Growing up as a latchkey kid, I’d
often squirm my way out of revealing
where I lived to others. Instead, I’d lie.
I’d tell friends I already had a ride or
that it was no big deal for me to walk
back home. I’d do or say anything to
obfuscate details of where I lived and
divert people away from seeing my
dilapidated house. The faded blue
paint that coated the wooden panels
was slowly chipping away, just like
my self-esteem. Needless to say, I
was petrified at the idea of inviting a
friend inside my house. My home was
typically organized and clean, but
my kitchen housed a small intrusion
of cockroaches that refused to be
exterminated,
despite
numerous
attempts. Ultimately, I did not want
my peers to pity me and think I lived
in a state of squalor.
On a similar note, I have memories
from my childhood of when my mom,
older sister and I would frequently
take buses to get around. Although
bus fares are cheap, the routes are not
optimal in suburban areas given the
indirect paths and the large swathes
of land that remained untouched.
As a result, portions of our trips
— whether they be for dentist
appointments at remote office spaces
or shopping at distant outlet stores —
would entail walking along stretches
of highway to reach disjointed
bus stops. This was especially
cumbersome in the scorching heat
of the summer sun. Drenched in
both sweat and embarrassment, I
wondered whether drivers zipping
past us were judging us momentarily.
I frequently worried that a peer from
school would recognize me as they
sped past me in their parents’ car.
These anecdotes highlight some
of the spaces I’ve occupied in the
past. The spaces that each of us
individually traverse, occupy and
have access to are often influenced
by a myriad of factors. Through my
writing, I’ve attempted to express
and capture some of these differences
by sharing personal experiences and
connecting them to broader themes,
primarily ones related to social class.
One tool that helps illustrate these
differences from a macro point of
view is the Opportunity Atlas website
(I highly suggest checking it out and
tinkering with the filters). These
social settings, or milieus, can each
be described by the visual aesthetics,
physical composition and ephemeral
events that occur within a respective
space.
Contrary to my last name, I am
not from the capital of California!
Yet,
sometimes
my
personal
introductions are followed up by
people merrily asking if I’m actually
from
Sacramento.
These
light-
hearted interactions never cease to
amuse others and myself, and I bet
these instances will continue to arise
in the future. However, a fair number
of Wolverines are surprised when
I inform them that I’m from New
Jersey.
Wednesday, June 22, 2022 — 7
Michigan in Color
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
From Freehold to UMich: the role of social class in our
physical spaces
GUSTAVO SACRAMENTO
MiC Columnist
One day about nine years ago, I was
at after-school daycare — basically
the gym where many students
stayed if their parents were unable to
pick them up right away. We would
usually have recess outside and study
hall time inside as we waited for our
parents to walk through the doors.
However, we did something new
that day: A “get to know each other”
activity where everyone had to write
a couple of facts about themselves on
a notecard. I remember that I wrote
a couple of true, but surprising, facts
about myself. I thought that this
notecard would remain between me
and two or three other students, but
unbeknownst to me, that particular
day made a huge impact on my life
and how I perceived myself forever.
After filling out the notecard, I sat
in a tiny blue chair in the middle of
the gym, chatting with my friends
around me. We were waiting to
go outside for recess, play on the
playground and do what kids usually
do. To my surprise, the daycare
organizer walked to the front of the
room with the notecards in hand.
She started reading the cards one by
one and asked kids around the room
to guess who wrote each card. Sweat
ran down my forehead as she grew
closer and closer to mine.
Then, she read my card: “I have
four fingers and three toes.”
Even now, thinking back to that
time, I felt so embarrassed and
shocked that I can’t even remember
the emotions running through my
body. Audible gasps filled the gym,
and I felt my face getting really hot.
My friends glanced at me with worry
before one of them volunteered my
name to move the activity on.
I had always been proud of
myself for achieving so much —
playing instruments, taking art
classes, swimming, attending soccer
practice, defending my place as the
fastest typer in my grade — while
essentially living the life of a normal
kid. When we were finally let out for
recess, a group of girls younger than
me approached me and went so far
as to call me “alien.” At that moment,
none of my achievements mattered.
The feeling of shame enveloped
my
body.
Luckily,
my
friends
immediately came to my defense.
When I entered middle school, I
held this memory very close when
I interacted with others. I thought
a lot about which hand to raise in
class, always covering my left hand
with my sleeve. As a result, I became
more withdrawn and introverted,
contradicting the nickname of the
“social butterfly” that I had earned
in elementary school. I was too
scared to let people see my hand,
lest someone call me an alien again.
A pianist with a secret
DAISEY YU
MiC Columnist
I was 16 years old the first time I
really listened to it. It was soft, but
in the first 20 seconds, the sharp
strumming of the guitar and the
piano chords sliced through the
jumble of thoughts in my head, soon
rendering the song the only thing I
could focus on. The first 20 seconds
cleared a direct path to every part of
my brain, preparing it for the song
that would soon become a staple
in my life. And for those next four
minutes and 55 seconds, nothing
mattered but this song.
…
“Fade Into You” by Mazzy Star
was released in 1993 as a part of their
album, So Tonight That I Might
See. It’s an alternative/indie song
filled with dream pop undertones.
Everything
about
the
song
is
beautiful, especially its vagueness; it
feels as if Hope Sandoval, the band’s
lyricist and lead singer, wanted you
to create its significance, making it
twice as meaningful every time you
listen. It’s a song that will always
relate to you no matter what stage of
life you are at.
To many, it’s a love song. It’s the
song people add to their Instagram
stories
when
they
soft-launch
their boyfriends or play in the
background of their TikToks while
talking
about
their
significant
others or serenade each other with
at karaoke after one too many mixed
drinks. And these interpretations
make sense because it sounds like
a love song. The music is sweet,
the perfect sound to awkwardly
rock back and forth to at your high
school dance, stepping on your
partner’s feet while maintaining an
extreme amount of unbreakable eye
contact. Sandoval’s voice is subtle,
yet flooded with infatuation. It
slowly drowns and suffocates you
with love and sweetness every time
you hear it, enough to start to truly
feel it yourself.
But with every listen you learn
more and more from the vague
lyrics, and you come to realize
the song can be about the ending
of an unrequited love. It can be
a realization of how one-sided
this deep longing actually was,
or how it was not truly love but a
scary obsession. With this new
perspective, my favorite line — “a
million smiles cover your heart” —
may not refer to how beautiful the
partner’s love is, but how fake and
deceitful it actually was. Or how
the lyric and title “Fade Into You”
may not mean to become one soul
with the person you love, but to lose
every part of yourself that made you
who you are.
Fade into you
ROSHNI MOHAN
MiC Columnist
Read more at michigandaily.com
Read more at michigandaily.com
Priya Ganji/TMD
Abby Schreck /TMD
Read more at michigandaily.com