In middle school, a girl with pale features was my best friend. For my birthday, she gave me a heart necklace that broke into two pieces. But she implied that I would keep it. I never knew whether I was supposed to give it to her or not. We only befriended each other, because we were outcasts and were high-achieving in class.<\/p>\n
But there was one major difference.<\/p>\n
In each of our classes, I easily absorbed the information, barely studied, and aced the tests. She, on the other hand, struggled to do well and spend our “study time” in the library reviewing her notes and practicing problem sets. I goofed off by writing long essays about nothing, quickly doing my homework, and reading books. No matter what, she and I scored the same. Not perfect, but in the high nineties.<\/p>\n
During one test that I finished (quickly, of course), I looked over to her and her eyes were brimming with tears. Outside, gardeners were ripping up the bushes and by now, students were chattering. “I can’t focus,” she said.<\/p>\n
The teacher listened and set up a time separate so that she could finish the test. I remember frowning at her, surprised by her lack of skills to block out noise.<\/p>\n
Yet we ended up at the same place\u00e2\u20ac\u201dthe same type of admission and the same university. I always wondered at the core\u00e2\u20ac\u201dwho were we and why were we so different?<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
In middle school, a girl with pale features was my best friend. For my birthday, she gave me a heart necklace that broke into two pieces. But she implied that I would keep it. I never knew whether I was … Continue reading