I am writing this almost a year later, wondering how it can still be taking over my life. It tears at my soul like a nasty disease; it pauses briefly, giving me a moment to gasp for air, before it sinks its claws back into me and pulls me under.
Everyone has bias. I don’t believe in human objectivity. Whether you are informed or not, that’s your bias. If you do or don’t care, that’s your bias. This story is my bias. Before you read this and either support me or hate me, just understand that I have bias.
I grew up in Ann Arbor thinking it was the most diverse and open-minded place, and frustrated that it was an echo-chamber. My biggest fight in high school was asking for Diwali to be a school holiday. But coming to the University of Michigan was a wake-up call.
I grew up trying to hide. Hide my culture, hide my skin color, hide my consuming desire to fit in. If I just acted like everyone else, talked like everyone else, dressed like everyone else, then maybe I would be like them.
My life has changed significantly since I last wrote “Why I joined Michigan in Color” — my perspective of the world has shifted and warped with the passing challenges of my time being a freshman, now a sophomore, at a university whose Black population is only