Sanaroonjha
Known
- Messages
- 252
- Reaction score
- 820
- Points
- 93
Mathematics always fascinated me from the beginning, but I wanted to jump straight to the answer instead of going through the rough work. Little did I know that I would have to endure life's rough draft without ever knowing the right answer.
I have seen many oppressors, but your tyranny is like algebra—visible, yet incomprehensible. You have turned my life into a geometry box where so many contrasting shapes are forced to live together. I am trapped in a whirlpool of squares, rectangles, triangles, and circles. You have so many angles that are beyond the reach of my protractor. To this day, I am searching for that right angle that could align my life into proper ascending and descending order and help me make sense of the Pythagorean theorem.
My life is like a pencil bound in a compass—it wears down, yet it never strays from the footsteps of its beloved. Sometimes I think about erasing all these circles, diameters, and circumferences with an eraser, but I fear the smudge and roughness left behind, knowing that the original softness can never return.
Sometimes I think about subtracting you to divide my grief, but my heart takes such a blow that I cannot add up my courage. Like the fixed value of \pi, I am constantly used in formulas—never visible in the final answer, yet always influencing the outcome.
If only I were a convex lens, I would focus my heat upon you and melt you down without you even realizing it. But what can one do? Those who set others on fire burn first themselves. Fire itself is blamed needlessly; the real culprits are oxygen and heat, which combine to turn something into fuel. Yet, to cool that same heat, the union of oxygen and hydrogen comes to the rescue. Proof that good company can turn even harmful things useful.
Now there is only one solution left: to become familiar with the small and large markings on life's ruler, understanding that to reach great heights, one must traverse small paths. When twenty-six millimeters gather, they outweigh even an inch. And when it comes to measuring attitudes and sensitivity, the purpose of a micrometer and vernier caliper becomes crystal clear.
My only wish now is to decorate life's writing with a colorful cut marker instead of a ballpoint pen. It is an undeniable truth that when the lead of a pencil passes through a sharpener, the pages turn colorful. A piece of chalk loses its existence trying to make the blackboard white. A slate is dark, but it holds the power to fill the future with light. A wooden reed pen merely rubs ink on a wooden tablet, yet it prepares one to sit on a throne.
Life is moving toward the final period, and the closing bell could ring at any moment. I wish life had a recess—one could step out, return, and tease the teacher for a few more periods.
Enough is enough now. Do not sprinkle any more sodium chloride; just pour hydrochloric acid all at once so that no trace of features remains, and I can console my heart that we were never a match anyway.
May God protect you from every virus and keep you safe from every bacterium, except the one that ferments yogurt.
Even though you have drifted away from the center and exited the orbit entirely, a ray of hope remains that gravity will pull you back from space into the atmosphere. May God bless you with comets, and may your importance in the solar system be like the sun, making even the moon dependent on your light. May God turn your larvae into eggs, lead them to the pupa stage, and acquaint you with the continuation of generations.
May you never suffer from calcium deficiency. May you be rich in iron. May your electrolytes never drop, and your conductivity remain intact. May God keep you safe from impurities, and may there be an abundance of vitamins. May the chemistry of your life never be disturbed.
May you get a kind examiner, acquainted invigilators, may every theory turn out true, and may you pass every practical.
I have seen many oppressors, but your tyranny is like algebra—visible, yet incomprehensible. You have turned my life into a geometry box where so many contrasting shapes are forced to live together. I am trapped in a whirlpool of squares, rectangles, triangles, and circles. You have so many angles that are beyond the reach of my protractor. To this day, I am searching for that right angle that could align my life into proper ascending and descending order and help me make sense of the Pythagorean theorem.
My life is like a pencil bound in a compass—it wears down, yet it never strays from the footsteps of its beloved. Sometimes I think about erasing all these circles, diameters, and circumferences with an eraser, but I fear the smudge and roughness left behind, knowing that the original softness can never return.
Sometimes I think about subtracting you to divide my grief, but my heart takes such a blow that I cannot add up my courage. Like the fixed value of \pi, I am constantly used in formulas—never visible in the final answer, yet always influencing the outcome.
If only I were a convex lens, I would focus my heat upon you and melt you down without you even realizing it. But what can one do? Those who set others on fire burn first themselves. Fire itself is blamed needlessly; the real culprits are oxygen and heat, which combine to turn something into fuel. Yet, to cool that same heat, the union of oxygen and hydrogen comes to the rescue. Proof that good company can turn even harmful things useful.
Now there is only one solution left: to become familiar with the small and large markings on life's ruler, understanding that to reach great heights, one must traverse small paths. When twenty-six millimeters gather, they outweigh even an inch. And when it comes to measuring attitudes and sensitivity, the purpose of a micrometer and vernier caliper becomes crystal clear.
My only wish now is to decorate life's writing with a colorful cut marker instead of a ballpoint pen. It is an undeniable truth that when the lead of a pencil passes through a sharpener, the pages turn colorful. A piece of chalk loses its existence trying to make the blackboard white. A slate is dark, but it holds the power to fill the future with light. A wooden reed pen merely rubs ink on a wooden tablet, yet it prepares one to sit on a throne.
Life is moving toward the final period, and the closing bell could ring at any moment. I wish life had a recess—one could step out, return, and tease the teacher for a few more periods.
Enough is enough now. Do not sprinkle any more sodium chloride; just pour hydrochloric acid all at once so that no trace of features remains, and I can console my heart that we were never a match anyway.
May God protect you from every virus and keep you safe from every bacterium, except the one that ferments yogurt.
Even though you have drifted away from the center and exited the orbit entirely, a ray of hope remains that gravity will pull you back from space into the atmosphere. May God bless you with comets, and may your importance in the solar system be like the sun, making even the moon dependent on your light. May God turn your larvae into eggs, lead them to the pupa stage, and acquaint you with the continuation of generations.
May you never suffer from calcium deficiency. May you be rich in iron. May your electrolytes never drop, and your conductivity remain intact. May God keep you safe from impurities, and may there be an abundance of vitamins. May the chemistry of your life never be disturbed.
May you get a kind examiner, acquainted invigilators, may every theory turn out true, and may you pass every practical.