#basic arithmetic is hard sometimes

[songofwizardry]

I say I have a physics degree but the amount of basic maths I manage to mess up on like. A weekly basis. Truly is astounding.

[anemo-hypostasis]

The Idiot | Alhaitham/Reader

Pairing: Alhaitham/F!Reader

Summary: Three gifts have been given to Alhaitham. Each is regretted. None can be taken back. By the docks of Port Ormos, the recipient himself comes knocking. TLDR: you and Alhaitham grow up together. 

“I am a fool with a heart but no brains, and you are a fool with brains but no heart; and we’re both unhappy, and we both suffer.” - Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot

Forewarnings: slight nsfw, angst, hurt no comfort, childhood friends. 18+ only.

Note: This is the most convoluted and choppy piece I have ever written, so advanced apologies and sincerest regrets! 

WC: 5.3K

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In this world, giving and receiving are referred to as a couplet. Like the concluding lines in a Shakespearian sonnet, fresh cream and cut peaches, or the blazing sun and the gentle moon. Many items, ideas, and actions are destined to pair in the same way giving and receiving are. It is a shame that you have given everything, yet received nothing. Like death harvesting life, an endless bonfire gobbling up surrounding air, or soldiers losing lives to fight soldiers losing lives. Sometimes, it is hard to define it as an equilibrium, because it never evens out. It is Newton’s cradle, never existing in the same state yet existing together. Like Kepler’s elliptical orbits. Like an oil spill in the harbor.

The anchorage of Port Ormos brings sound to a once-silent ocean. Merchants advertise Inazuman lacquerware, the newest Sumeru City fashion fads, and bottled fragrances. Rose custard is sold instead of padisarah pudding. Intricate rugs of cobalt blue and sanded beige are sold on the street corner. I remember you. The smell of adhigama leaves. I remember everything about you. 

“I didn’t expect you to be one for seafaring.” He smells like Port Ormos, even though he’s a city boy. He’s been here for too long, and the stench has clung to him. 

“It’s nice to escape for a little bit. Sumeru City is suffocating sometimes. I’m sure you know how it is,” He doesn’t respond or settle down. Just does what he always does - looms. The wind tussles his cloak as you continue, “I heard you got a promotion.”

“Not for long, I hope. Being the Grand Sage doesn’t have any appeal to me. I much prefer the mediocrity and flexibility of my last position.” He never has been one for material gains or a boost in reputation. He told me as much. Did he change his hairstyle? I wish you would’ve just lied.

Perhaps that is why you have always given. The man who is uncaring about how he is perceived disregards the people around him. How delusional were you?

First, you gave him your word. It was five years short of a score ago, by the banks of the Sumeru River. People always scold children not to play in it because of the spinocrocodiles and its pollution, but at the time, it appeared magical. The ghost of the moon floated on the rushing current, and the two of you sat on a purple beach towel in hopes of seeing the soon-to-come eclipse. It had taken days of begging, but at the end of it all, you had gained both permission and a basket of packaged baklava.

“Did you know that one pistachio tree consumes forty gallons of water?” Plucking a stray pistachio in his mouth, the boy began devouring the preserved dessert. Honey and oil coated both of your hands, catching in your hair and smudging your face.

“Then how come they’re dry?” You responded, still chewing. 

“Ew, don’t talk with your mouth full. But, that’s a foolish question. The tree is not the same as the nut.” The boy’s eyes, cut in ornate lozenges, are blocked by sun visors handed out by the Rtawahist Darshan; his focus is transfixed on the moon’s iron-blood hue as if looking away could scare the celestial bodies back to normalcy and dissipate the scene. There is an identifiable tenacity in that gaze. It’s something you know, but that you never speak into existence. Like basic arithmetic. Like the burn of a red stove. Like adult secrets.

“It’s nice that you just, like, know everything. I wish I were like that… my governess always yells at me ‘cause I never remember anything.” The words are laced with the naivety of a child, but the boy, never adhering to the norm, musters a sardonic scoff. 

“That’s why I don’t have a governess or attend school. It’s much better for self-study, and there’s no one to hold you back in the name of collectivism,” There is a slight humor in the way the boy, no older than twelve, conducts his speech. It is an ironic contrast, the sweet tone of a child pronouncing diction used in seminar recounts, research essays, and upperclassman-level textbooks. He adds, “But I understand this is a situation unique to me. Most individuals my age are not as advanced in intellect, so this method may not benefit them. People think me odd or uneducated because of it.” 

“I’d never think that of you. I mean, so many boys are so cruel and mean, but you’re so smart and never act like that on purpose. Like how you knew about everything the Rtawahist presenter was sharing. I don’t like everyone else.” The moon augments into a shade reminiscent of curdled blood as you dote, and the boy does not stray from its view. He sighs.

“It will be hard for you to make other friends that way. Isolated friendships are unhealthy. Time should be evenly distributed across numerous interests.” How cold. Chilled gales connect themselves to pale strands of hair. Like dew on a frosted morning. Like streams of snowmelt.

“But you don’t hang out with other people, and you’re fine.” You refute.

“I’m different from other people. Even though you might not realize it yet, you’re not like me. Limiting yourself to me is rash and will cause you suffering.” The cicadas descend from a choir to a solo. The moon, basking in Tevyat’s figure, converts to full crimson. The Sumeru River is alight with God’s plague as if you and the boy had struck a staff into its icy peaks and converted it to blood yourselves.

“I’ll always be with you,” Like faith and doubt. Like bread and wine. Like iron and coal. He stills, and you continue, “I won’t ever hate you, so let’s stay together, Haitham.”

The Port is privy to action at hours subsequent to midnight. Legality is blind in the encompassing darkness of dusk, and the harbor reveals its covert treasures: women, contraband, and manpower. The Sab Al Bahr, your method of transport, had docked for the customary enterprises of nightlife in Port Ormos. Three women from Liyue - Lihua, Qingyi, and Tao - had made for excellent yet bittersweet company among the crew. By now, they will have been escorted to their new residence among the harrowing back alleys of Ormos, confined to a destitute bed in a room of a dozen similar women. The aura of liveliness comes at a cost of livelihood. Giving and receiving. Ebb and flow.

“It’s been years, hasn’t it? Since we’ve talked.” Unfamiliar awkwardness permeates the air. The estrangement of the familiar always leaves unease of a horrendous nature. I remember when I knew you. I remember when you knew me.

“I’d estimate around four. Our correspondence leaves much to be desired,” He sits on the garden curb behind you. There is disfavor in his voice as he asks, “Did you come from Sab Al Bahr?” 

“It was convenient from Liyue to Magador to Ormos. They’re not so bad.” Shame crawls up your cheeks, invisible to the naked eye but prominent to your senses. 

“Liyue… Prostitutes and finery, I presume? I can’t say I judged you as the type. The lifestyle of a pirate is quite different from that of a scholar. Even living amongst them must be quite the culture shock.” 

“I never was quite the scholar. Not like you. The passion left after I had my thesis rejected four times in a row, I think.” There is humor in your tone, poking fun at the detriment that appeared so intense once upon a time. The scuffle of decal boots approaching the dock’s ledge made you look back. The man sat down, a grimace tugging at groomed eyebrows and thin lips.

“Naeem Farhat was your chosen advisor. That was your first mistake - he was known for nitpicking any details that he found tedious or against his personal bias. It takes a student with a near-identical mindset to succeed under his tutelage. Personally, I thought Kifaya Hakim was the best choice for you; she provides critical yet honest feedback and focuses on celestial movement patterns in conjunction with various geological points.” There it is. That all-knowing attitude, removed from pleasantries and ample in diluted self-righteousness. I loved all of you. Some people never change. I admired every part of you.

“Had you told me that, I would have chosen her, but you were gone for research in Devantaka. I went with my instinct.” It is a bit bitter, now that the statement has been dispersed into the salty air. Like the white flesh of pomegranates mixed with red seeds. Like raw and unaged pu-erh. 

“Sometimes,” he pauses, “It is important to make choices without outside influence.”

The second coffer offered to him was a pearl to a clam; it was your heart, faithful and unadulterated. It shined with iridescence in his monochromatic grasp, esteemed and coveted. To this day, it is your penultimate regret. Gifting love to the wrong individual is a most punishing mistake.

The boy, now eighteen, sits in his grandmother’s abundant library when you give him your gift. He has never pursued public education, but the flurry of excitement in the neighborhood as families convene to photograph daughters and sons in graduation gowns is a contagion; unavoidable. The pleated mint fabric is embroidered with the braids and twists of vines, as homage to Greater Lord Rukkhadevata. One cord with twists of navy and beige rests on your shoulders, akin to ancient Roman laurels of olive and blossom.

“Do you think you’ll come to the ceremony?” You ask, watching as he flips to the next page of Metaphysics. He doesn’t meet your eyes, opting to scribble a note in the margins of the aged paper.

“I had planned to finish reading this, but… I suppose I could attend. Just for your section. Since your class is around two-hundred people, I’ll come about twenty-five minutes in. Is that agreeable?” Part of you wonders if he is writing a reminder to himself. Nodding, your lips turn up and you ruffle the boy’s silken hair.

“Thanks! I would’ve been very upset. God, this gown is so frumpy… Oh, by the way, I had, uh, something to ask. It’s kind of important, so would you mind looking at me?” Eyes like cut jade diced with topaz flicker up, and he closes the book with slowness. He raises an eyebrow as if to say, what’s so important? Hands, nimble and uncalloused, motion for you to speak.

“So, we’ve been friends for a while, and I enjoy being friends with you, so I want to preface this by saying that no matter what, you are a friend first and foremost..” you gulp, hesitant, before sighing, “I really like you, Haitham. Romantically. Even though it’s selfish of me, I can’t help but hope you feel the same way. If you don’t, that’s fine - I would never hold it against you.” Distant cheers erupt from the parallel side of the library’s window, emphasizing the blankness of noise collapsing in on you. The boy sighs.

“I had my suspicions,” He stands from the algae-toned couch, extending with, “But I didn’t think you’d confess before graduation. Isn’t that a bit risky? Standing between fine lines seems to be a hobby of yours.” It’s zaytun peach season in Sumeru City. Bushes grow plump with heavy bodices of sugared flesh and skin, and the city becomes alight with scent. The delicate fragrance tangos around your nostrils, and you use it as a distraction. Later, when this humiliation is foregone, you’ll sink your canines into the flesh of a fresh peach, and the affliction of rejection will slide down your throat as if it had never been birthed.

“That being said, I thought it was obvious enough that I shared your sentiment. Have you really been worrying over such a trivial detail as to whether I share your affections? Relationships are of little importance to me. People in this world often cause their own problems and make life harder for themselves; pleasure seekers land themselves in debt, self-important authorities expose themselves to dangers, and lovesick partners spend their lives attempting to appease another. Having a relationship is just another engagement filled with more trifles than necessary. Do you understand?” Ice purges itself down your spine. His gaze is hot and immovable as if delving into the mush of the human psyche in an attempt to draw an answer. Like a hook caught in the flank. Like the milliseconds before an earthquake. Like a judge at the podium.

“I won’t pressure you, but I want you to know that I would accommodate you. Love is not a one-size fits all. Haven’t we known each other since toddlerhood? I think if there are any two people that are capable of adjusting to the other’s needs, it’s us. So please, don’t say yes, but don’t say no, either.” Desperation bleeds from a trifecta of the human body - tone, expression, pose - and scurries to the ground. It curdles and coalesces by the boy’s feet, a single evolutionary leap short of being able to climb up his legs, chest, and mouth. It is almost able to devour him, but not quite. He runs pale hands through sleek hair, a sparse yet meaningful action that communicates a genuine dilemma. 

“Okay. I’ll consider it. But if your expectations remain unsatisfied, and a chasm develops between us, don’t be surprised,” the boy caresses the spine of Metaphysics and excuses it to the daystand, saying, “Don’t let me ruin a good day. Graduation is meant to be celebratory. Come on, let’s go together. It’ll be faster.” 

By the windowsill, the boy’s grandmother has set out a lustreware bowl filled with zaytun peaches. Their skin is exquisite, glinting in the light as if waxed, and a pink-to-magenta gradient paints them in the image of a summer Sumerian sky. The boy grabs one as he leaves the archway. 

He grabs your hand in the same archway two weeks later, warning you of all its hazards and rough edges. But the young are naive, concerned with the future, and dismissive of the present, and two hands come to reciprocate his. 

Djafar Tavern hosts a diverse audience. Ayn Al-Ahmar Eremites sit in isolated pluckings. Street dancers weave themselves into the edges of sidewalks and patios, hoping to glean gold and mercy from tavern patrons. Researchers admit fatigue and failure in research and seek comfort in the dulling buzz of oncoming pints. The man sits across from you, one ankle crossed at the knee and knuckles flush against his cheek. Copper liquid sits idle in his mug.

“I happen to remember a certain scribe getting so wasted, he wretched into the bushes for ten minutes straight.” The tendrils of alcohol have tickled your cheeks. Each word comes out more vivacious than planned, and the man across from you observes in amusement.

“Is that so? If my memory serves me, I happen to recall a young academic begging the aforementioned scribe to cook her a full-sized portion of biryani after a rough night out in Ormos.” Merriment is an exclusive color on the man, and it oozes from each syllable. Teasing, when done right, can be a rambunctious affair. Sweat beads on the wrinkles of his forehead and at the rear of your neck as a product of Sumeru heat and the excitement of reunion. The flax of alcohol seeps down and down, until the past and future evade your thought, leaving the remains of a sweltering fuzz.

“It’s so odd. I’ve been upset with you for so long, but now, I can’t even remember why. Tell me, Alhaitham, what did you do? I can’t recall the details, but I’m sure you’ve done something…” Hiccups bubble up and out between strung-out utterances. The man, sober as he seems, is overrun by prominent reds and pinks on the apple of his cheeks. The tab for tonight is bound to be hefty - it requires an absurd amount of alcohol to inebriate him with low-quality beer. Sitting back, the trinkets on his belt create a quiet symphony of noise.

“I think we’ve both had too much to drink. This is sure to be a headache in the morning. It’s best I get you home now.” The sky is pigmented in hues of navy and onyx. It stands out amongst the depraved prostitutes, screeching merchants, and tainted light. Like an abyss beneath the sand. Like dancers in the rain. Like a whale beneath the ship. It is so unfaltering, unknown, and expansive. Droplets dew in the corners of your eyes. Stationed in the middle of the street, eyes never blinking, you watch the sky.

“Come now. There will always be another sky to watch. I need to get you home.” He needs to get me home. The cosmos moves in synchronization. Since when have you wanted me home? The stars, gaseous and alight, provide entertainment as two strangers walk the boulevard. Since when have we been strangers?

Like the Three Wise Men, you adorn the boy with gold, frankincense, and myrrh of your own. Gold appeals to all, but its merit does not hold up to true testaments of need; it is fragile, and the teeth of the mouth can damage its delicateness with ease. Frankincense is a traditional offering to God himself, representing love and devotion. It designates its recipient as divine and deserving of worship. Myrrh anoints the corpses of the bygone, and its role as a gift symbolizes the sacrifice of death. It is giving without receiving. For the offering of myrrh, you relinquish flesh.

Rtawahist textbooks cast a shadow over the blank canvas of an assigned paper labeled “On the Relation Between Starshrooms and Celestial Objects.” Dozens of researchers and undergraduates sit in identical positions, hunched above a pile of papers adjacent to an impressive tower of established sources. Studies on the Biological Evolution of Starshrooms. Phases of Constellations and Celestial Movement. Changes in Biodiversity in Relation to Month. It sent rivulets of vexation down your limbs, increasing in intensity the longer the pen in your hand remained motionless.

“I just don’t get it. People have submitted far less appealing work to him, and he accepts it with no issue! I mean, one person was missing an entire body paragraph, and he took it!” The skin of your palms grants reprieve to the ache of your pupils, rubbing up and down in hopes of relieving a fraction of the tension flitting across your expression. 

“Currying favor is a common practice in smaller classes. If your work isn’t revolutionary and the professor has a bad impression, bias can play an important factor in whether or not you pass.” The man, now twenty-two, is enchanted by the booklet in his grasp. Homological Mirror Symmetry. Even so, he spares a glance at the disappointing lack of substance positioned on the opposite side of the adhigama desk. One blue and white lampshade illuminates the space, creating an intimate and closed-off aura.

“Do you think I haven’t tried that? I have. I gave him baklava, zaytun peaches from the Bazaar, and a coupon to Puspa. I think he’s biased against women - did I ever tell you how there are no other women in my class? Tell me that’s not the craziest coincidence!” In your petulance, the disengagement of the man across from you remains unseen. So, when he proposes a heinous question in the public ambiance of the House of Daena, it comes out rash.

“Do you dislike that we haven’t had sex?” He does not coat bitter apples in sugar or insist on that which is roundabout. It aids in the directness of communication within the relationship, but in moments such as these, it can be overwhelming. Spit sputters from your throat as you regain composure.

“I’m-I’m sorry? Haitham, you can’t just say those things in public! Jeez, imagine if someone heard you… can’t we talk about it later?” Each affricate is squeezed between teeth, hissing and aggravated. The man is unphased, eyes locked onto yours.

“It’s just a simple question. People our age engage in hook-up culture and sex, and our bodies are biologically the most receptive to desire at this life stage. Despite this, we’ve only gone as far as kissing. I want to know if this upsets you, or if it seems like I’ve neglected your needs.” It is hard not to desire the man he has transformed into. Cultivated abs peek up from beneath his augmented uniform, his hair is lush and coated in grains of moondust, and there is a unique charm to his extensive intelligence. That being said, Sumeru City has a centuries-old culture of sexual shame and repression. It is to be consumed with caution, and in appropriate amounts, so as to avoid the dissipation of rationale and pragmatism. In some ways, his ability to overlook social norms in favor of reasonable logic is alluring. In others, it is humiliating. Like crime and punishment. Like a kiss upon the altar. Like a veil raised in love and lowered in grief.

“I mean, I’m not upset! I know physical affection doesn’t appeal to you, and I would never want to force you into something you don’t enjoy. That would upset me more than not… y’know…” Galesh heels hitting stark tile reverberate in the House of Daena - the environment is anything but private.

“Having sex? I see. In that case, let’s discuss this further at my apartment after lectures.” He heralds the book under his arm and marches off, as indifferent as a rock amidst a gouging river. Meanwhile, embarrassment has yet to settle into the bottom sediment of your nerves. Praying to Lesser Lord Kusanali that no Rtwahist peers overheard the conversation, you return back to “On the Relation Between Starshrooms and Celestial Objects” with novel zeal. 

The evening of Sumeru City is lit to the firmament, artistic street lamps lining the pavement home. The man’s apartment is a short walk from the Rtwahist offices, and it has become an unofficial meeting spot between the both of you. The light emanating from inside is dim - it could be no more than a few candles lit - and a gnawing sensation comes to violate your senses. The pleasantry of knocking has long since been disposed of, and you step in.

The man sits on the ornate sofa in the center of the living room. On the coffee table sits a new book to conquer. Vita Sexualis. The corner of a navy bookmark peeks from its battered pages. It must have been too difficult to find a new copy; he preferred to have well-kept covers, if possible, so a cracked and yellowing title was a sign of uncharacteristic “settling.” 

“Do you make a habit of reading state-banned erotica?” You joke, placing your rucksack on the floorboards and taking a seat next to him. He shrugs.

“If something is banned, doesn’t that make it all the more intriguing? Looking at what society deems ‘beyond the pale’ can say more about cultural norms than an entire course at the Akademiya,” Like clockwork, he repositions himself to face you. The physical closeness is off-putting after four years of sparse affection. The man continues, “Sexuality, in all forms, is looked down upon by the youth and elders alike. However, it is hardly something worth devoting fear to. Do you agree?” 

“Sure, but that was never- I just didn’t think you’d want that from me.” His palms lift your chin. It is awkward. He has resented romance and insisted on the idiocy of its frivolities since childhood, but he knows the logistics of what is appealing and what is not. He knows you like it, and so he does it. Like covering ears and reading lips. Like fruit on the cutting board. Like an antidote to poison.

“I will admit that sex, alongside other typical gestures, is not a focus or concern of mine. That being said, I am far from opposed to it. I would like to experiment with it if you are consenting.” Silver tickles your cheek and he leans over. Excitement pulses through your bloodstream, sending tremors down your hands. 

“I think I’d like that too, Haitham.” Lips meet lips in a delicate kiss as the skin of your hand merges with his neck. Those eyes, emboldened, roll down in sync with his palms. They caress the fullness of your cheek, the tips of your fingers, the curve of your waistline, the ridges of your trachea, the divots of your collarbones. Fire perches itself as a phantom of touch, burning into the skin. The musculature of his back flexes beneath your left hand as he covers your body. Leaning back on his heels, thighs flexing on the sides of your legs, he pulls the hem of his shirt up.

You savor him. Skin glows like moonlight under the approaching moon, and your fingers slide along the expanse of his stomach. Pushing yourself up, you catch his lips another time, and another, hands roaming across his pectorals and neck.

“Can I take your shirt off?” He asks between kisses, arms supporting the circumflex of your back. His wish is granted, and as he departs from your face, he pinches the Liyuean silk between his thumb, index, and middle fingers, pulling it up to reveal your chest. There is a technique behind each audacious caress; the subtle liberation of your bra, his built arms pressing you chest-to-chest, the chaste trail he paints down your abdomen. He pauses.

“Is something wrong?” You mutter, splayed out on the couch cushions. The nakedness is frightening, and now that the action has stopped, a shiver begins to tease your skin.

“I think we’ve reached the part where we strip. I don’t want to alarm you, so I’ll ask: is it alright if I fully undress you and myself?” His constant confirmation is reassuring, but a small section of your consciousness dwindles on the robotic nature of it all. Each action reeks of formulation and plagiarism - like a schoolboy gleaning answers from a neighbor, or an essay using sections of Akasha terminal outputs. I don’t care. I don’t care at all.

“Be my guest.” Then, you are bare against his chest. Everything is warm, and the man dons a charming flush across his cheeks and chest. His fingers are akin to a honey wand in a pot, covered in the fruits of his labor as he clenches your fingers with his free hand. Small groans and intakes of breath permeate the room, creating a sickly sweet humidity. When he unbuckles his slacks, you turn to the side, shock and shame intermingling into one. Noticing, his thumb catches your cheek.

“I promise to be gentle. Tell me everything that comes to your mind. Your input is important to me.” The moonlight has enveloped the entire room. Few corners are hidden under its judgment, and the man above you is a beauty. Like sparkles at sea. Like pearls clutched between strings. Like a golden girdle lost on the battlefield. 

“I love you, Alhaitham.”

Port Ormos has one notable inn. The remaining options are either on the outskirts of town or surrounded by the “undesirables” of society. It is Najjar Palace, a one-star inn, that has the misfortune of hosting you. Outside of the dim entrance, Alhaitham holds your robes as you vomit into the bushes. It has been a few hours, and after an extended walk and a pitcher of ice water, soberness begins to creep in. Tears dot your face, and smudges of kohl mark your under eye. 

“I’m sorry. Our first meeting in years, and I get shitfaced.” Regret blossoms in your countenance. He shrugs, handing the fine robes back to you.

“I can’t act holier than thou after becoming inebriated myself. Do you feel well enough to carry on?” The moon is a picturesque reflection of Lesser Lord Kusanali tonight. Its pale expanse is large and smooth, dust catching in its earth-bound light. Sitting down, you gaze at its fullness. How is it that the moon is always there for your more humbling moments?

“I feel good now.” He nods, then connects your focus to the brightness in the sky. He stares at it, too. Sighing, you state, “It's always here when we’re together. The moon.”

“It was a full moon that night as well, wasn’t it?” Alhaitham adds, cape draped against the cement floor. 

“I didn’t even realize. I was so upset,” a breeze disrupts the branches above and you laugh, “I think there’s a journal somewhere where I compared you to about thirty different things. Some good, some bad, but the pages were filled with edgy similes. Like Kepler’s orbits, like Newton’s cradle…” You recount, snorting.

“I’m sorry,” Alhaitham says, a softness lining the clouds of his words. He stiffens, “I broke things off in a way that ignored your feelings. That was unusually inefficient of me.” 

“...I tried to forget your name. It’s been so long since I’ve said it without scolding myself afterward. I tried very hard to forget you, Alhaitham.” One leaf falls onto your scalp, and you pluck it off and throw it to the brush. The atmosphere is refreshing. Genuine, yet understood. 

“It is unbecoming to my personal morals to stay in a relationship forever tainted by inequality. For everything I gave, you gave much more. It never evened out, and it didn’t sit well with me.” He reveals, crossing his ankle over his knee yet again. You remember feeling that way - like he didn’t care. Just like he predicted. You remembered the betrayal when you found his belongings moved out and his contact changed. You remember when he left you, and you were forced to leave him. You remember thinking about him for the next year, jotting down notes in the leatherbound journal he had gifted you on your twelfth birthday.

Like the concluding lines in a Shakespearian sonnet, fresh cream and cut peaches, or the blazing sun and the gentle moon. Like death harvesting life, an endless bonfire gobbling up surrounding air, or soldiers losing lives to fight soldiers losing lives. Like Kepler’s elliptical orbits. Like an oil spill in the harbor. Like basic arithmetic. Like the burn of a red stove. Like adult secrets. Like dew on a frosted morning. Like streams of snowmelt.  Like faith and doubt. Like bread and wine. Like iron and coal.  Like the white flesh of pomegranates mixed with red seeds. Like raw and unaged pu-erh.  Like a hook caught in the flank. Like the milliseconds before an earthquake. Like a judge at the podium.Like an abyss beneath the sand. Like dancers in the rain. Like a whale beneath the ship. Like crime and punishment. Like a kiss upon the altar. Like a veil raised in love and lowered in grief.  Like covering ears and reading lips. Like fruit on the cutting board. Like an antidote to poison. Like sparkles at sea. Like pearls clutched between strings. Like a golden girdle lost on the battlefield. 

You were everything that has ever been to me, you want to say. It beats true in your heart and veins, knocking at the bars like an aggravated prisoner, but nothing spews from your lips. Nothing but this. 

“It’s late. Thank you for taking care of me, Alhaitham. Goodnight.” You don’t turn around to see his wave or nod or whatever nonchalant gesture he’s resorted to. The inn is 10,000 per night. You hand the receptionist 50,000. You unlock the room, rampant with musk and stains. You sit down on the sheets. Your eyes close.

In the morning, Alhaitham is nowhere to be seen. Everything feels a bit clearer. I think I am okay with remembering you now, you think. I am okay with forgetting, too. Remembrance and forgetfulness. Giving and receiving. What an idiot. 

[bread-tab]

i'm trying to get over my deep embarrassment about being So Bad At Math and let myself accept it and work on it and really think about it again—

which is hard! because every time i even bring up my struggles and/or the idea of having dyscalculia i get shut down like "no you're too smart, you can do math, you're just anxious, you're just overthinking it"

... yeah, i can do math, but i do it slowly and by shortcuts and memorization and being good with calculators and by redoing everything five times as fast as i can to catch the inevitable stupid mistakes. i can do math like the average dyslexic person can read.

i'm a cashier and i can't count people's change back to them using that subtraction(?) trick. i mess up too often.

i'm overthinking it because i keep having to relearn significant parts of multiplication and division every year or two.

—and, uh, anyway, and now that i'm thinking about it again after getting back into therapy and all that. working actively on self-acceptance. it just hit me that the number i have the most trouble with is 1.

like of course i didn't want to admit that. one. one! can you even explain to me what one is? probably not! it's too obvious! it's intuitive, right?

well. not for me.

1 is actually a very abstract number. when you're looking at stuff in the real world—counting beans, slicing pies, whatever—you're actually arbitrarily grouping billions of atoms and molecules into a "single" object. you're one person, but you're also trillions of cells.

i do fine with the real world, but not so well with abstract quantities. my intuition is concrete. in the real world you can't multiply things. that would violate the conservation of mass. you just move things around (or compare them to each other). and practically speaking you're always moving around lumps of stuff and an atom or a crumb here or there doesn't matter. 100 vs 99 is not a big deal. 1 vs 2 is. (sometimes i get very upset about fractions.)

i can't hold the idea of "one" as a pure quantity in my mind very well. i think of everything as a set. (i was very happy to encounter set theory in middle school. genuinely ecstatic.) i have to visualize 1 as something tangible, give it a shape. a dot. a circle. a square. the problem is, 1 is really small. either i'm picturing it as something big enough to have other stuff in it—too big—or as basically an empty set, which ends up resulting in a lot of errors because i treat it like 0.

i can think it more easily in binary sometimes—explicitly distinguishing between 1 and 0!—but that means a lot of repetition which i can't keep track of well enough for regular arithmetic. the repetition is worse for my working memory.

idk, it's late and i'm rambling. it's just. this is a disability i have. it's on my mind because i've been struggling really badly with time management and today i really realized that a big part of that is because time management involves constantly doing math. i get to see my little arithmetic mistakes add up to cascading problems in real time.

what's a little 1 misplaced here or there? whoops, that 1 was an hour. 15 minutes is basically the same as 20. oh but 20 is about the same as 30. is there really a big difference between half an hour and an hour? well, i have 60 whole minutes, might as well waste 5. 45 minutes is almost an hour.

15 minutes late is "you no-call no-showed your appointment." 10 minutes late is "your timecard is looking bad. you're on your first warning, after your third one you're getting fired." 5 minutes late is a "tardy," and i've never had a clean attendance record.

it's past 3 a.m. i need to get up at 11. will i get 8 hours of sleep?

do i ever?

this is not a very kind world in which to struggle with simple math.

[studywithrosie]

Soft suggestion: You don't always have to journal.

If you're feeling down, or you've had a rough day, or you're in a weird state of mind, etc... yes, you want to journal about it to feel better because that's what everyone tells you to do and they promise it's going to help you feel 100 times better. They're saying that from experience and good intentions, and they're right. It does help.

But sometimes the last thing you want to do is to sit with your pen and notebook and dissect these things. Sometimes you don't want to vent, you don't want to open up and pour your thoughts and feelings out onto the pages. You just want to distance yourself from it.

And even on the good days, when journaling seems like a pleasant self-care activity, sometimes it's hard to express yourself, even to yourself. And sometimes you don't know how to respond to journal prompts.

It's okay. You don't always have to journal.

But you still want to feel better. So maybe... maybe you can study instead?

It doesn't have to be a nose-to-the-grindstone sort of studying. It can be a hobbyist style of studying.

Language learning is great. Don't feel pressured to commit yourself 100%. Just pick a foreign language at random. If they have a different alphabet / character system, just start with that. Write it down. Write down basic phrases. Repeat as many times as you like. Find bite-sized pieces of things to learn (Wiki articles, fun facts about the language / country of origin, etc.) And write it all down, like you would if you were journaling.

Not into language learning? S'ok. Pick something else to study. Something fun, something simple, non-stressful and easily digestible. Main events in the history of an ancient civilization of your interest. Basic theory of music. Fundamental physiological processes in animal or plant cells (things like respiration or photosynthesis). Industrial processes (how things are made). Rock formation.

There's really no limit. Something as simple as "How do birds make nests?" to arithmetic math drills.

The point is, tap into your curiosity and channel your focus into learning that new thing. Even for just 20 minutes. And remember to take notes and write it all down. The writing part is important because it's meditative. So if you feel the need to journal but also kinda don't want to, try studying instead.

[friendlymathematician]

Do you find arithmetic, fractions and basic geometry easy? I spoke to a few mathematicians and most of them find these hard and yet they're topologists and shit. I'm curious if you're in the same boat

no? it's just numbers. arithmetic can be tedious (including fractions) if the expression is long enough, but it's not difficult. basic geometry is sometimes annoying because i don't have all the formulas and theorems in memory since it's not something we do much of at university. i know my basic triangle and circle formulas and theorems, but it's usually easier for me to go to trigonometry or calculus to solve a problem than to use basic euclidean geometry lemmas to figure it out. (did you know you can get the formulas for the volume and surface area of a sphere by rotating a half-circle curve of radius r around a suitable axis?)

[theliterarywolf]

So with you an anon discussing the terrible conditions of your schools and how all the money go to bullshit like P.E, basketball courts, uniforms etc

Lemme tell you some funny stories, you think California sucks? The deep south is WORSE

My mother went to a middle school sometime in the 70s, while playing volleyball in the gym she spiked the ball so hard it broke an upper window.

It was never fixed and by the time I entered that school in the mid 2000s it was still broken

.Same school was notorious for the heater to always be busted, same with the AC. my 7th grade English class was the worst with temperature since the windows faced the sun, and so we'd cook like weenies over an open fire

The female locker room bathrooms were never took care of and middle school girls are barbarians and would doodle dicks, and offensive language all over the walls and mirrors

The mirrors were confiscated afterwords

By the time I enrolled in high school it was worse, the textbooks hadn't been updated since the Civil rights era (holy fucking shit southern 60's something textbooks were TRASH) and one textbook I got was my mom's and i yelped when i saw her name scrawled in it

The high school had busted old soda machines that were just left to rot int he cafeteria and were a constant reminder that we can't have nothing nice

Oh but we can definitely afford NEW GODAMN MAC BOOKS JESUS GOD

And last but not least, back in the mid 2000s there was a devastating tornadoe that hit the neighboring town to ours and decimated the local high school there. Just wiped it off the fucking map.

SO OUR TOWN got super butt hurt when the president came down and gave funds to help rebuild the school and wanted a new high school as well

Once they secured the funds to build it sometime in the 2010s they went nuts trying to have it built before the next school year, so instead of replacing outdated textbooks, repairing the ventilation and other issues they decided NOPE WANT NEW SCHOOL NOW

Hilarious though nobody realized until too late that the new school was built on several sink holes, we lost a school bus to one I shit you not and now the school is sinking making the building lopsided as all hell

In summary all the money are schools received went to a brand new school that's half sunk in the ground, and shit for the football team

Not to take the Lord's name in vain but Jesus fucking Christ.

And it's so fucking blatant that education in the U.S. is just being sidelined in the priority scale. Like, yes: we don't need to push the narrative that kids HAVE to go to college to have successful lives. But holy fucking shite, K-12 has to be able to properly teach kids 'Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic' and Critical Thinking so that students can leave schools with at least basic comprehension and calculating skills.

There are far too many districts and school administrations that either focus too much on the fluff (sports, aesthetics, and 'Customer Service') or who have given up on their students completely so they just dump tax dollars into shite that really doesn't help student success in the long run but, hey! It's educational, so it must be good, right?

THE PRE-AP 'CURRICULUM' IS FUCKING BULLSHIT, and if you are a parent whose teen comes home with an English class syllabus that says 'Our class utilizes a PreAP system', you need to either hit the dash or call the district and lodge a complaint. Because that shite is useless and it's just school districts paying CollegeBoard for access to a nonsense website and workbooks and the ability to say 'we prep students for college'.

[the-gateway-to-madness]

today I bring you: my ocs Mahina and Cara as osp quotes. i will put the quotes and reference pics under the cut, for internet politeness.

Cara's the redhead, Mahina is the noirette. Onward to quotes.

Cara: I'm sorry for wasting those three wishes I got on a lifetime supply of cheesecake instead of world peace.

□■■

Mahina: The moral of the story is, don't follow beautiful women into blizzards, and if you're having problems, try crying.

■□■

Cara: What ho, fellow humans! Are you enjoying having skin today?

■■□

Cara: Brought to you by: Basic Arithmetic! It's not that hard, I'm just stupid!

■□■

Mahina: I keep trying to shoot people in the head, and they keep not getting shot in the head by me, and it's very frustrating.

□■■

Cara: I may not be the sharpest knife in the Caesar-

■□■

Cara: Don't worry... they'll both lose.

■■□

Cara: Ohhh that was dumb. But not untrue-

■□■

Mahina: You may ask: what gives? And I answer: Napoleon gives. Usually, he is giving cannonballs. At speed.

□■■

Mahina: But first, shenanigans!

■□■

Cara: Um, I'm sorry. I must have misheard you. I was told there was MURDERING to be done around here, not arts and crafts!

■■□

Mahina: Hey, King George! What's the opposite of "tea"? YEET!

■□■

Mahina: UNORTHODOX DISPLAY OF HUBRIS, BUT VERY WELL!

□■■

Cara: Monologuing is not a victimless crime.

■□■

Mahina: And that is why werewolves are objectively cooler and more interesting than vampires.

■■□

Cara: By the way, when you do put your queen in the laundry, it's machine wash cold and then tumble dry low. There's not a tag, so it's hard to figure out sometimes.

■□■

[archive-of-bones]

Okay so imma fuckin open this up with a Hi.

Today we’re gonna tackle the mess that is Jack Lippmann, my blorbo of an oc(you will get context later on I promise) Ft. Their mess of a relationship with Chuuya Nakahara and the flags. This is also gonna be incoherent as fuck with grammatical errors so buckle up.

Lemme start by saying this shit about to contain some adult material, not necessarily nsfw but it is a little iffy so trigger warnings are I guess mentions of manslaughter, implications of using and selling drugs, implied underage drinking and whatnot. Also contains some spoilers.

I am crazy about them, their attitude towards life and people especially. Jack is a pretty interesting character to me because of their optimism and hope towards life despite living in a shitty environment and doing shitty things. I think it’s a nice contrast in a way, also their familiarity towards people and wanting the company of others that basically pushes them to do what they have to, sometimes resorting to drastic measures such as murder and robbery amongst other things.

Anyways, they’ve been sort of admiring Chuuya since day one of being taken in by the Sheep, they were like nine and it would have been at least a year or two since Suribachi became a thing because of the explosion, and they were saved by him when some thugs wanted to sell them off to some sick people who wanted children as their toys or some shit (I can’t properly word how terrible this experience was for them, and for others who weren’t as fortunate as they were). So Jack pretty much worked hard, the Sheep kids liked the contribution they gave; particularly food. Jack was an excellent cook as much as they were an excellent teacher, they always had the sort of impulse to share what they know to people, and they often had the best interests of others in mind.

Jack actually taught Chuuya how to read and speak in English at some point with other children in Suribachi, with the aid of some stolen learning materials they got from sneaking into a campus and stealing books to help them in the long run. But this is exactly what got them in trouble, by giving so much they gained little to nothing in return, and admiring Chuuya became their downfall in the events of Chuuya sacrificing himself to join the mafia in order to keep the Sheep safe. (Shirase didn’t like the fact that they defended Chuuya so much, I’m not gonna say more bc of upcoming fic spoilers).

In the end, they had nothing by the time the Sheep disbanded. So they went around Suribachi for a while and lived off of some cash the residents would give them in exchange for tutoring services (some people didn’t really think it was necessary for them to learn a foreign language or do arithmetic, but for those who wanted to have something that would hopefully help them in the long run, they pay Jack).

Their devastation of losing everything led them to get the resolve to join Chuuya in the mafia, which was… frankly not a very good idea.

But they were pretty much desperate to see him again so they started at the bottom, killing people as quickly as they could without giving them too much pain, stealing, running errands, etc. And eventually they caught the eye of Pianoman, who had been hearing rumors about some grunt who wanted to see Chuuya Nakahara as a main motivation for getting into the dirty job of blood and murder. So he seeks them out, and pretty much falls in love(?) with the tenacity they show for the goal they wanted to achieve. So he helps them, sort of. They basically passed the vibe check LMFAO

Chuuya wasn’t very happy when he found them with the flags though, there’s a lot of details missing from this but nutshell is that he cares about them even though he’s remained his distance for years. So he was actually pissed when he found out they were there, all smiling and happy as if they did not just put his sacrifice in vain by BEING in danger. To him, they should have stuck being a teacher, or a chef, those two things are the ones he knows them for and knows they do such a good job with. So for the first few months they weren’t on good terms, and Chuuya was pretty much mean to them at this time span because he really wants to drive them away from here so badly because he feels /guilty/.

He was after all the reason why they were even in the mafia in the first place.

But the flags weren’t really having it and were pretty much elated to have Jack around, Jack was pretty much good to have around with how open they were with their emotions, which was something the flags highly appreciated (found family my beloved). And in return, Jack was fiercely loyal to them, and the mafia as a whole. They really didn’t have much against murder or any illegal job, they wouldn’t judge anyone for that because they too had to do it to survive, their lack of hesitance towards stepping into the darkness for one person and staying for the people they found there is so interesting because they had a choice. And they chose the path they could never get out of, for them, they didn’t have anything to lose in the light, they had no family or a home, so for them it was the best option. Chasing after Chuuya Nakahara was just one of their many motivations, and one they sort of prioritised and advertised the most, much to the aforementioned person’s chagrin.

I am very crazy about them, I probably will never shut up.

@ettaevie

Buddy, here’s the shitpost exchange, your turn

[twstgameplay]

Hi!

I really want to know what cards I need to improve to had better scores in the test (I only get S or sometimes SS)

I use so much Dorm Riddle/Azul Boa Epel, Broom Floyd, Idia Masq and some SR like Robes Ortho or Lab Rook bc I didn't have any Doble-Flora Card haha, the arithmetic mean of the Magics is lv7 maybe, I have some cards 10/10 but the most part not

Any recommendations?

(Thanks- sorry for my English haha)

Hello!

You have pretty good cards! In general, if you really want SSS, then you need to have at least the M2 of your SSRs to be at Lv.10. Ideally, 10/10 for all SSR cards and 5/5 for all SR cards listed below, though it's understandable that resources are hard to farm for.

We can focus first on the two current tests: Fire Basic and Flora Defense.

Fire Basic

You have two options here:

Dorm Riddle

Dorm Azul

Stitch Floyd

Dorm Jade

Dorm Cater

Dorm Cater is only there for boosting Riddle's ATK. You likely won't need to use any of his magic to get the most optimal score. I'm assuming that your Riddle and Azul are 10/10—if not, I highly encourage raising them, especially since Azul will be the finisher. Stitch Floyd and Dorm Jade too work best at 10/10, as both of them have ATK UP M 3T, which boosts their duos.

Second option is:

Port Jack

Halloween Rook

Masquerade Idia

Boa Epel

Birthday Lilia

We have a long post on why Port Jack is powerful, but essentially, you want him to be 10/10 so he can be the finishing attack. Halloween Rook's M1 at least should be at Lv.10, as he boosts his and the ally ATK stat. Masq Idia and Boa Epel are cards that definitely need to be 10/10, as they are your main damage dealers before the finishing duo. You also want them to be 10/10 because they are currently the main duo pair for the very coveted Cosmic Basic SSS.

Flora Defense

You have Halloween Silver, Dorm Idia, and Platinum Grim! They're the best cards for this defense test, so I highly recommend leveling them to 10/10. With your current cards, though, Idia won't be the most compatible, but he will perform excellently in other defense tests (Cosmic and Omni). Rollo is also great for his double fire, but take note as well that he's an offensive card.

A team I can recommend to you is:

Halloween Silver

Lab Kalim

Broom Epel

FG Ortho

Halloween Lilia / Dorm Idia

You can choose between Lilia or Idia. Again, Idia is an excellent card, and since Ortho is in the team, he'd provide an extra duo. Meanwhile, Lilia provides a heal and a duo + HP M boost to Epel.

Hope this helps~!

~ 🐙

[highlifeboat]

I think Daniela does know math, because I won't believe Alcina didn't teach her daughters at least basics of it :p But she really struggles at it. Like, she needs to focus really hard on even simplest things. So Max counting shit in his head like that is really impressive to her)

Meanwhile Sarah doesn't know math. Just at all. Can't even count beyond a 100. Simply because she was a peasent girl in 1600 America and never got proper education. So to her whatever her partners do with numbers is equal witchcraft.

Unrelated, but Bela is probably great at math. Like she does some complex counting in her head.

Cassandra isn't as good, but she can efficently use Abacus.

Fair. It's not that Daniela can't do math, it's just that anything beyond simple addition/subtraction she really needs to focus on/write it down. Max being able to make sense of random numbers in his head just baffles her.

Meanwhile Sarah was raised by her two sisters in a peasant town. I'm willing to believe Winifred and Mary had some form of education, like I would believe they would know basic math to an extent. And obviously Winnie can read. But Sarah? It's a miracle if this girl can spell her own name.

To be fair, it isn't as if the Village has any formal education. So the fact Max can even do math beyond basics is kind of impressive. (I like to think his parents taught him and his siblings and Max just took a lot of interest in it). It's just something not widely taught, unless the parent wants to teach it.

Bela is definitely a math wizard. Of all the things Alcina taught, learning math was probably her best subject. Bela's the type to do math sheets for fun. That and anything science-y, just scratches an itch in her brain. She likes to think. She finds a comfort in it. (She's probably corrected Alcina's math before. Respectfully, of course.)

Cassandra can do math pretty well, she just doesn't care for it. Her interest was always in the biological. How the body works and such. That said, knowing liquid measurements helps quite a lot sometimes.

Also unrelated, Elena can probably do basic math. She was never formerly taught it, but her dad did show her a little of it. (Just enough to help if she ever needed to keep track of money or whatever).

Alcina can obviously do math. She probably had private tortures as a child, considering she grew up as a nobleman. I imagine she's well versed in reading, writing, and arithmetic. It helps greatly with managing her wine business (though she can always have Bela double check the expenses and such.)

Mia can also do math pretty well. I mean, she literally worked in a science field, math is a huge part of science. She's a big fucking nerd. Granted, she probably can't do it as well as before. I imagine all the trauma and mold fucked her up pretty bad mentally. But she still has moments of being really smart and showing actual prowess. (And it always surprises people)

And Melony can't do math for shit. With how she was raised, it's probably a miracle she can read and write. (Mind you it's probably weaker than it should be for someone her age. Like if she tried to read out loud she'd struggle). She tends to just let Cass do the math if she ever needs it. She is quite fascinated with the abacus, though, and tends to mess with it when no one's around.

Doesn't understand anything about how the hell it helps with math, though.

[influencermagazineuk]

Legendary U2 drummer Larry Mullen Jr. recently shared a deeply personal struggle: a lifelong battle with dyscalculia, a learning disability that makes it incredibly difficult to understand numbers. The 63-year-old musician, known for his powerful and intricate drumming style, shared his diagnosis with Times Radio, explaining how the condition has impacted his life and career. "I have always felt there was something amiss with the way I went about numbers," Mullen acknowledged. "I've not been good with them. Recent diagnosis: dyscalculia, which is somewhat similar to dyslexia: I can't count or add. It is, indeed, a bother to me." "Clancy3434", CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0, via Wikimedia Commons For a drummer, the sense of rhythm is critical. Mullen described the feeling of keeping time as hard work: "Counting bars can feel like climbing Everest. It's a constant mental struggle." Dyscalculia is sometimes known as "number dyslexia." It affects an individual's ability to understand and manipulate numerical information. A person may have trouble with the most basic arithmetic and telling time, or he may struggle with spatial reasoning and financial literacy. But all said and done, Mullen's genius has still spoken through the music. Dyscalculia does not determine low intelligence. Rather, people with this condition thrive very well in creative fields of work. They find shelter and expression in art, music, and other aspects of abstract thinking. The world is witness to Mullen being an ace drummer. "It's been a journey," Mullen reflected. "School was tough. Numbers were always a source of anxiety. But music, thankfully, found a way to bypass those limitations. The rhythm, the feel, it's more about instinct than calculation." Mullen's diagnosis sheds light on the often-invisible struggles faced by individuals with learning disabilities. It also serves as an inspiration, demonstrating that with resilience and creativity, one can overcome significant obstacles and achieve extraordinary things. Understanding Dyscalculia Dyscalculia is a complex condition with varying degrees of severity. Common symptoms may include: - Difficulty with basic arithmetic: Struggling with addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division, even with simple calculations. - Dyscalculia issues with number sense: Trouble in understanding numbers, their order, and the magnitude of the numbers. - Dyscalculia issues with time-telling: Problem in reading clocks, passing time, and planning future events. - Dyscalculia issues with space: Problem in maps, directions, and spatial reasoning. - Dyscalculia issues with money management: Trouble in budgeting, counting change, and other financial matters. For many people with dyscalculia, everyday life can be extremely challenging. - Academic Struggles: Math-related subjects can be particularly difficult, impacting academic performance and self-esteem. - Social Challenges: Difficulties with time management and money management can lead to social and financial difficulties. - Anxiety and Low Self-Esteem: The constant frustration and challenges associated with dyscalculia can contribute to anxiety, low self-esteem, and feelings of inadequacy.Coping Strategies Although there is no cure for dyscalculia, there are several ways in which people can adapt and succeed: - Early Intervention: Early diagnosis and intervention are important. Specific educational support can help children with dyscalculia learn compensatory strategies and develop self-confidence. - Multi-sensory Learning: Use of multiple senses – sight, sound, touch – may help in better learning and understanding of mathematical concepts. - Technological Tools: Calculators, computer software, and specialized apps can help individuals with calculations and other arithmetic work. - Brain Training: Brain training can also be done in the form of exercises to improve working memory, attention, and problem-solving abilities, all of which can help individuals suffering from dyscalculia. - Emotional Support: The development of a strong support network and seeking emotional support from family, friends, and therapists can help cope with the difficulties that dyscalculia poses. Having come public over his dyscalculia means Larry Mullen Jr has made great strides to tell other people. He thereby addresses this less discussed subject about awareness, thus giving life support and hope to similar, perhaps afflicted people all across the globe. Mullen's journey underscores the importance of embracing individual differences and celebrating unique strengths. It reminds us that true success lies not in conforming to societal expectations but in discovering and nurturing our own unique talents and passions. Read the full article

[testprepchicago]

Finding the Right Math Tutor in Chicago: Why Chitown is Your Best Choice

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[kaywavy]

[not my writing]

Pocket calculators! Now there's something. They're so complicated! I have a calculator which has sines, cosines, tangents, logarithms, hyperbolic functions and multiple nested parentheses. You can program it in Fortran, Algol, Basic, Pascal, Forth, Fifth and Sixth, ADA and Carruthers. It will factorize primes for you. At present it's working on the Halting Problem.

(continued)

It translates from one language to another. From German to Spanish. From Macedonian to Esperanto. From Cantonese to Greek. Or from American to English.

It is, in fact, a multiprocessor system. There are 22 Transputers in there. Sometimes they organize a game of football between them.

It has a full color, wraparound wide screen, liquid crystal, three-dimensional holographic display. It's called HoloChromaCinePhotoRamaScope.

Its audio facilities include Dolby Digital Decaphonic surround sound. On the way here I watched "The Labyrinth" on it.

It also has synthetic speech and a voice recognition system. I often talk to it. I tell it my problems. Sometimes it psychoanalyses me. It has me figured as paranoid. But that's just because it keeps getting at me. But don't get me wrong - it can be very user friendly. In fact you can program precisely HOW user friendly you want it is to be on a scale from ONE to TEN.

On a setting of ONE it won't even interrupt a football game to answer you. But on a setting of TEN it's so friendly that on a cold day it pre-heats its pushbuttons.

But no matter who smart it SEEMS, deep down inside it's just a dumb old computer.

One time I got really mad at it. Like all computers, it knew precisely what I wanted it to do. It knew exactly what I MEANT. So why does it have to go and DO what I SAID?

How do you get even with a dumb machine like that?

First I tried slapping it around a little. I pushed its buttons a bit hard. I threatened it. "How would you like a busted display" I said.

But it did no good. It just said "I am virtually unbreakable - and I'm not going to take any notice till you enter the data nicely, like you used to do."

Whatever I did it always seemed to win.

I decided to have a man-to-man talk with it. So I sat it down and said to it "Who's the boss here, you or me?"

No reply.

Again I ask "Who's the boss, you or me? Go on, answer me!"

"I'm thinking, I'm thinking," it said.

So I hit it. Hard. Too hard. I cracked its case.

At first I thought that was the limit of the damage. But then little things started to go wrong. At first there was nothing definite. Nothing you could put your finger on. Just little things like stuttering. It just didn't sound quite the same. Its voice seemed to lack its former confidence.

Then once I caught it making an arithmetic mistake. Of course I didn't mention it. But you could tell it knew. Its self image was shot to pieces.

Saddest of all, it forgot our anniversary - of the day I bought it. In the past this had been a special time for us.

I just couldn't bear it any longer. One evening I tucked it up snugly in its case, lit candles, played a record which was popular when we first met, and sat down beside it.

"Where did we go wrong?" I said. But it had it pride. It wasn't about to weaken in front of a non-machine.

"Wrong? Nothing is wrong," it said. "Just insufficient data."

But underneath you could tell it was hurt.

From there it was a rapid downhill slide.

Now it just mutters to itself. It can only do very simple calculations on small numbers.

Finally came the ultimate indignity. It lost control. It leaked electrolyte all over its case.

I felt so bad about it. My other gadgets weren't happy about it either. They all came out in sympathy for the calculator. My watch gave me a bad time. My power tools keep blowing fuses.

Then one night last week I was driving my car back from London when suddenly the engine stopped all by itself on this lonely country road.

I tried to get out but the solenoids were inhibited by the central locking computer. Suddenly the air conditioner came on and started to blow out freezing cold air. It made a noise like wind whistling through the trees. Then this creepy music came from the loudspeaker. The sort of music they play in movies when the hero is lost in a dark forest.

I got scared. The cold, the wind and the weird music got to me. Then it started to speak.

"You're the guy who beats up pocket calculators!"

[babaenghumayo-blog]

My Dad

One of my biggest influences when it comes to love in music would be my dad. He would always take me to Odyssey when I was young. Odyssey is a shop full of compact discs (CD as we call it) for different artists. I am not sure if they still have shops until now but the one we used to go to in Festival mall already closed a few years back.

I remember my dad will make me listen to songs of Celine Dion and Westlife. Sometimes I will make him buy CDs of the artists I want. One Christmas back in 2009, I bought a CD of Justin Bieber’s very first album with the money I got from Christmas. That’s how popular CDs are before. Nowadays, all songs can be found digitally in either Spotify or Apple Music.

Looking back now, I know my dad has anger issues. He is triggered very easily with small things. I think that’s where I got my short-tempered personality (plus my passive aggressive side from my mom). My dad always think so highly of me since I was a child. Like I was this intelligent girl who knows everything, who can do everything and who can be anything. Well, I’m not. There was this one time when we were watching a Filipino game show “Game KNB?” with my sister and I was able to answer the one-million-worth question. My dad was so proud of me although I can’t really remember where I heard or read that question but I’m sure of the answer to the question. On the contrary, my dad would also criticize me for being bad in Math. In my defense, when I was in first grade, it was so hard for me to understand the logic behind even and odd number. I mean, why do you call them even? And why do you call them odd? So, being forgetful as I am, I can’t seem to memorize even and odd number and failed me in my tests back then, which my dad would be so mad about. But guess what, 20 years later, his daughter is working as an auditor in Europe. What are the odds. :P I mean, my job isn’t all complex Math but still requires a lot of numbers. Not to brag but I can say I am really good with arithmetic. The basic addition, subtraction, multiplication and division I can do faster than others. Maybe because I was trained from spending time being a cashier from our bakery shop before. That’s the advantage of growing up with a family business I guess.

Anyway, going back to my dad. My dad is not getting any younger and is experiencing a lot of different sickness from time to time. He has diabetes, diagnosed with bronchitis and high-blood pressure which of course for sure his kids will inherently have. It is also evident with the lifestyle he has growing up. He smoked since he was 16 until he was diagnosed of Bronchitis when he was 52. He eats a lot. I mean, a lot. That’s why we were all really fat and living the unhealthy life in the late 2000′s. Me and my siblings all hate vegetables until we did fasting and lived the healthy lifestyle in 2020.

I can’t really blame my dad. He grew up in the province living day to day life just to survive and eat. He became an orphan at a very young age with his grandparents taking over of looking out for all 10 of them. He never went to high school and started to work at a young age because of lack of money and support. If my dad will ever have the just to finish his studies until college, I know for sure he will be one of the top of their class.

When him and mom came to Manila to establish their own business, it was a real gamble with their capital and assets all loaned to them by my aunties. It has been a success for the first 10 to 12 years. We were living a comfortable life when we were kids. However, it cannot sustain the demands the family needed when me and my brother went to college. My sister, who just graduated that time has to immediately find a job to help my parents to provide for the family. I remember we would go shop for grocery and only buy noodles, eggs and coffee because that’s what we can all afford, not even meat. That’s how low we got that time. This was between 2013 to 2017, my entire college life.

My dad is the kind of person who will do anything for his family. He doesn’t want anyone from his family to be shamed or taken advantage by anyone else. He will sell all the property he has just to provide for us. As I am writing this, all the flashbacks from the hard times we went through before came back in my memory because of the insufficient money we have. I will see my mom always mad or not in the mood living it through everyday hoping one day the suffering will all end. Well, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel indeed.

My dad is the kind of person who will push you to anything you want to be and support you all the way may it become a pianist, an artist, a doctor, a singer, a pharmacist, an accountant. He will never impose what he wants you to be because he knows it is your own life you are making. He is a tough man, he may have made mistakes and questionable decisions but that’s him being a human incapable of being perfect just like all of us.

[singletutor]

How to do Algebra Assignments

Homework Help Algebra Abstract symbols are used in algebra. It solves mathematical problems by applying formulas and arithmetic operations to symbols.

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If you're experiencing problems with mathematics or assignments, ask for help. To help you answer, your algebra tutor will provide you examples.

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In a college algebra course, you'll use algebraic principles to analyze graphs and solve problems. Sometimes algebraic principles are hard to understand. You probably studied basic math in high school, but you may not remember it.

[sock-to-the-third]

This has taken me soooooo freaking long but it’s so worth it. I’ve been having trouble retaining math more complicated than logarithms so hopefully this will be the trick. Plus, once you have a deep understanding of math it’s like learning a language. Lot of the early hard stuff you forget how to do. So inevitably when you try to teach it makes it more difficult to understand why students don’t understand it.

I’m student myself but I often times end up being the one often explaining it to classmates (Then they remind me about basic arithmetic lol) so I already feel a bit like a teacher.

I think all this prep work will help when I go into tutoring math.

Once I finish making the first version of teachable notes, I plan on organizing it into an abbreviated version for memory retention.

After that, I plan on acquiring more practice problems, then solving them so I have answer sheets and blank sheets. I don’t like not knowing if the answers are right or not with online sources so that will hopefully make it accessible.

Plus math is super relaxing but finnicky. Most of the time I prefer stuff heavy with algebra but sometimes I like the occasional application problem. Ap problems will take longer to put together but it should be fun.

Have to remind myself to make a word doc version of all this so I don’t lose it if tumblr goes kaput.

Formal Review

Precalc 1 — here — Precalc 2

Algebra

Page 1 / Unit 1

[skipped PEMDAS]

Page 2 / Inequalities

Page 5 / Exponents

—-

Page 6

Page 7

Page 8 / Linear

Page 9

Page 10 / Systems of Equation

Page 11

Page 12

Algebra 2

Page 13 / Functions

Page 14

Page 15 / Radicals

Page 16

Page 17

Page 18

Page 19

Page 20 / Imaginary Numbers

Page 21 **

Page 22

Page 23 / Trinomials

[fraction rules]

Page 24

Page 25

Page 26

Page 27 / Logs

Page 28

Page 29

Page 30

Page 31 / [ 1/x ] *here

Page 32

Page 33

Precalc

aapc1u13 - pg34