Echoes

May 2017

I qualified to the IOI team but I will not be able to go because my parents said no.

I missed two weeks of our selection camp for the IMO to attend ISEF. As mentioned before, my partner is shiningsunnyday. We won second prize and it was a fun experience. I will post pictures in a later post.

I returned today to the last day of our selection camp. Our IMO team was announced, congratulations to TheNumberMind and Irrational_phi. I was particularly happy for Irrational_phi, he will most likely change his AoPS status to “PHI5 at IMO 2017” quite soon.

But I suppose it is a time for reflection. Last year was sad, this year was sad as well, but in a different way.

Much of my high school life has been pursuing the goal of the IMO. Indeed, this year could have been my chance, in some way. Humility aside, I was slightly under Irrational_phi’s performance in the selection camp until two weeks ago; I scored just as well as him in the APMO; nearly all factors we were either the same or I was slightly under him. However, the fact remains that I missed too many days of camp and missed several quizzes because of ISEF.

It makes me wonder – if I had not gone to ISEF, would I have made the team? I would be dishonest to myself if I say I had no chance, because I did have a chance, and it was not marginal. Would I have been happier if I qualified to the IMO, and won, perhaps, an HM or a bronze? It would be fulfilling a dream I had since I first learned about the IMO, back in eighth grade.

Tenth grade came and my attention has shifted on the IOI. I learned about it too late, having learned our national olympiad existed when the TST was held. I joined unofficially that year and got fourth place, enough to make team; alas, I had not been an official participant. It was another dream I wanted to pursue, a sort of consolation prize if I do not achieve my original goal of making the IMO.

This year, my junior year, I had set sights on competitive mathematics and programming. Yet another opportunity came by, and I grabbed it – I did ISEF with shiningsunnyday. This was not bad: I had lots of fun and we won a non-trivial prize in the end, which I am grateful for. But it was partially because of ISEF I missed the opportunity to chase IOI and IMO. The former as my parents used “you already went to LA!” when I told them about Iran; the latter for missing selection camp because of the event.

It is sad that I cannot have my cake and eat it. Last year, I had achieved none of my goals. This year, I have earned goals I had not set.

Perhaps I am simply thankless, failing to be grateful for something very few people reach. I will not dispute this, and I think it is true. I am simply being ungrateful. But recognizing this does not make me feel any better, and I suppose it is something I have to deal with.

August 2017

I never feel satisfied with my achievements, except immediately after achieving them, and only then for a few minutes. This would be called “hedonic adaptation” if I had gotten used to the happiness, except I didn’t – the happiness never came in the first place. The thing that would happen is that I’d set a goal for X, and then I’d work hard for X, and then when I achieve X I feel like it often isn’t worth it.

Take something like making PMO, our national olympiad. When I was seventh grade that was my goal, and I was very enthusiastic and hyped about it. I would spend a lot of time in the math faculty reading books because I liked it. There was a lot of encouragement, and it was all good for a year. Eight grade came and I did not make it. Ninth grade came and I did not make it.

By then I have been disillusioned to the fact that making PMO required a disproportionate amount of work than what I expected, and which I have already poured. Tenth grade came and I made it. I was happy at the initial announcement for a few minutes, but then it faded off. I felt sadness because of various reasons, but I could divide it into three main categories:

First, the opportunity cost of effort. There is always the feeling that all of my achievements were not worth it in terms of opportunity cost. There was an English contest, for example, which I spent some amount of time on; I finally won first place in our division, but I realized that if I placed the time towards math, I could’ve achieved more earlier. It’s a “regret” in the sense that the final outcome (an achievement) may not be negative, but there’s still a sorrow, a longing, a remorse for something not done.

Note that this partly scares me to try to achieve new things. I fear that I might be expending effort for nothing, if I don’t get the achievement; on the other hand, if I do achieve it, I’ll feel bad because I spent a lot of effort. I’d tell myself I’d practice doing oly math, but the moment I do I feel bad because I keep thinking, what if I don’t make IMO? Then all my work would be for nothing. And then I wouldn’t do it any more, because I couldn’t see the point.

Second, envy at those who achieved (more) with less work. Again, most of my achievements involve much more work than I have expected to put in the first place. Once I actually made it to the PMO, I realized that several of my peers managed to make it to PMO with much less effort than I did, some even making it since seventh grade. There is an envy of not starting earlier, which I feel a lot since my parents never supported me much.

I could see myself in their shoes, in their environment, doing the same thing. It was not that I was uncapable, it was that I was unaware; in the wrong place, in the wrong time, not fully conscious of my actions. Again there’s “regret” that I could’ve done the same achievement with less effort than I should have. There’s also an envy of those who have achieved more, which brings us to the next point.

Third, the prospect of achieving something higher. I think this one was the most draining. It’s a treadmill of wanting to achieve more and more. Of course I wanted to make the IMO immediately after I made PMO. In fact, I had always wanted to make IMO, but it was a secondary, lofty goal at the time; since I made PMO it has become more concrete. Tenth grade has passed and I haven’t, and suddenly I was feeling bad about not reaching the IMO, when a year ago I was feeling bad about not reaching PMO.

Goals which are easier for me to achieve feel more painful if I don’t achieve them. When the IMO was far away, and PMO was closer, it hurt me more that I didn’t make PMO; I wasn’t conscious of the loftier, more abstract goal of the IMO. Now that PMO is behind me and IMO is front of me, it feels bad. In fact, it feels much more worse, because now I know to some accuracy how close/far I am; compare this to the PMO where I did not know for several years.

Now where do I end up? I’m in a position a lot of other people would envy, but also where I envy a lot of other people. It is like a ladder: I climb it while looking upward, looking at all the people above me and the huge distance between us, and I envy them; not caring that I am now in a position to be envied by others, nor that I was somewhere I wanted to be when I first started climbing.

November 2017

There’s a word in Filipino: sayang. Allow me to describe it.

I can’t say leaving was entirely a good thing. I think about the old place a lot. Because now my life is cold showers every evening, waking up at five, the scent of chipped paint, not having internet past curfew, eating crackers for breakfast, the feeling of bugs crawling on my skin. I think about going back. But then, all the effort I spent, it would be sayang.

Sometimes I consider quitting math. It would be after a competition I’d lost. I’d always lose the fast, oral contests, and it would make me feel bitter about math contests as a whole. I’d say I didn’t want to join anymore, that I’d stick to academics. But the teachers would say, sayang. They’d say my skill in math would be sayang.

The other night, a teacher messaged me something really long about my leaving. He told me that I should take care of myself, keep holding on, that he was there if I wanted someone to talk to. That I could do great things, that I shouldn’t allow it to become sayang because of this. I shouldn’t sayang whatever I had.

I think about home. I could go back, I could go and repent, or at least pretend to. Sayang if I were to try to live on my own, only to run out of money, get sick of where I’m staying, or whatever, and end up coming back. But if I go back, all the effort I spent would be sayang. I’m going on, even if I’m not exactly willing to.

I think about the IMO. I think about all the time I had spent. Sayang if I kept pursuing, if I knew I wasn’t going to make it. But if I quit now, all the time I spent training for math would be sayang. My only option is taking the risk, continuing to pursue, even if I know the chances aren’t the best.

I could fold on my dreams of going to MIT. Sayang to expend all these emotions thinking about it, of studying in the university of my dreams, only to have it not happen. But my teacher is right too – what I have, the shot I have, the chance, it would be sayang if I didn’t even try.

It’s inertia that pushes me on. Sayang if I don’t make it, but sayang if I quit now. I don’t really have a choice. I have to pick the less bad sayang, and it just happens to be continuing. Because I have this irrational feeling that I’d make it. That somehow, all my effort would pay off. That somehow, it wouldn’t be sayang.