Just a few days ago, while I was researching and writing Part One of “ARLIZ,” I saw and felt things I’m still digesting — so I decided to put this experience and these feelings down here, plain and simple, no fuss.
First of all, one simple but deep thing showed itself in my notes: a lot of people really don’t understand what “you should give help to receive help” means. I’ve helped a lot on this path, taught things, pointed the way, but I often saw people expecting everything to be handed to them from the start; or when you help, it’s as if that help earned you a medal. My experience is that you don’t need everyone cheering you on for the smallest things. Most of the time you’re just a piece of the puzzle — a very small piece that, in some people’s eyes, might seem “useless” or “crappy” and not helpful to them. And we don’t have the right to put people in debt or expect constant thanks after we help. Help should be pure, not a transaction that earns you someone’s favor.
Another thing I kept running into while writing Part 1 was that many people truly don’t get why they should have a mindset of mutual aid — instead of waiting to be helped, they should understand how to build a small network of reciprocal help. I tried to explain this many times, but it seems they need to experience it themselves to really get it.
About math: I have a complicated love/hate thing that I needed to shout out here — nobody told me as a kid why math matters in my life. No one told me why 2 + 2 became 4; they just said “that’s the sum” and moved on to the next exercise. To me that was the biggest educational betrayal. It stole from me the habit of asking “why” and understanding fundamental reasons. It still bothers me; when I see people treating math like a dry instruction manual, it hurts. Not being taught “why” made me realize very late that math, beyond calculation, is a way of thinking.
This whole topic of “knowing” can also be seen in stages — something I’ve experienced and we’ve spoken about before: first, a little knowledge gives you a sense of superiority, confidence, or even a urge to show off. The second stage is when you realize most people have different needs and priorities and aren’t necessarily after the knowledge you love — that leads to surprise or discouragement. And stage three is where knowing more can feel like a curse; the more you understand, the more you see complexities and contradictions, and sometimes that seeing creates a heavy, ineffective burden. In short, learning doesn’t instantly bring joy — it’s a process that includes moments of pride, anger, wonder, and sometimes a sense of meaninglessness.
As for me and this path, depending on the people in front of me, I find myself at different stages. Sometimes I feel I’m still in the phase of searching and curiosity, sometimes I pass through discouragement, and right now, from my own perspective, I’m mostly in a stage of despair. This despair stems from expecting meaningful change or at least meaningful feedback when you write and research — but most of the time you face silence or superficiality. This despair isn’t necessarily surrender; it’s an awareness of the current limits of the environment and people.
One other thing that mattered a lot to me: writing is much harder than I always thought. I used to daydream in school composition classes and thought writing was easy — but writing a book, building the flow of ideas, organizing research, putting references together, and finally polishing the text is genuinely harder than I imagined. Writing, in the true sense, is stressful, time-consuming, and requires endurance they never taught you in school.
The rest is a bunch of scattered things: sometimes I feel my intellectual loneliness separates me from the group, sometimes I realize I carry the responsibility of understanding something no one else might want; and sometimes I see that if I don’t tie knowledge to purpose and meaning, it just becomes a heavy burden. I’ve also noticed that when you try to explain something, you must be careful your ego doesn’t sneak into your sentences — humility in teaching is more important than showing off knowledge.
In the end, this text is more of a raw personal emotional report than a set of advices or a structure. If there’s one thing I want to share from this experience, it’s this: knowing without meaning and without sharing is rarely useful; and expecting everyone to cheer you for every tiny thing you do is an illusion. Being human sometimes means working on those small puzzle pieces without always knowing where that piece fits. And if you get discouraged sometimes — I have too — write. Writing may be heavy, but just getting your words out is a kind of relief in itself.
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