Because it pertained to today’s subject, my metaphysics teacher told the class about his cataract surgery. He was talking about how the colors of the classroom are much more vibrant now. It reminded me of something he told my class the first time I had him as a teacher. ~flashback~ It was introduction to philosophy and freshman Sagan sat shyly in the front row of her very first college class with her brand new book on her desk. Eager to learn and join the ranks of educated individuals, she listened keenly while the prehistoric priest spent the first class session explaining why colors aren’t real. -- This disturbed me for months. I was an undeclared scared freshman and now not even the bright blue sky could make me feel good about life. I dwelled on the fact that my colors might not be the same as someone else’s colors, and on the fact that I could never know how someone else sees something. It just didn’t sit well. After a quasi-break down which consisted of a lot of cry and rereading of my philosophy book, I decided to become an English major. I’m not sure why doing this made so much sense to little me. But if colors weren’t real, and numbers weren’t either, I decided I should avoid them the best I could. With art and math out of the running for majors I just settled on English. For four years now I’ve been working on explaining how the colors I see look, once I accomplish this I think I can win college.
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