I have a complex relationship with math. It’s a running joke in my family. As a kid, I used to love math, it was logical, like a set of instructions I had to follow. I didn’t need to interpret subjective passages, memorize odd grammatical rules, or compete with kids whose athleticism and competitiveness made dodgeball a bloodbath. I didn’t need to justify my answer: 1 + 1 = 2. Always. It simply worked. It was comfortable, it was safe, yet it didn’t challenge me. As I encountered more advanced math, I was forced to contend with long equations and countless memorized rules that drove away what had made me love math in the first place. Yet I couldn’t run from it, I had to face it. In many ways, these past 12 years, especially the last four, of my love-hate relationship with mathematics have exemplified a broader trend: painful challenge and unlimited growth.
High school, as usual, brought a fresh set of challenges. We had just come out of COVID-era online school. I was attending a school where I knew practically no one, and even my parents, try as they might, weren’t familiar with the American high school experience, leaving me with little guidance beyond my day-to-day experiences. Math, a subject I had deeply struggled with during online learning, became a daily trial. I hated walking into that room, desks lined with computers, empty note sets projected on the far wall. Every equation I had to memorize seemed to go in one ear and out the other. Every new shape with its own rules deepened my frustration. Precalculus and Calculus AB were no better, each filled to the brim with mind-numbing equations I couldn’t grasp. The logic that had once guided me seemed lost. I still remember preparing for that second-semester Calculus AB final, working through problem after problem, feeling lost and clawing for scraps of memory.
However, as always, things changed. My math journey took a sharp turn in the right direction starting in my junior year, and I credit my teacher that year. He reshaped my perspective, showing me that the challenges that had demoralized me weren’t mountains blocking my path, but opportunities to climb. He taught me that my mindset, not the difficulty itself, was my greatest obstacle. Most importantly, he helped me rediscover math’s logic. But this time, he equipped me with tools to go beyond the basic instructions. When trigonometric integrals stumped me, he encouraged me to make my own recipe: connecting concepts to familiar ideas and working backward. Instead of rote memorization, he showed me how to use the end result to uncover new, intuitive logic. And above all, he inspired me to embrace the challenge of discovery. Junior year math taught me to love the challenge of math all over again.
When I was forecasting my senior year classes, many people advised me to take it easy, to use my last year to relax academically. As usual, I didn’t listen. I picked the math class I thought would challenge me the most. And frankly? One of my better decisions. It has pushed me to no end, and I’ve spent more than one night writing out practice problems until I physically couldn’t continue, but unlike before, I enjoyed that process of discovery. I look forward to the challenge.
My Junior year math teacher wasn’t the only source that challenged me to push beyond the comforts I used to hide in. My Chemistry and Biology teachers were pivotal in getting me to love the interconnectedness of subjects and value the worth in perspective, weaving between Chemistry and Biology addressing the same concept with entirely different themes, something I still heavily value. My Chinese teacher was also pivotal, encouraging me to sprint down the path of languages, learning of and from many cultures and ways of thought. Beyond academics, my friends ‘socialized’ me. I’ve always been talkative but making new friends or introducing myself to new people has long been a vice. Still, my future friends never held it against me and rather indulged me, growing alongside me and being sources of endless strength.
Far and away, though, my most ardent supporters were my family, both born and chosen; my grandparents, aunties, uncles and obviously parents. It’s hard to put into words all the ways they supported me. They taught me to be kind, sensitive to others yet strong minded, to stick to my values yet always open to growth and how to get back on your feet when put down. My dad guided me through the stress of academics, often citing his own father when encouraging me to rest or change how I study. He taught me how to hold my values close and how to have fun, even when my mom didn’t entirely approve. As for my mom, my Mimi, she was there even when I thought I didn’t need her but desperately did. She taught me how to stay connected to my culture so far from home when everything feels like it’s changing, yet also how to ‘go with the flow’ and let that culture evolve. She chauffeured me wherever I needed to be between her busy work schedules. She pushed me to make new friends wherever I went, even when I was terrified, yet always made time to be a close confidant in her own right, at least pretending to pay attention whenever I ranted about some new topic I learned and needed to share. Most importantly, neither of them ever marginalized my struggles or pretended they knew everything when I didn’t. They led by example, an example of challenge and growth.
I’m grateful for everyone who taught me a new way to think, and live, throughout my high school years, whether it be my mom, dad, teachers, or friends. From chemistry to English to drama, or even how to be social, I carry the words of so many in my identity. I can’t wait to add to that count in the next four years.
