For the longest time, I've set my heart onto English/history. Now...I'm not so sure.
See...I have a little secret. Ihaveanaddictiontochemistry. Is it normal that I enjoy completing free response questions and learning the kinetic molecular theory? That I secretly get giddy on the inside every time there's an exam and fit into the mad-scientist-about-to-take-over-the-world persona every time there's a lab experiment?
In addition to that, (as you could probably tell by the title)...I am a closet calculus freak. I mean, I really shouldn't like calculus (partially because my teacher reminds me of Dolores Umbridge and partially because it's in the morning time), but those derivatives and functions really tug at my heartstrings. I'd better snap out of it.
So, as you can see, I have a cornucopia of options. But I think I've found my bliss.
Enter the local Borders and right smack dab in front of you lies rows of glossy magazines, cover-girls with dewy skin and bleached teeth Publishing companies are such animals in the jungle, competing against each other (often utilizing sharp colors) in order to catch the eye of the unassuming customer. So, the choice awaits. What do you pick? Vanity Fair? Harper's Bazaar? Fortune?
If you were me and hard data and intense photographs wet your pants, you'd reach for National Geographic.
Well, put me in suspenders and tape a "Kick Me" sign on my back if you're going to laugh, but there's so much to life than prowling around YouTube watching "The Cinnamon Challenge" or "The Annoying Orange". I simply refuse to incorporate stupidity into my diet.
National Geographic with its unhinged photography speaks volume. Maybe this story from 2005 will show you why:
Medellin, Columbia. A city with a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde persona. The prosperous areas are laden with commerce, high-rises and an electric nightlife. But the destitute areas such as Popular and Santo Domingo Sabio are controlled by drug cartels and the narcotics trade.
This picture is so amazing yet frightening at the same time.It captures inmates at the Bellavista Prison, and primarily focuses on the middle man. With a plastic cross hanging loosely on his neck, a scar on his arm and a incorrigible expression, he's a walking contradiction.
This page gives me chills. A dead man lies sprawled out on the dirt path, a victim of gang violence. In the lower left-hand side, a group of orphaned children tuck glue bottle under their shirts just to get through the day. It makes me question my role in the world. Why wasn't I born there? How did I manage to escape such poverty? My worries seem so trivial compared to theirs, I cannot help but feel ashamed.
"After a night of selling her body, Marta Correa awakens with one of her three daughters in a slum bereft of jobs. 'My dream is to own my own business, anything that will allow us to eat,' says Marta..."
What causes people to have an insatiable appetite to kill? As a student ambassador of the United States Holocaust Museum, this question runs through my mind every single day. But these people are not monsters. If they were monsters, we would not be aghast at their sinister deeds. These people are people; they eat and laugh and cry and grow stronger bones everyday.The scary part is that these people are just like us and we can morph into them.
The concept of humans, the very idea of living fascinates me. It certainly allows me to considered Anthropology as a degree option for undergraduate school.
