Breaking the Science Lab

One girl is looking outside. She is inside a long-ago abandoned science lab. The lab is completely dark because the school has no electricity to spare to the abandoned science lab. The air inside the science lab is murky because a lot of dust has piled up on scientific instruments. She is overwhelmed by the complete darkness. She breathes in the murky air. She is holding a pillar attached to the door. She wants to escape. She is me. She is everyone.

I was born in this science lab. The lab was dark from the beginning. I couldn't perceive anything in the lab, my mysterious setting. The world was enigmatic, full of yet-to-be made discoveries. A yellow rubber object was put inside my mouth. I had to suck that object to drink a tasty, nutritious thing. When I lay in my bed, black-and-white objects flew over my eyes. It seemed that two other living things dwelt in the same shelter. Fortunately, they did not harm me in any occasion.

The science lab was not always a complete mystery. As I grew, I started to learn about things around me. In school I learned that the yellow rubber object is called a "pacifier," an instrument used to feed babies. I also learned that the tasty, nutritious drink I had to suck every day is called "milk," a staple food for babies. The black-and-white objects were called "mobiles," ornaments usually suspended over a baby's bed. Lastly, the harmless two living beings were my "parents," people who always love me and care for me. As I learned more about my surroundings, the science lab began to illuminate. I started to see things in the lab. I felt secure and thought that I was accumulating knowledge.

However, the security did not last long. I soon realized that the science lab was just a science lab. The lab could only provide scientific information: the how. A startling majority of information I received from various education institutions only told me the how. In my middle school math class, I learned how to calculate the roots of a second-degree polynomial but I did not know why calculating the roots was important. In my middle school ethics class, I learned how to become a good person but did not learn why I should become a good person. Apart from formal education, I learned how to live a good life from my parents or older relatives but I did not learn why I should live. Without the why, without knowing the significance, I was unstable. The air inside the science lab became murky and thick, as if the air prohibited me from striving to find answers to the question why. I was overlooking a crucial thing.

The science lab, where I was born, acted as a limitation. Because most of my education focused on the how, asking the why was considered heretical. I once asked my middle school math teacher why we need to draw the graphs of second-degree polynomials. The math teacher was first shocked to hear my question because few students asked this kind of question. Then the teacher, trying hard to hide her dismay, said that I should learn it because it is included in the curriculum. I suddenly felt the great wall of the how, and realized the need to break the science lab. The lab was not a tangible limitation, but was a limitation in my thought process.

After I realized the science lab as a limitation, I yearned to escape from the how world, just like the girl in the photograph. When I was tired with the bombarding hows fed by my education system, I sometimes sat alone in my room and thought about why I am learning what I learn. I came up with many ridiculous answers, such as that I learn math because atoms are virtually math equations. However, this attempt did not make me successfully escape the rigid frame of thought. My thoughts, floating above reality, were futile and useless. These thoughts, often seemingly well-developed, suddenly escaped from my mind and I suddenly realized the reality, the science lab, the how. My thoughts were vain attempts to break the science lab. Instead of yearning for a limitless thought process, like the girl in the photograph does, I had to find a more solid way of breaking the lab.

Sitting in the partially illuminated science lab, I found some materials that could make explosives when mixed. Breaking the wall was impossible by mere yearning, but it could be possible when I made bombs inside the lab and fired them. I started to think that the answer was inside the lab. Moreover, ironically, making a bomb to destroy the science lab became my objective of learning the how. Now, I learn a lot of hows in my school, and I find the hows significant because they can help me expand my thought. The hows I learned were not obstacles for me pursuing the why and other questions, but were building blocks that I could stand on and break the limitation of thought. The hows were somewhat meaningful, although not in themselves.

Every people face certain kinds of limitations. People sometimes want to break the limitations by looking outside the limitation, ignoring the materials inside it. However, just looking outside and hoping to escape can easily lead to futile efforts. Although my way of overcoming limitations is not complete, finding a way to escape by looking inside the limitation could be a solution.