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“Mom, why I have to learn Chemistry when I know I will be a Math professor when I grew up? I dont like it. Equations, reactions, molecules, etc. are what its all about.”, I said. During my whole eighth grade year, I remembered talking to my mom about this almost every week. And every time, I always got the same answer: “It is part of the curriculum that you have to learn Chemistry and we cant do anything about that. And Chemistry is more exciting and better than what you think it is. So go to your room and do your homework right now.”
How interesting it was to me that the girl who always complaining and asking her mother for permission to drop out from her Chemistry class is now in AP Chemistry, dreaming about attending in Medical school. Sometimes when I recalled the moment when I finally found Chemistry like my mom said, “far more exciting and better than what I think it is”, along with that memory is a person that I couldnt forget: my teacher.
I remembered the first day of school that my teacher walked in. The greetings, chatting between friends after a long summer, all of a sudden stopped. He, an average height man with the gray hair, skinny face, and the horn-rimmed glasses, which is like the one I always saw my grandfather wearing, looked at us as we all felt the chilliness all covered the whole classroom. Everybody who had him before told our class he was one of the strictest teachers — a man with no feelings. At first, to a 4.0 student like me who was so eager for success, this promised me a challenging class that I long for. The first test came and I studied until 11 oclock only for it. My goal was to get an A+ in that class and I knew I could do it