Bully Definitions
Tell us about either your favorite or least favorite course in high school
When I think of a physical manifestation of disgust, I imagine a child’s face twisted with an almost caricature-like scowl at broccoli. As an adult with a more diverse palette, the child’s distaste seems irrational, or at least hyperbolized to the point of fabrication. Math is my broccoli. Cosines give me hives, my nose crinkles up if I hear the word “derivative,” and my blood pressure spikes whenever I unluckily happen upon a word problem. Math has stained my transcript, adding the only “C” I have ever received in any subject. This irrational fear of math—my villainous broccoli—has been a constant bully throughout my schooling, following me everywhere and terrorizing my test scores. Math is no longer a subject to me; it has assumed a wicked personality of …show more content…
its own, conspiring with my psyche to give me headaches and panic attacks.
But, in the words of my spirited friends, “momma didn’t raise a quitter,” so I have spent my entire life crusading against math, the antidote to my joie de vivre. I have worked alongside a brigade of brilliant tutors, all of whom now have expertise in the subject of Consoling a Tearful Laurel. Therefore, my least favorite course in high school has been every mathematics-centered class I have ever taken. I will not claim that my struggle with math has led me to a magical epiphany or has made me a stronger student. In reality, it has given me a ridiculous amount of anxiety even from the start of my academic career. However, my friend Confucius has helped me reconcile this negativity within myself; I need something to balance my obsession with writing, culture, and literature, and math is simply the convenient ruffian to bear the cost of my love. In this way, my toxic relationship with math is almost poetic, and I’m a sucker for good poetry. I am incredibly excited to be the own navigator of my course load, even if that means transferring schools and
suffering through a few GEs to reach courses related to my intended philosophy major. Though pity will probably overcome my face when I see the unfortunate souls hunched over physics textbooks in the Viterbi buildings, I know that every person has his or her own broccoli—for some, it's literature that I love so dearly. Though we can scoff at each other’s opposing course loads ad infinitum, the diversity of each student’s metaphorical broccoli has ushered in legendary collaborations in technology and research, and I look forward to being around peers with varying interests.
When I think of a physical manifestation of disgust, I imagine a child’s face twisted with an almost caricature-like scowl at broccoli. As an adult with a more diverse palette, the child’s distaste seems irrational, or at least hyperbolized to the point of fabrication. Math is my broccoli. Cosines give me hives, my nose crinkles up if I hear the word “derivative,” and my blood pressure spikes whenever I unluckily happen upon a word problem. Math has stained my transcript, adding the only “C” I have ever received in any subject. This irrational fear of math—my villainous broccoli—has been a constant bully throughout my schooling, following me everywhere and terrorizing my test scores. Math is no longer a subject to me; it has assumed a wicked personality of …show more content…
its own, conspiring with my psyche to give me headaches and panic attacks.
But, in the words of my spirited friends, “momma didn’t raise a quitter,” so I have spent my entire life crusading against math, the antidote to my joie de vivre. I have worked alongside a brigade of brilliant tutors, all of whom now have expertise in the subject of Consoling a Tearful Laurel. Therefore, my least favorite course in high school has been every mathematics-centered class I have ever taken. I will not claim that my struggle with math has led me to a magical epiphany or has made me a stronger student. In reality, it has given me a ridiculous amount of anxiety even from the start of my academic career. However, my friend Confucius has helped me reconcile this negativity within myself; I need something to balance my obsession with writing, culture, and literature, and math is simply the convenient ruffian to bear the cost of my love. In this way, my toxic relationship with math is almost poetic, and I’m a sucker for good poetry. I am incredibly excited to be the own navigator of my course load, even if that means transferring schools and
suffering through a few GEs to reach courses related to my intended philosophy major. Though pity will probably overcome my face when I see the unfortunate souls hunched over physics textbooks in the Viterbi buildings, I know that every person has his or her own broccoli—for some, it's literature that I love so dearly. Though we can scoff at each other’s opposing course loads ad infinitum, the diversity of each student’s metaphorical broccoli has ushered in legendary collaborations in technology and research, and I look forward to being around peers with varying interests.