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Confessions to Contest Math

by Michelle Liang, MIT, 28'


Artwork by Leve Xe


It was the summer of my junior year and I was going through a tough breakup. Except my estranged paramour was no Rosaline or Buttercup or Annabel Lee — her name was Math, and she broke my heart. 


I. The Girl

I met her through a friend; he introduced me in our sixth-grade classroom as we worked through the MOEMS together. I’d seen her around at school, but hadn’t ever taken much notice of her; she seemed prim and persnickety, all about regurgitated formula and tedious detail. But outside of school, I learned about a different side of Math — contest math. It wasn’t quite love at first sight, but she seemed fun, and I was curious to learn more about her. Through clandestine private meetings in the school library working on geometry problems and lively group practices mocking old Mathcounts exams, I fell in love with Math, her subtlety and creativity and ingenuity. 


II. The Odyssey

Shut in quarantine in 9th grade, we were alone together. She taught me how to pick the lock that shrouds the heart of problems: how to deftly maneuver a handful of simple yet versatile tools at my side, to sense the subtle clicks and cues of a pin falling into place, bringing me one step closer to unlocking the solution. As I unraveled twisted inequalities, coaxed stubborn polynomials into divulging their roots, and pursued angles across circles and lines to unmask congruent triangles, I couldn’t help but marvel at her beauty. 


III. The Suitors

They say you judge a person by their friends, and boy did Math keep some mighty fine company. Often we, her suitors of San Diego, would put our squabbles aside to defend her honor in a tournament tucked in some far-flung corner of the country. Thus, I met our brilliant team leader Derek, who guided us through thorny solutions and labyrinthine airports alike in our quest to excel in (or at least make it to) HMMT. I met my partner-in-crime Ethan, who conspired with me to take Derek down a peg — he did, after all, trounce us infuriatingly often in other contests. (“A good concussion or two should do it!”)  I met my philosophically-inclined friend Ryan, who, though a fascinating interlocutor, sometimes questioned if my relationship with Math was healthy. “Isn’t contest math almost toxically competitive?” he mused.

At this I would always recoil, and say no, of course not, I’m perfectly happy here. And I would think, a little bitterly, that it was all well and good for him to say this, he who Math lavished success upon despite his indifference; for his talent exceeded mine. 

But no matter, I inevitably concluded; I did not want to taint so fine a friendship with jealousy. I trusted in my love of Math, that yearning for her affections that both united and splintered us her suitors.


IV. The Zenith

In eleventh grade she and I toured the states together, from contest to contest.  She rewarded my loyalty; my contest rankings soared. I trained dutifully, anxiously, hoping to conquer her heart and fearful of losing my place in it. And as I trained I would daydream about someday winning first prize — oh, how Derek and Ethan and Ryan would see me then!


V. The Fall

On a brisk March evening, the Mathematical Association of America shot two bullets into my fledgling dreams, just taken wing, and they tumbled down towards the Earth. They were the cutoffs for the USAMO, the most important contest series of the year. I did not make it.


I couldn’t look at Math for the next week. 


VI. The Consolation Prize

“Welcome to the USAMO on March 21 & 22!”

I stared dumbly at the email in my inbox. It was a blessing and a taunt, a gift and a condescension. 

My friends congratulated me. But one of the suitors later said: “cutoffs should be cutoffs.” I couldn’t help but agree. 

I could hear her voice in my head: “Hey, don’t be sad; look, I’ll even give you another chance! You’re doing great — for a girl.”

  I didn’t know what to think. Gratitude and resentment simmered in a bittersweet tea. 

“She’s wrong,” I thought. “I’ll prove her wrong. I’ll show her — I’m just as good as them!” 



VII. The Irony

I did not prove her wrong.


USAMO, HMMT, ARML passed, and I never did well enough to satisfy her. I had lost her blessing. Only the echo of her remained in my head.


She crept up to me one day, as I slumped dejectedly at my desk, halfheartedly working on geometry problems. 


“Hey, I don’t think this is going to work out anymore.” she said. “You’re not smart enough. You’re not hardworking enough. You’re not ambitious enough. That spark… it’s gone.”


I clenched my pencil. “Please, don’t give up on me. I can fix this. Next year, I’ll score well, you’ll see—”


“Oh, so it’s all about contest scores, isn’t it?” she snapped. “Did you ever really love me? Or was it all for the glory?”


“I, I,” I stammered. “Of course I love you, just for you. I have to….”


“Yeah? I bet you’re only doing me for college apps! Well, put THIS on your college app!” she whirled away and slammed the door. 


I sighed, and turned glumly back to my geometry diagrams, absentmindedly tracing a line back and forth. I sat at the desk for another hour before giving up and reading the solution.


It was the summer of my junior year when I broke up with Math, she who once was my better half. Math used to keep me up all night; then, only shapeless regrets and wistful fancies followed me to bed. 


VIII. The Camp


“Welcome to Mathcamp! Now, we don’t know what backgrounds people are coming from, so we should try not to make assumptions. But the one thing that’s safe to assume is that everyone is here because they love math.”

Well, I thought, this is awkward. It’s a Math camp. I don’t do Math. What would I do?


IX. The Experience

I danced. I wrote. I listened. I sang. I caught frisbees. I baked cookies. 

I writhed in the grass with ten other dying-insect imitators, doing ab exercises for no good reason. We lay, breathless with laughter and the agony in our stomachs.

I watched movies in a dorm with five other snicker-suppressing spectators, appreciating the incredible scientific accuracy of Interstellar. “Love is the sixth dimension!” we snorted.   

I typed out witty catchphrases and pithy one-liners with two other sleep-forgoing scriptwriters, desperately revising the staff-imitating skit we were to perform at the talent show. By 3 AM, we could only rue our past selves who thought it appropriate to start writing two days from the performance.

I even did some math; but that’s just an afterthought. 


X. The Conclusion

“Am I just pursuing Math for the prestige? Do I really love Math just for herself?”


At Mathcamp, I discovered the answer: no, and no. 


I love Math for her people. For Derek’s charisma, for Ethan’s camaraderie, for Ryan’s insight. Because I met all of them through Math, I feared she was the only thing that kept us together. Without her, why would they want to spend time with me?


But at Mathcamp, I realized that Math didn’t have to be the center of every friendship. Even though I couldn’t match Kyle’s passion for complex analysis, we spent hours running across the field, tossing a frisbee. Even though I couldn’t understand Ellie’s devotion to puzzle hunts, a favorite pastime of many mathematically-inclined folk, that didn’t stop us from talking long into the night about moral codes, greatest fears, and axolotls. And even though most of the math I did with Athena was counting the days until the final yearbook draft was due, our sleepless nights of yearbook work provided for significant bonding through trauma. 


And as for my relationship with Math? I still like her. I appreciate her elegance and cleverness more than any other subject I’ve flirted with. But after four years of devoting myself almost exclusively to Math, I’m ready to let some new faces into my life. 


Hey, maybe I’ll even take her cute little sister Physics out for a date or two instead.  


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