I am not Richard Feynman
"I will have nothing to do with the Nobel Prize," Richard Feynman declared. "I've already got the
prize: the kick in the discovery and the pleasure of finding the thing out."
I watched intently as Professor Feynman spoke in the Youtube video, and I, like many other students
pursuing an education in science or engineering, idolized the man. I uploaded his quotes on Facebook,
listed him as one of my most influential people, and read his book, Surely You're Joking Mr.
Feynman. I started to talk about how awards meant nothing to me and how I studied purely for "the
kick in the discovery." And by doing so, I felt an elitist pride because I felt that I was different from
everyone else. I thought that I was like Professor Feynman.
While I sat in my school's auditorium during the annual awards ceremony, however, my heart started
to race and my forehead started to sweat. When the principle was about to announce the recipient of
the "Academic Excellence in Science" award, my pulse quickened from a gallop to a sprint. My name
was called, and the smile on my face could not have gotten any larger. I approached the stage and
enthusiastically shook the principle's hand. I left the auditorium, proudly holding the award under my
arm.
"Awards do feel nice, yeah?" Mr. Almond, my science teacher, pointed out jokingly.
Hypocrite, liar, and faker - these words raced through my mind as I started to recall the countless
occasions in which I arrogantly dismissed the concept of honors. In my memory, I saw a boy with my
face and body, criticizing honors as if I were Richard Feynman. I couldn't believe the egotistic nature
of the boy who was now criticizing the Nobel Prize. An obnoxious ego was the only thing I obtained
from this imitation, while I lost my humility, my personality and myself. The proud smile I bore on
my face diminished into a red embarrassment of my realization.
Mr. Almond, seemingly oblivious to my red ears, smiled and walked away.
As I walked to the school bus, I thought of all the people I wanted to be like: Feynman in academics;
Jascha Heifetz in music; and Philip Pullman in writing. I could spend my life, imitating and morphing
myself into these figures, in hopes that I would develop into the next Heifetz or Feynman or Pullman.
I could try again and convince myself that honors meant nothing, and that I played music because I
have an innate, divine urge to do so. Or, I thought to myself, I could choose to be myself - a Korean
physics enthusiast, aspiring mechanical engineer, part-time violinist and elder brother. Having chosen
my path, I smiled and sat on my seat.
I got home and presented my award to my mother proudly.
"I thought you didn't care for awards anymore," remarked my mother.
"I am not Richard Feynman," I said and smiled. "And I never will be."
"I will have nothing to do with the Nobel Prize," Richard Feynman declared. "I've already got the
prize: the kick in the discovery and the pleasure of finding the thing out."
I watched intently as Professor Feynman spoke in the Youtube video, and I, like many other students
pursuing an education in science or engineering, idolized the man. I uploaded his quotes on Facebook,
listed him as one of my most influential people, and read his book, Surely You're Joking Mr.
Feynman. I started to talk about how awards meant nothing to me and how I studied purely for "the
kick in the discovery." And by doing so, I felt an elitist pride because I felt that I was different from
everyone else. I thought that I was like Professor Feynman.
While I sat in my school's auditorium during the annual awards ceremony, however, my heart started
to race and my forehead started to sweat. When the principle was about to announce the recipient of
the "Academic Excellence in Science" award, my pulse quickened from a gallop to a sprint. My name
was called, and the smile on my face could not have gotten any larger. I approached the stage and
enthusiastically shook the principle's hand. I left the auditorium, proudly holding the award under my
arm.
"Awards do feel nice, yeah?" Mr. Almond, my science teacher, pointed out jokingly.
Hypocrite, liar, and faker - these words raced through my mind as I started to recall the countless
occasions in which I arrogantly dismissed the concept of honors. In my memory, I saw a boy with my
face and body, criticizing honors as if I were Richard Feynman. I couldn't believe the egotistic nature
of the boy who was now criticizing the Nobel Prize. An obnoxious ego was the only thing I obtained
from this imitation, while I lost my humility, my personality and myself. The proud smile I bore on
my face diminished into a red embarrassment of my realization.
Mr. Almond, seemingly oblivious to my red ears, smiled and walked away.
As I walked to the school bus, I thought of all the people I wanted to be like: Feynman in academics;
Jascha Heifetz in music; and Philip Pullman in writing. I could spend my life, imitating and morphing
myself into these figures, in hopes that I would develop into the next Heifetz or Feynman or Pullman.
I could try again and convince myself that honors meant nothing, and that I played music because I
have an innate, divine urge to do so. Or, I thought to myself, I could choose to be myself - a Korean
physics enthusiast, aspiring mechanical engineer, part-time violinist and elder brother. Having chosen
my path, I smiled and sat on my seat.
I got home and presented my award to my mother proudly.
"I thought you didn't care for awards anymore," remarked my mother.
"I am not Richard Feynman," I said and smiled. "And I never will be."
