Heading to the weekly Saturday art class located on the third floor of a four-story red brick building, the idea that I have to spend two hours of mundane art lesson with by far the most beautiful teacher in my life gave me a mixed sensation of frustration and expectation. Just as I slightly open the transparent glass door, she glances up with a warm welcoming smile, her dazzling, mesmerizing hazel eyes meeting mine. Sitting on a black round chair, "You look more excited than usual" she says, and I give her a short curt reply scrupulously trying to ignore her tight worn-out cobalt blue jeans hugging her slim curves as if it's her second skin. Sometimes my eyes deviate from the canvas and appreciate the beautiful contrast her pale white flawless skin makes with her dark silky hair gently landing on her shoulders. Even though art was my least favorite for its impractical nature, she somehow infused me a strong motivation to explore the unknown and unfamiliar field. Had it not been for her, I would be totally blind to the subtle beauty emanating from a single piece of paper.
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