MIC

From Freehold to UMich: the role of social class in our physical spaces

GUSTAVO SACRAMENTO MiC Columnist

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 lighthearted 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.

Abby Schreck /TMD

Read more at michigandaily.com

A pianist with a secret

DAISEY YU 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.

Priya Ganji/TMD

Fade into you

ROSHNI MOHAN 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.