I Need Math, But it Doesn't Need Me



Division and Fraction had cursed me

I am and will always be horrible at math and it is a question of my intelligence.

Being a boy, I thought math was fun. Simply adding and subtracting apples, counting both fingers and toes and tracing out numbers 1,2,3 etc.

This state of mind continued for at least 2 years of my life in kindergarten, then came the freshmen year of grade school which did not hurt also.

“Pfft! Could there be anything harder than this?” Says I,trying to be BIG at 2nd grade.

It was at 3rd Grade when I realized that there was more to numbers than just rounding them off.

We were dividing numbers! “Holy shit,”I said to myself (not really, I didn’t curse back then). But Oh my God, things escalated quickly! I don’t remember how exactly I got through it. But I remember taking private sessions from a tutor on weekends, guess that might have helped.

The next eventful debacle was with fractions. This was no decimal-is-my-bae kind of shit. This was dividing-the-pie-into-halves-and-portions doomsday.

I was relentless at decimals and whole numbers but then came my downfall at fractions and division.

From that moment on, I knew that I was horrible at math. I remember almost crying up front when my teacher scolded me to recite, and just, dislodging so quickly on the podium and to my desk chair. I was ashamed!

But despite the war math had put up with me, I was still good at science! I was in fact considered gifted because I was intuitive and eager to learn. This was possible because of the books that I had almost memorized, simply because I loved science.

I was a top student, in spite of having mediocre grades at math (I even got a test result of 6/50 in Math!)

Then came high school, in a new school kilometers away from my home town. And as far as I can recall, Freshman and Sophomore years of High School were damned.

If you think the 6/50 was enough to consider I was intolerant of math, think again. This time around high school, I was, simply put: halfway dead.

I never understood a thing the teacher was telling us about.

If Grade School math was death, then this might just be 7^th layer of hell.

I for God sake, was just nodding, awkwardly smiling trying not to get the professor’s attention, and praying to God for this suffering to maybe just continue the next day.

High School was hard, not just because of Math (in a general sense) alone, but also because of its mental impact to me as a student.

This time, I wasn’t a top student, or had anything that defied a top student. The streak of Elementary did not continue up to high school, and even up until this point, it still bothers me to recall.

Currently I’m in my senior year, almost graduating from High School and trying to study  for an entrance and a scholarship program that is entitled to make me suffer, especially in the math proficiency portion.

I’m already deluge by fear, and I don’t think I have the will power to revisit my notes in high school. Re experiencing my demise is something I’m not happy about.

But God forbids me to fail. And he is smiling down at me. I hope