Yet, here it is, gracing my life and my study table. The foolscap, the paper of problems, the calculator and the lonely pen.

I'll always remember Math as the only subject which I managed to get full marks for in my entire schooling life. It happened during my CA1 in primary 1. It was my first school examination and it was the one and only time that I managed to get a perfect score in an examination. I remember walking home with my math paper in hand, and on the top right side of the cover page, my teacher scribbled 48/50. It was a confusing walk home. I was adamant that I didn't make any mistakes, yet, being the timid primary 1 boy I was, I didn't dare to ask my teacher about it. So when I reached home, I passed the paper to my parents and told them to check it for me. The next afternoon, I was happily walking back to school with my exam paper signed, and along with it, a letter from my parents telling my teacher that he had made a mistake. Such a bright start to what seemed like a fairy tale relationship with math.

Primary school math was alright. My grades fluctuated, but they weren't wild. I didn't grasp the contents with relative ease, but I wasn't too lost either. Models, area, symmetry, and (at that time) the mysterious pi sign that allowed me to calculate the area of circles. I remember ploughing through countless assessment books before PSLE, notably tough ones by this author named Fabian Ng. Or at least, that's what I remember his name as. TYS became a breeze after that, and in late November, I ended my primary school math with the same happy walk that I started it with 6 years earlier; this time with an A* in tow.

Secondary school came along and so did algebra and a load of other numbers. Growing up, I always thought of the calculator as a math whiz which could solve everything. It wasn't true. Simultaneous equations, log, ln, relative velocity... the terms went on and on. For the first time in my life, I was actually lost in math. The ease which I took my PSLE paper with was a distant memory and I could finally sympathise with those who told me that math was difficult. For the first time in my life, I engaged a math tutor in Secondary 3, and things got slightly better. However, I never got into the habit of practicing as much as I did before and that stunted any possible progress. Cambridge came along, and even though the papers weren't tough, I knew I didn't do enough to get top grades. Both E and A math papers were littered with careless mistakes and that cost me dearly.

JC was a time where math took another beating. I had a brilliant tuition teacher, but his brilliance was only matched by my laziness. I was contented at knowing what was going on and that cost me the chance of firmly grasping the concepts. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. I knew bits and pieces, but when it came to piecing them up, hm. It didn't end well.

So now, here I am. Meeting a long lost friend. The A*, a distant memory but my downward slide, a fresh one. Here's probably, possibly, hopefully the last time I have to reintroduce myself to math.

For old time's sake, let's end on a high.