A few nights ago, at around 5 am in the morning, he realised how truly useful Math is.

As part of giving tuition, he would routinely point out how relevant to reality and how practical Math is. Take for example, trigonometry. If there's no trigonometry, how then would we be able to calculate all the lunar eclipses? Or, how about the study of probability? He's quite sure that probability is the very exercise in rationality.

Yet, despite waxing lyrical, his attempts sound even hollow to himself. Why the need to cramp mountains of info into a reluctant mind? Why the need to practice one question after another robotically?

Math is useful, never doubt it. But, there it sits, on its Greek pedestal. Lovable but not loved.

Logically, he understands the usefulness of Math. Emotionally, he can't.

One serendipitous dawn, he was awakened to the worthiness of Math.

He tossed and turned on his bed, unable to sink into a deep sleep. The restful respite did little to rejuvenate him. By 4 am, he could no longer bear it anymore.

He reluctantly left the snug embrace of the blanket, sat in front of his Math notes and started studying. By 5 am, he's so tired that sleep overtook him without him being aware.

Whoever says Math isn't useful had never suffered from insomnia.

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