Here is What I Did

Here is What I Did

Art
Kim Salac
Media Staff

This essay was written by Iris's very own Moon Zaman and was selected as the winner of this year's Reading in Hues essay contest.

Here is what I did when I first got here: I meticulously cleaned my apartment. I politely greeted
my roommate’s parents. I checked over the syllabus 6 times, and put in the address of buildings
on campus on Google Maps. I ironed my outfit and turned off the light. I blinked sleeplessly at
the dark roof, my watch ticking in the quiet. My parents forgot to bring my fan. I prepared my
icebreaker statement: “Hi, my name is Muntaqa. I’m a 2nd year. I just transferred here. I plan on
majoring in Global Public Health.” I muttered it as I ate my cereal the next morning.

I prepared my icebreaker statement: “Hi, my name is Muntaqa. I’m a 2nd year. I just transferred here. I plan on majoring in Global Public Health.”

Here is what I was doing 3 months later: I zoned out as I stared at my laptop screen. Diagrams on
reverse genetics and CRISPR stared back at me blankly. I regretted everything. I suddenly heard
a ‘ping!’ from my phone and startled. An email from my ENWR 1510 professor with feedback
on my essay: This is wonderful. The analysis you made between identity and achievement really
struck me here. Brilliant work. It was late October. I took a deep breath and called CAPS.

Here is what I was doing when I was trying to be brave: I did the thing that made me the most
afraid. I wrote down a poem and went to an official open mic, my first one ever. I nervously
raised my hand (the poem raised my hand for me). I went to the front and I performed and it was
over. When I opened my eyes people were pumping their fists, snapping fingers, clapping.
Someone had pushed a chair over. I had never felt more loved than in that moment.

My brain worked too: is this what you want? When was the last time you felt okay? How much are you actually living for yourself?

Here is what I did those one and half years we weren’t doing anything: I worked. I worked more
than I worked when we had been up and working. I did food deliveries, I tutored, I worked as a
classroom monitor at my sister’s middle school. My brain worked too: is this what you want?
When was the last time you felt okay? How much are you actually living for yourself? I left an
order of Kung Pao Chicken at the cul de sac townhouse where the lamp was always green. I
dropped organic chemistry two weeks later. I had a B+ in the class.

Here is what I did when we came back: I put a name to all the things I couldn’t name before. I
noticed which friends treated me kindly. I noted which items sparked joy. I acknowledged what
classes intrigued me. I named, but I didn’t label. Names are your own. Labels belonged to others.
I didn’t want to belong to others anymore.

I named, but I didn’t label. Names are your own. Labels belonged to others. I didn’t want to belong to others anymore.

Here is what I did on the first day I felt okay: I went into the kitchen at 7pm. I took out the
ingredients I had bought two weeks ago that somehow hadn’t gone bad. I followed a TikTok
recipe: cut up some tomatoes and cucumbers. I didn’t have cucumbers so I used spinach instead.
Saute it lightly in some oil, add some salt and pepper. Poach two eggs. Heat up some pita bread,
spread some hummus. Put everything on the bread and add green olives and feta cheese. I had a
Lebanese breakfast for dinner. I was overfull and slept well.

Here is what I did on the second day I felt okay, a month later: I washed my face and brushed my
hair. I put on an old but comfortable hoodie. Added a beanie and some rings because as people
evolve, their fashion does too. I went straight to the Pav to meet with a new-ish friend. I didn’t
rehearse the conversation in my head. When we ran out of things to say, I offered her some
sugar-free coconut chocolate. She smiled and we nibbled in silence.

Here is what I did the third day I felt okay, a week later: I ran into a friend from high school who
I hadn’t seen since my 2nd year. We stood there in delight, surprise, confusion; in the dimmed
cafe of 1515, our eyes traced each other’s features, gathering data, shedding molds - my hair
looked completely different, permed and highlighted. She wore eyeliner now. I wear peacoats
and she carries a Nemo keychain. She stays up late and talks slower, I go to bed early and talk
faster. She tells me she’s proud of me, I tell her I admire her. We break into laughter. Her laugh
still sounds the same.

Think of all the joy we’ve been living in all along.

Here is what I am doing: I have just arrived back to my apartment after spring break. I drove
back with an old friend and we talked for two and half hours. I have not meticulously cleaned my
apartment. I have spent hours on my phone because I’m tired. But I’m okay because I am not
mad at myself for it. I have eaten well. I did a little bit of homework and the heater buzzes
pleasantly in my room. I will be a bit sleepy in class tomorrow but it will be alright. I don’t know
if joy is just the absence of sadness, but I think it would be nice if it was. Think of all the joy
we’ve been living in all along.