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I've always had a weird relationship with history. Back in school, it ranked somewhere between "please don't call on me" and "why is this even a subject." Right above math, but only because history didn't involve graph paper. I found it boring, overwhelming, and completely disconnected from anything that felt relevant. You want me to memorize 47 names, 12 wars, and the birth year of some guy named Otto von Something? For what?
And then - plot twist - I got a new teacher. One of those rare humans who could turn a lesson into a story, and a story into a full-blown political thriller. Suddenly, it clicked. Franz Ferdinand didn't just die - he got assassinated in the messiest way possible and accidentally kicked off a world war. It wasn't a textbook anymore. It was a giant game of dominoes, just with more uniforms and bad decisions.
Years later, I learned another hard truth: even when history is interesting, it's never neutral. Every version of it is told through someone's lens - the winners, the survivors, the loudest voices in the room. History isn't just what happened. It's how we frame it. Who we blame. What we leave out.