As the school year wound down we got closer and closer to our final
exams. With introductory exams also being squeezed into our schedule,
the final third of our year became extremely jam-packed and teachers
rushed to cover all the necessary material. As a result for many of our
classes we shared a classroom with other seniors in order to utilize
both periods for both classes and hence tackle twice as many topics.
While we had learned differentiation the previous year, integration was
only introduced during a compact 3rd marking period. As Mr. Ghamisi
surveyed the 60+ students before him, he explained that what we were
about to face was the exact opposite of differentiation. “You all know
how to find the derivative of a function,” he started. “Now you’ll be
given a derivative and you’ll find what the original function was.
“Your book is kind of confusing. In some parts of it they refer to the
original functions as antiderivatives while in other parts they call
them indefinite integrals. Even though these are two different names but
they actually refer to the exact same thing. It’s like these hicks
whose names back in their village is Hasan Ali Jafar but as soon as they
set foot in Tehran they demand that they be called Zizi.”
He waited for our laughter to die down before adding, “Well I know Hasan
Ali Jafar probably isn’t today’s most popular name but still that’s no
reason to go to such extremes.”
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...

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