Our society has long embraced the idea that we derive our talents and abilities from our genes. Using the same reasoning, some people choose to find a scapegoat in their genes for their incompetence and become resigned to their shortcomings. In the midst of our pessimistic way of thinking, however, we must remember that we are 99.98% genetically alike. This fact should not undermine each individual’s uniqueness; rather, it should remind us that talent is not always inherent.
You’re sitting in your sixth period science class, attentively listening to your teacher’s instructions for an upcoming lab. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot one of your fellow classmates slouched over his textbook, looking as if he hasn’t slept in days. A wave of drowsiness sweeps over you and you let out a loud yawn. Why am I so tired? you ask yourself, I felt fine just a minute ago.
It is flu season. With falling leaves, frosting weather, and an increasing enthusiasm for the winter holidays, follows sniveling classmates and sneezing acquaintances. And as with every flu season, there are those who try to stuff down multiple ounces of prevention to avoid the dreaded and perhaps inevitable. Everyone has their preferences and suspicions: chicken noodle soup, Airborne, homemade mixes, and homeopathy are among the many cold and flu remedies of which the health merit is inconclusive.
Creating an animal from a single uncut piece of paper is one of life's greatest simple pleasures. Few other activities are as rewarding in relation to their pevity and convenience as origami, with the classic crane holding the distinction of being the most widely recognized and adored creation of this art form.
As children, the vast majority of us detested receiving shots. This innate repulsion can probably be attributed to the fact that we were not too fond of the long, sharp needles that penetrated our skin. The concept of immunization was not very clear to us then—why we had to receive treatment when we felt perfectly healthy just did not make sense.
Ever since the groundbreaking discovery that the universe is comprised of only 4.6% “normal” matter that we see and interact with everyday, scientists have been searching for an explanation as to where the other 94.6% of the matter is. This search for the missing matter in the universe has led to the theory of dark matter, a substance that does not interact directly with light or ordinary matter, making it extremely difficult to observe. In the Cold Dark Matter (CDM) theory, a small fraction of dark matter is said to consist of Weakly Interacting Massive Particles (WIMPs).
Protecting our environment and preserving our animals are notions that appeal to our ethics and moral sense, but at what point does idealism become a crutch in real-world policy-making and hamper our ability to sustain ourselves? It’s true that we share this planet with billions of animals, and that we have a responsibility to take care of them, but at the same time, we have an even greater responsibility to take care of ourselves and protect our future.
n 2005, domestic and wild birds in Asia fell sick, hemorrhaging to death within hours of the onset of symptoms. Alarmingly, the same disease began afflicting humans in the region, causing their lungs to fill with bloody fluid until they suffocated to death. This avian flu sparked global terror--with a 63% mortality rate, it had the potential to decimate the world’s population and kill up to 360 million people if it developed the ability to pass from human to human. Fortunately, eradication efforts were able to keep this catastrophe at bay.
You’re studiously studying for your science test when you suddenly experience a straining headache. The throbbing pain doggedly persists for an hour, causing you to feel as if your head will split in two. Knowing that you can’t possibly continue studying like this, you grab a glass of water and down two aspirin, and just like that, the headache is gone.