Position(s): Senior Editor (Fall 2023), Summer Managing MiC Editor (2023), Assistant Editor (Winter 2023), MiC Columnist (2022)
Section(s): Michigan in Color
Semesters at The Daily: 5
I never considered myself a writer — maybe for a few months back in third grade after writing my prize-winning story about the embarrassingly tiny dog in my neighborhood that chased my brother and me while trick-or-treating. The embarrassing story won me a Kit Kat for being the longest piece, which I finally admit was only because I secretly spaced out my letters enough to lengthen a four-page paper to six. Then there was that short week in fifth grade where I walked around calling myself a poet after a poem where I managed to rhyme every single word, which I now understand is sadly not the goal of poetry. But other than that, I never saw myself as a writer, and frankly, I was never that good at it. My middle school English teacher even once told me I write at a fourth-grade level and that I write as if I am talking — just random thoughts scribbled onto a page. And to be honest, she was right, and still kind of is. This is probably not something I should be willing to admit so easily, as it is quite humiliating coming from an academic standpoint. But nonetheless, I don’t plan on stopping.
From the day I joined The Daily, I felt an intense amount of imposter syndrome. I was surrounded by actual writers, with real experience that beat out my third-grade story, while I wrote, by this time, what Ms. Forster would say is a ninth or 10th-grade level, granted she was an overly harsh critic and would probably still hate my writing. But being surrounded by people who actually called themselves writers felt intimidating. And so I stayed back. I didn’t come to shift or the Daily building. I didn’t talk to basically anyone in MiC until this past year. I didn’t feel like it was my place or my home like everyone else. I questioned whether I would continue as part of MiC after the summer I joined was over. But what kept me going, what made me say yes to stay on as a writer was my family.
I didn’t tell my family I was a part of MiC until I published my first piece. I was honestly a little embarrassed showing them my words. Growing up, and still today, I was never very emotional with my family. I wasn’t the type to tell my family how I feel or to go home and cry to my mother about all the other relationships in my life. Tucking my feelings into the corner of my brain was the norm. So as my mother and father read my first ever real piece of writing, I was in shambles. But even though I look back at this piece and heavily critique how much I hate my writing there, my parents had no critiques. They loved it, my mother even printing out a copy to keep in our pooja room. And as I continued to write, they continued to read every single embarrassingly personal word, our house now even covered in framed copies and scattered newspaper clippings.
While at first I kept writing because of my family and friend’s reactions, I learned to love my own words more than they did. And through my time at the Daily, my writing has thankfully improved, and given me something to be proud of. My writing has given me a space to dig out these buried emotions, a blank page to share them with. And I have written out my feelings to accompany every change I’ve experienced through my time at school. I think that is why I pushed off this piece until the very last minute. I didn’t want to write a senior goodbye. I don’t want to say goodbye to The Daily, because saying goodbye to The Daily is one step closer to saying goodbye to my writing.
My writing has held me up and taken care of me through some of the best and worst moments of my life. It has experienced my anxieties and worries, my joys and excitements and most notably my love and my heartbreaks. It has given me a chance to heal and continue on.
And for that I am grateful but overwhelmingly scared.
Because what’s going to hold me up after?
I won’t say goodbye, at least not today. I am just not ready. I still have more joys and more heartbreaks to experience. More pain and happiness to share. But I will say this:
Thank you for giving me the chance to learn about myself in ways I never could before. Thank you for sticking with me as I dump out the most personal thoughts that I would never say out loud.
Thank you for giving me a place to heal.