Science was my favorite high-school class. The intricate details of Biology got me hooked.
Our teacher was the version of John Keating's (Dead Poet's Society) genius. I was awed by his passion for minutiae. Mere leaves were studied for the universe they disclose. Frogs were sacrificed to provide throbbing wisdom. I followed him with psychopathic loyalty.
There was one thing that set him apart: he took his classes to a level of divinity. It's either you paid full attention or caste as fool.
One morning, as profundities were being discussed, a general announcement was made: the varsity will be playing! Classes suspended.
Not ours. We were under Martial Law. Our experiments come first, hoops will follow. And so we were warned not to waver in focus. Of course, I checked in.
When the hysteria of dismissed young boys filled the corridors, attention flung to the throng. For a split second, I looked (with disdain over the rowdiness) outside. The next thing I know, the Lion's grip was on my collar, dragging me out towards the door: "you ... go to that stupid game, if you so desire ... go leave my class!" I was so stunned with the absolute myopia. I almost wet my pants shriveled with nervous fear. How can he possibly misread my impeccable loyalty?
I roamed the corridors disoriented from a tectonic realization. The science of my hero has failed.
It affected everything that had to do with Science. Funny, how one incident can turn one's worldview towards another spin.
Well, all is not lost. When I found the Maker of the Universe, I began to see the folly of over-rating humans with undue competence. No one can truly figure what is going on except the One who makes all our goings and turnings. I have since restored my affections to depths of scientific inquiry.
From east to west, north and south, I am kept safe by His faithful omnipotence.
It is all well with my soul: the lamb in me is in silent rest.
photography: Paolo Esquivel