I found an old diary today. It is hand-written, in blue ink, with letters well-formed in cursive, with ideas that I’ve since forgotten and thus never realized I missed. One entry, dated July 4, 1997 (17 years ago) notes: “Happy Birthday, America! I wish I was there with you…” At a time when I was still in high-school, alone with my mother, estranged from my brother and father, with no means, no money, no way of going anywhere and in a country so far away from the States, one teenager dreamed of coming to America. And I talked about it as if I knew it would happen. I always hoped it would happen, but truth be told, I knew there was no way. Still, here I am… 17 years later, sharing my thoughts with anonymous readers, through this marvel we call blogging. Sometimes I wish we could turn back time to where there were no cell phones and people actually had to open their mouths and utter sounds and form words to speak to each other… but I go with the flow myself, so I can’t really blame anyone for it. We have to adapt, and the ability to do that, to me, shows how smart someone is. I’ve been studying IQ-related material for quite a few years now, and the more I study it the way it is presented in books and the way we have to test for it, the more I believe that being smart has so much more to do with one’s ability to adapt to the environment and to not freak out over every little thing that seems to be posing a problem. Adaptability, I believe, is the key…