A graduating senior’s love letter to UMich

“Why the hell am I taking this class?” I cursed to myself as I miserably schlepped down Church Street on a wet Thursday morning in Ann Arbor. I kept my head down to preserve the massive rain drops atop the hood of my North Face, and spotted the coffee stain on my right thigh that I just made moments before at the Starbucks on South U. This was not my morning. My leg was burning, I couldn’t look over my notes on the way to an exam in C.C Little due to Hurricane Sandy 2.0 happening around me, and I was about to potentially fail a pointless class I was taking merely to fulfill my 120 credits as a second semester senior.

I found myself drowning in distress as I passed Dennison, letting my anxiety get the best of me. I was going to fail this test. I was sleep deprived. I was reluctantly jobless with graduation approaching quicker than you can say, “Skeeps, you?” And I was cold. Why did it always have to be so damn cold?

My countless worries were interrupted by the sound of a fellow morning stroller swiftly approaching behind me. As I stepped to the left to let him briskly saunter by, I expected to see someone as miserable and wet as I was. But surprisingly, he wasn’t moping. He wasn’t walking with his head down, he wasn’t buried in a hood, and most importantly, he wasn’t silent. He was singing.

The tune was from an old-school Frank Sinatra song I had recognized from Sunday dinners at my grandparents’. I couldn’t help but stare at his soaked, rain-filled profile as he passed by, where a cheeky smile shone from ear to ear. His cheerful march continued towards the bus stop as I turned left towards the doors of my building. I could still hear his buoyant voice as my body hit the dry air inside.

The poster boy for Singin’ in the Rain was still on my mind as I handed in my exam an hour later. Why didn’t he have a raincoat on? Why was he singing? And why in God’s name would anyone be so happy to hop on a bus going to North Campus?

Post-exam, I decided to take a walk around campus to clear my mind, and was inevitably flooded with memories of the past four years I had almost left in my rearview mirror.

I passed the Chemistry building, where I decided to dump my Pre-Med path, leading to a few more abandoned paths along the way. I passed the UGLi, where I had spent both countless nights cramming for exams and countless dollars on 1am coffee and chocolate muffins at Bert’s. I passed the Graduate Library steps leading up to the Ref Room, where I had gone to get some healthy social interaction amidst my many hours of painful schoolwork. I passed the block M, which after 8 semesters of petrified dodging, I could finally jump on in 25 days.

Law Library, University of Michigan

I passed East William Street and spotted NYPD, where I had spent hundreds of nights binge eating pizza after eventful Skeeps escapades. I passed West Quad where I first met my freshman year roommate, a girl I would eventually sleep within 4 feet of every single year since. I passed the Union where I picked up my sorority bid, marking the first day of a sisterhood and new friendships I would take with me for the rest of my life.

I walked all the way down to East Hoover and watched the Big House appear before me, an extraordinary monument whose energy has never ceased to amaze me. Where over 100,000 maized-out fans felt the world crumble beneath them as they watched their team fail the 2-point conversion against Ohio State my sophomore year. Where those same fans never fail to triumphantly sing “Hail to the Victors” on every football Saturday.

I spotted Crisler in the distance, where my class was lucky enough to watch the Fresh Five carry the Wolverines all the way to the NCAA finals and scream “we on” at the top of our lungs. I passed the gates next to the student section entrance of the Big House, proudly touting “Michigan Stadium” in gold, where I found myself standing in my exact footprints from orientation weekend. This is where I knew the next four years would be more spectacular than anything I could have ever anticipated. And, unlike most things I knew at age 17, I was right.

As I walked from the stadium where I would soon be handed my diploma to my house on South Forest, I took a big, grateful breath of fresh Ann Arbor air. The air I will always find complete happiness in, no matter what duties I have on my plate. The same atmosphere that has definitely filled my anxious mind with unneeded stress and expectation, but also fills my heart with more pride, memory and love than I could have ever asked for from a university.

As I spotted my orange front door in the distance, it started to rain again. I smiled, left my North Face hood resting on the top of my backpack, and peered up at the sky as the Michigan rain hit my cheeks. I started to sing a familiar tune, a tune taught to me 16 years prior — when I was pint-sized and drowning in an oversized maize and blue football jersey.

“Hail to the victors valiant…”