Mathematics was never a common subject in my life. It was like that relative, whom you had to smile politely whenever you saw, but deep down you thought—“Why did you come again today?” My relationship with mathematics was suspicious since childhood. Whenever I opened the book, it seemed like the numbers were smiling at me, as if saying, “I will make you sweat today too.”
When I first learned addition and subtraction, I thought—Ah, mathematics is not bad! Two and two make four, there is no drama here. But this peace did not last long. When two terrible characters named multiplication and division appeared, I immediately realized—this story is not that simple. They are like the bosses of the world of numbers, they do not listen to anyone.
Mathematics time in school was a completely different feeling for me. As soon as Sir started writing numbers on the board, the class would be silent, and a storm would start in my head. Looking at the board, I felt like Sir was writing some secret code. The numbers are lined up in rows, but they don't want to explain their plans to me.
When my friends on the bench next to me would quickly finish the math, there would be only one cross-mark after another in my notebook. It felt like my notebook wasn't a math notebook, but a diary of failures. Sometimes I even felt like—does math dislike me personally?
In the exam hall, math was a battlefield. With the question paper in hand, I felt like a lone soldier, with rows of difficult numbers in front of me. Time was like the enemy—the faster it ran, the slower I moved. When I saw some numbers, I thought, “I read that!” But as soon as I started solving, all memories disappeared. Then I started bargaining with math—“Make this a little easier, I promise I'll fix the next one.”
The most interesting thing is that math never accepts half-finished relationships. If you understand half, it won't give half marks. There is no room for emotion here. Crying, pity, or “Sir, please take a look”—none of it works. There is only one thing about mathematics—if it is not right, it is wrong.
But with time, I slowly started to understand one thing. Mathematics is actually very honest. It does not play tricks on anyone. If you understand it with your heart, try patiently, one day it will open the door. And if you want to evade, it will catch you without hesitation.
Coming to this place, I started to match mathematics with my life. Isn't life like that? Everything here does not always add up. Many times you have to subtract—people, habits, dreams. Some relationships have to be divided with reality, and some hopes have to be multiplied with your own courage.
Mathematics has taught me that making mistakes does not mean the end. If you make a mistake in one number, you can start again. If you make a mistake in the first line, there is no need to drop the entire number—you just have to calculate again from the right place. It is the same in life. Not all mistakes mean failure, some mistakes mean learning.
Gradually, my fear of mathematics began to decrease. Whether love was created or not, that is still a matter of doubt. But respect was created. Mathematics has taught me patience, taught me to think logically. It has taught me to move forward by calculating rather than making rash decisions.
Even today, if I say, “I am very good at mathematics,” it would be a lie. But now I no longer say, “I can’t do mathematics.” Now I say, “I try.” This small change may be the biggest solution.
The most interesting thing is that mathematics, which I once feared, now helps me understand reality. I first learned from numbers that logic is needed along with emotions when calculating life.
Mathematics may not be my favorite subject. But it is a difficult but useful teacher in my life. And to be honest, without this teacher, the numbers in life might have become even more chaotic.
