haven’t gotten rid of me after all
these years, and you’re not getting
rid of me so easily just yet!)
Writing this piece is a way for
me to capture all the details of
this portion of my life that I am
desperately clinging on to. I want
to be able to reread this piece in 20
years and remember these crazy
days. Core memories include, but
are certainly not limited to: walking
through the streets of Ann Arbor
in below freezing temperatures in
a crop top, eating microwave mac
and cheese with a plastic knife and
crying at the Law Quad with a bubble
tea (because if you’re going to be
sad, you might as well be sad while
surrounded by pretty buildings). I
laugh to myself thinking about how
my university years are a distinct
time period in which too many of my
story retellings start with “It was 2
a.m.” or “We were at Rick’s.”
The smiles and quirky inside
joke captions of my Instagram posts
reflect some of those wild times, but
my favorite part isn’t the pictures
themselves — it’s the memories and
feelings that weren’t captured in that
single shot. And so, as best as I can
convey, here are some of my most
cherished memories from this school
year, and the people I want to thank
for helping me create them.
Read more at michigandaily.com
Graduation: a first-
gen’s reflection
GUSTAVO SACRAMENTO
MiC Columnist
Surrealness.
That is the word I’d use to describe
graduation. Prior to the Ross School
of
Business
commencement,
I
miraculously smiled for pictures in
various spots at the Winter Garden
reception,
commemorating
my
achievements in a place that always
instilled a sense of uneasiness. In the
weeks leading up to the ceremonies,
I’d told others that I felt indifferent
whenever they asked me how
graduating felt. I’d subsequently
clarify that I feel indifferent, but
specific emotions arise whenever
I reflect back on certain aspects
and memories. For example, I am
filled with glee as soon as I think
about all the times I spent chatting
with the Michigan in Color editors
in the newsroom, but alienation is
tethered to the Business School’s
undergraduate culture.
Quite frankly, I didn’t really know
how I was supposed to feel about this
seminal moment. Was I supposed to
take some “candid” pictures, adorn
them with a glossy caption and
filter on the ‘gram to highlight my
rugged individualism? As a first-
generation college student, higher
education appeared amorphous and
elusive for much of my life. But as a
fresh graduate, I am suddenly part
of this “educated workforce” cohort
that economists and pundits often
reference.
Graduation makes one stage of
upward mobility feel very real and
permanent. It’s as though I am a
video game avatar that just leveled
up, but I don’t feel any different.
My body and mind still ache from
the poor dietary habits I adopted. I
still come from a dilapidated house
and my family network consists of
industrious working-class laborers
and service workers. Simply put,
social class is about much more than
just money.
For me, graduation marks a
painful separation from the past.
All of the sacrifices and desolation
culminate toward a life-changing
piece of paper that serves as a
conduit toward financial stability
and overall wellness. The power
shift is flummoxing. Some have
noted that, not too far down the
road, future students might reach
out to me — ME? — for advice. I am
a noob at dating, dancing, dining out
and many other things. Although I
am out of the loop on many things,
I hope I can at least dispense some
kernels of wisdom as an alum.
To gain some clarity, I’ve had
insightful conversations with a mix
of younger and older first-gens.
One recurring theme I’ve heard
throughout these past few weeks
is that the first-gen experience
never ends. Some first-gen college
graduates
become
first-gen
professionals (FGPs), while others
pursue
advanced
degrees.
The
feeling of remaining stuck in a gray
area between different worlds and
survivor guilt can persist. I might
continue to dread updates from back
home. These updates were generally
grim throughout my undergraduate
years, consisting of new health issues
that stemmed from strenuous jobs.
Read more at michigandaily.com
GUSTAVO SACRAMENTO/MiC
VICTORIA TAN/MiC