Statement

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To ghost, or be ghosted? That is the question: Whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the confusion and self pity of a snapchat left on delivered, or to take arms against a sea of digital age relationship rules and reveal to someone how you truly feel.

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Something very, very strange has happened during quarantine. For the past couple months, no matter how hard I try, and no matter how much my friends and family beg me to stop, I can’t stop making lo-fi rap songs about love.

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My clammy hands clutched my car’s steering wheel as I carefully obeyed Google’s directions, guiding me towards an unfamiliar office building fifteen minutes away from campus. My internal monologue was offering me constant reminders to calm down. Take slow deep breaths.

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I wanted to get out of my hometown throughout all of my life. I remember frequent high school conversations with my friends about how we couldn’t wait to leave for college to finally experience the oh-so coveted “real” world.

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I hear music reverberating throughout the lecture hall. The speaker is shuffling my playlist titled “special fridays.” It is a special Friday. It’s show day. 

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Editor's Note: The Michigan Daily has used several anonymous sources to report this story, as indicated by changed names with attached asterisks.

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A few days ago, I had plans to meet a friend for a (socially distant) dinner at their house. We made this plan at around 6:27 p.m. PST, and I was going to arrive at their house at 7:30 p.m. At 8:02 p.m., a text message from my friend appeared across my phone screen: 

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In late May, I strolled through my small town’s farmer’s market for the first time this season.

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With this piece, I am aiming to show the connections between what I have learned in my public health classes and through the Black Lives Matter (BLM) Movement.

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CW: body image, body dysmorphia