Michigan in Color
8 — Wednesday, January 25, 2023
Learn to say no
Being able to say I was busy
used to be my pride and joy. If
you were to ask me how I was
freshman year, I would most
likely respond with a “good —
just busy with school.” I abided
by the unspoken laws of being
a “productive college student”
and said yes to every oppor-
tunity I came across. It took a
semester of burnout and fatigue
to realize that my idealization
of busyness prevented me from
practicing healthy boundaries.
Why is it hard for us to say
no? I hate saying no. Could it be
because the thought of people
feeling disregarded scares me?
Or because I love the rush of
being everything and every-
where all at once? Perhaps. Yet
I can’t help but think about
how connected this habit is to
my childhood.
I am used to no’s. My parents
were strict: straight home after
school, no sleepovers in other
houses and no boyfriends. My
immigrant parents made sure
I didn’t develop only child syn-
drome and mostly told me no
when I wanted to do things
other kids my age were doing.
I was their only child, and for
that matter, a girl. In their
eyes, I had to be protected from
a society with malicious men.
I grew up guarded by the say-
ings “no one we know is going”
or “no is no.” My younger self
felt sabotaged by the experi-
ences my friends had because
I craved a normal teenage life-
style. Of course, I can’t ignore
the fact that the things I asked
for were almost always out of
reach or impossible, like the
time I asked my parents if I
could go to a Justin Bieber con-
cert but I didn’t know anyone
that was going and the ticket
prices were three-digit num-
bers. The Belieber in me was
so furious by their denial that I
recall wanting to run away the
night of the concert. I remem-
ber asking my parents if I could
get a job in downtown Chicago
because the downtown rush
excited me. The answer was no.
I was a very curious child — I
wanted to know what life had
to offer outside of my small
family. So, as I received no’s,
my curiosity grew. Although
I understand the reasoning
behind their no’s, I wish they
knew how hard it was to be
denied as a child of immigrants
who was already being denied
by the standards of a “normal
American teenager” — I was
told, “we have food at home,”
when I asked to make a stop
at McDonald’s. Yet, it hurt to
remember how normal it was
for my friends to do simple
things like getting McDonald’s.
During my high school years,
I learned that my childhood
desires were a luxury my fam-
ily could simply not afford. As
I gained independence and my
curiosity to explore increased,
I chose to say yes. An oppor-
tunity to serve on a student
advisory council for the school
district? Yes. Want to serve on
my high school’s student coun-
cil? Yes. I wanted to do every-
thing and sought to reverse
all of the no’s I had been told.
I loved adventuring with my
friends, staying after school for
meetings and looking for extra-
curricular activities. I loved
being busy.
College came around, and
that urge to always be occupied
only strengthened. I signed up
for all of the student organiza-
tions I found interesting and
filled my Google Calendar with
weekly events. It was a humble
brag to say I was good but busy
when people asked me how I
was. Everyone in this univer-
sity seemed to always be busy,
and I didn’t feel productive
if I took a nap once I got back
from my classes. Commitment
became easy and many times
I sacrificed personal time for
commitments I didn’t need to
have. Why wouldn’t I want to
finish a task for my job know-
ing it was already past 5 p.m?
Why wouldn’t I want to set up
meetings back to back knowing
I had no time to eat in between?
Maybe because I loved being
in demand. The day in the life
of a college student videos I
watched didn’t warn me about
over commitment. In school,
there is little to no discussion
about how easy it is for col-
lege students to overwhelm
themselves with unnecessary
commitments. Overproductiv-
ity violates all laws of having a
balanced and healthy lifestyle.
And it is only harder for stu-
dents of Color who are expect-
ed to be “competent college
students” despite day-to-day
encounters with social injus-
tice.
The emotional and academic
consequences of always saying
yes came to a head last semes-
ter. I was enrolled in 14 credit
hours, worked part-time and
added two more organizations
to my calendar. I developed
unhealthy eating habits, felt
emotionally exhausted and the
thought of studying for hours
drained me. I dreaded school
days and couldn’t wait for the
semester to be over. I was in
survival mode.
Near the end of the semester,
I met with my research mentor
to discuss our weekly tasks. As
we were discussing how much
capacity I had to finish the
weekly tasks, I assured her that
I would get everything done,
despite it being a little more
work than usual. In bewil-
derment, she said, “Can you
really, Luz?” She caught me off
guard. Could I really? That was
a good question. I could, but
that would require me to spend
less time studying and taking
care of myself. I was tired and
she noticed. So I swallowed
my pride and told her no. Our
talk forced me to think about
my conceptualization of com-
mitment and availability. She
advised me to show grace to
myself and the commitments I
made because time is the most
precious thing we can spend.
The promises and commit-
ments I was making were not
purposeful if I kept saying yes
without considering my true
availability. I was not creat-
ing boundaries that protect my
health and wellness.
As I reflect on last semes-
ter and look forward to new
beginnings, I am ready to say
no more often. It is important
for me to recognize that my
personal time is just as valu-
able as attending class. Sched-
uling work meetings may be
an investment for my career,
but scheduling “me time” is
an investment for my energy
and peace. I can’t forget that
I am the first one in my fam-
ily to attend a university with
responsibilities
that
extend
beyond the classroom. What I
practice today will influence
future generations, and I can
only hope that I can pass down
the willingness to choose your-
self, to say no when society
wants you to say yes.
LUZ MAYANCELA
MiC Columnist
Luz Mayancela/MiC
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Post-convocation isolation
I am in my senior year of col-
lege and I am terrified of look-
ing back.
Regardless of my many mis-
takes, my four years of higher
education are free of regrets.
I have taken full advantage
of the opportunities afforded
to me. I am, by all accounts,
graduating knowing I’ve had an
incredibly successful run. I’ve
beat all the odds! Despite my
background, I’ve racked up an
array of achievements. I know
I will wear my cap and gown,
have my silly little diploma to
hang up and eventually don an
oversized
“Michigan
Alum”
MDen crewneck. I will sit in
my well-lit apartment paid for
by the kind of job that makes
my peers’ eyes go wide. I will
be comfortable. And, despite all
that comfort, I will look back
and know that the comfort is an
isolating one, meant only for me
alone.
The worst part of “mak-
ing it” is knowing you can’t
bring everyone with you. Being
someone who has “beaten the
odds” means being someone
who comes from a family and
community that are plagued
with those very same odds. We
lack the money, connections
and support others are blessed
with. Beating those odds is
a reflection of what luck and
opportunity come our way. A
particularly dedicated coun-
selor, a well-timed applica-
tion submission, bumping into
someone with the right con-
nections or, in my case, coin-
cidentally working at a cafe
frequented by the right people.
Who knows where I’d be if that
job hadn’t triggered a chain of
events connecting me to out-
landish opportunities I never
even knew existed. A chance
introduction to one of the most
important people on campus
changed my life, all because
they wanted a cup of hot tea.
Unfortunately,
deserving-
ness is not something that
comes into play when it comes
to who’s able to work their way
around an empty bank account
and lack of resources. We all
deserve it. Only some of us are
lucky enough to be in the right
place at the right time around
the right people. We all work
hard. I got lucky.
One thing they don’t tell you
about attending a renowned
predominantly white institu-
tion (PWI) is that it will draw
an invisible curtain between
you and your loved ones. Some-
thing shifts just so and you sud-
denly exist on different planes,
neither
fully
understanding
the other. No more freezing
waits at bus stops, no more
day-old discount bread. Your
life becomes something alien,
filled with stand-up meetings
and coffee chats. Should you
choose to carry through, you
will be successful. You will get
the job that pulls you out of
poverty. You will turn around,
do your best to help your loved
ones. You will realize there’s
only so much you can do, and
only so many people you can
reach. You will give your mom
some money, maybe your sib-
lings. You will refer a friend to
a good job. You will drown in
the fact that everyone you know
and love is poor and stripped
of opportunity — your meager
success will never be enough
to change that. No matter how
strongly you believe everyone is
entitled to a base level of ease,
you will never be able to cure
them of all their struggles.
I wish I could give all my
friends
secure,
comfortable
jobs. I yearn to buy my mother
a house and a car, to put my
younger siblings through col-
lege. What I wouldn’t give to
pay my grandmother’s medi-
cal bills and help my neighbors
fix their windows. To even the
playing field, even the score,
give everyone what they real-
ly deserve and build a reality
where a life of comfort is guar-
anteed regardless of money and
connections. The guilt of being
the only one to make it out is
the kind of thing that eats you
alive.
I am a senior in college and
I am moving forward, bitter-
sweet as that is. I have my post-
grad job and am looking for
an apartment. Throughout all
this, I am grappling with the
reality that I cannot bring all
the people I love up here with
me. I will put on my cap and
gown, hug my mother in the Big
House, and then I will leave.
I will look back. I will know I
can’t take them all with me, no
matter how much I want to.
HUDA SHULAIBA
MiC Columnist