This is day 7 of journaling with Selena. Today’s prompt:

Write about a guilty pleasure. Why can you not enjoy it without guilt?

Guys, I mean, it hasn’t been much of a secret anymore, but it’s time I fully come clean to the world.

I…

I…

I like math.

To my MTH380 class: I was acting when I groaned every time Mr. DoBa assigned a major. I painted a grimace on my face when he walked us through the difficult AIME level questions we were given. Remember that first challenge question we were given on the very first class? i stayed behind to figure it out, and excitedly emailed Mr. DoBa a few minutes into lunch, asking if I’d gotten the answer.

To my Algebra II teacher Ms. Khan: You’re the goat. You made me love math again. Did you know I made a group chat for the class on the first day? I sent them videos that I found on YouTube covering the things we went over in class. I think the other kids in the class thought I was a nut-so or something, because no one every responded to Gato Matematico or the visualization of ellipse foci. It didn’t help that you’d brag about my scores to everyone, but oh well. It did feel pretty good to be good at math again.

To my mom in seventh grade: Yeah… I still kind of hate compettion math. But, that’s probably because I’m no good at it. Still, I appreciate the beauty that lies within it. I hope you’ll be ecstatic to know that I watch videos about olympiad problems and geometry proofs in my spare time. I’m sorry I didn’t want to take AMC8 again. I was crushed that I didn’t get above a twenty, and even more crushed at how I performed during Math Kangaroo. Come on, I didn’t even place in Connecticut, let alone nationally. I thought I was done-for with math, and to be honest, I didn’t want to try either.

To David, the only other Asian kid on Darien B travel hockey: Whenever we talked about the AMC or what you were doing in school, did you also feel the eyes of the stragglers in the locker room? Did you hear the venom laced in innocent questions like “You’re good at math, right?” “You probably skipped a grade, right?” I miss our locker room talks. Now, I’m one of the first ones out to catch dinner. At least I won’t keep my ride waiting anymore.

To my fourth grade teacher Ms. Rongoe: I didn’t know what changed after my parents talked with you, or why you took me aside after math workshop that day, and assured me I could work on whatever my parents gave me instead. Unlike the Geronimo Stilton, Harry Potter, and Pseudonymous Bosch books that I buried myself in, I didn’t want to dig through whatever JHU CTY ABC XYZ pdf of middle school competition math. When you beamed as I showed you my 35/50 on my quiz on work problems, I didn’t tell you that they gave me 30 points for writing my name on a 20 point quiz.

To the Darien High School Summer Session Algebra I class: I really liked playing bloons tower defense on CoolMathGames with you guys. I hope you saw me as just another kid. I didn’t know what a “y = mx + b” was either. Maybe we can run it back some time. I still play BTD6 from time to time, and I think of the class. I agree, Albert, what the heck is a y intercept anyways? And look: my super monkey’s shooting lasers now!

To first grade me: It is such a blessing to be bored. I still remember your interest in numbers. How when your hands were too sweaty to grip the child-proof doorknob to open your door and sneak into your parents room, you'd instead turn your sweaty grip to a magnetic board to write random things down. You didn't know it then, but adding numbers together until you got something cool is legit math: you calculated 2²² and wrote the first 40 fibonacci numbers. Believe it or not, now I willingly lock myself in rooms to study, and I'm still not as focused as you were.

To my dad 12 years ago: Cat-Monkey-Dog problems have stuck with me for my entire life. Thank you for introducing me to math.

To my grandparents 12 years ago: I still know my times tables better in Chinese. You made sure I could never forget what 七八得什么：五十六

To my mom 12 years ago: I remember being wrapped in a towel on your bed, shivering from the cold air after a shower, still doing subtraction in my head: 一百二十一减去六十七… I have an answer for you now. Fifty four.

And finally, to myself in 5 years: I hope you not only continue liking math, but that you learn to love math as I once did.