Primary and secondary school education systems, more often than not, teach subjects in such a way where, for younger years, fundamentals are simplified too such a point that it becomes hard to eventually expand intuitively into more advanced concepts, and specialisations.
It can be likened to learning a habit that is considered “good enough for now”, and then being expected to break this now retrospectively poor habit when the system determines itself as “ready for progression”. Foundations are laid in such a way that expansion becomes extremely awkward, due to poor communication of conceptual scope.
Establishment of a larger picture in a straight forward and abstract way is essential to eliminating the narrow window of expected understanding. A supposed approach would be the act of recognising scope without truncating understanding. There is a distinct and crucial difference between approaches: “Look, this concept really has about five different branches, but we’ll be focusing on the specifics of these two for the course”. and “We will be learning these two components”.
The continual act of misleading through over-simplification in teaching practices can lead to internal confusion within individual students, as all develop information and reasoning functions upon their own mental accord, forming a scenario that can be likened to expecting the construction of an “academic skyscraper” filling from the middle, outward.
“It’s like wanting to leave as soon as you arrive. Because you’re desperate to be apart from these strangers that merely gossip and yell. It’s so loud there. So crowded and autonomous. I just want to be away from them all. These lunchtime crowds do not interest me. I look for the company of one, or two at the most. I look to talk, not about the weather, but the storms that brew within my heart and mind. I want to be greeted with understanding and venture, not a shrug and a guess, for I want to know, not what you think they know, but what you, yourself know.”
The chill of the floor tender upon the surface of her limp figure. A drop of emotion from the corner of her eye. It slides quietly, descending to an inevitable moment where it is cast, holding on dearly to the ripe yet numb cheek. Left to fall; and make do with the touch of tiles. It was destined to dive, to die, and to fade away. Her teardrops continue to flow. Her breath flows quietly, yet the cold left her eyes to swim through a cloud of smoke, every exasperated gasp. Then she raises her head slowly, exposing her bloodshot eyes. A tender pink tone of distress, red rivers branching out over the whites, a system of blood streams. “I’m sorry,” she gasps trying to hold herself back.