Chapter 1: The Reality of Research

In my previous writings, I've focused on the exhilarating moments of research—those thrilling instances when reactions succeed and new knowledge unfolds. However, the journey is not without its hurdles, particularly when it comes to juggling laboratory commitments with the myriad responsibilities of an undergraduate at UC Berkeley. To illustrate this, I’ll recount one of the most trying weeks I faced in the lab.

It was late April of my sophomore year, marking about a year since I began my research journey. As I approached my final spring exams, I was buried under preparations for my organic chemistry class and lab exams, as well as an event my student organization was co-hosting with a pharmaceutical company. To add to the pressure, I was also tasked with crafting a presentation that summarized my semester's research for the upcoming lab group meeting.

This semester, I had synthesized seven distinct chemical probes aimed at targeting the nucleus. Unfortunately, every trial in human cells led to the same disappointing outcome—cytoplasmic diffusion with no selectivity. Despite running reactions that had been successful in previous research, my results were disheartening. Analyzing the products through NMR and mass spectrometry revealed that my experiments had produced a significant amount of ineffective compounds.

With each failed attempt, I found myself repeating the phrase, “It should work.” This sentiment echoed in my mind all week, amplifying my frustration and stress. I was also perplexed by the preferred slide format of my professor, unsure how to present my unsuccessful data logically.

Mass spectrometry analysis of my injection sample

In a rare moment of downtime, I reached out to my graduate student mentor for guidance.

“Chris, the professor, prefers slides with a prominent title and a slightly smaller subtitle, both in Franklin Gothic font. He won’t say it directly, but he tends to comment on how ‘nice’ the slides look when that font is used,” Kevin advised.

He also suggested treating each slide title as a snapshot of the entire narrative. Together, the slides should convey a cohesive story about my research progress.

“Above all, avoid any animations,” he cautioned.

Armed with this advice, I prepared my slides and practiced them with Kevin in the days leading up to the group meeting. I utilized any free time during the day to run reactions while dedicating my evenings to studying for exams. I felt as if I were constantly on the go, even using short walks between classes to brainstorm potential exam and presentation questions.

On the day of my presentation, I attended my first class at 8:00 a.m. in Biology 1A. Fatigue weighed heavily on me as I struggled to focus during lectures. Between classes and lab, I tried to fit in studying and reviewing my lab notebook. By the time my classes wrapped up at 6:00 p.m., I was too worn out to return to my apartment before the group meeting at 7:30 p.m. Instead, I remained at my desk in the lab office, going over my slides and rehearsing my presentation in my mind. As 7:00 p.m. approached, I rested my head for a moment—there was no point in exhausting myself right before presenting.

At 7:00 p.m., my lab colleagues and I made our way to the meeting room in 775 Tan for dinner. We indulged in Chinese takeout, a tradition for our lab meetings, and I marveled at how far I had come—from merely listening to now being the one presenting.

When the professor entered at 7:30 p.m., it was time to begin. I paid close attention as my peers presented before me, which only heightened my excitement and nerves. Soon, it was my turn. A wave of anxiety washed over me as I connected my laptop to the HDMI cable and tested my laser pointer.

Yet, as I began to speak, all my nerves dissipated. Having prepared thoroughly, I knew precisely what I wanted to convey about each slide. I was the authority on my own research. The presentation unfolded smoothly, but as I neared the conclusion, anxiety returned at the thought of the impending Q&A session.

My professor opened the question segment by inquiring about some of the reaction conditions I had used in my unsuccessful trials. When I mentioned the reagents and solvents, he furrowed his brow and muttered, “It should work.”

Those words resonated painfully. Although the conditions I employed were standard and had proven effective in past studies, I was left wondering if there was an issue with my laboratory techniques.

After a brief pause, the professor offered alternative methods to explore and proposed reasons why my conditions might not have yielded the desired results. The remainder of the Q&A session was a success. I felt confident in my background research and experimental methods as post-docs probed further and provided additional suggestions.

The meeting concluded around 10:00 p.m., and I was utterly drained. Having spent 14 hours on campus, I faced a midterm at 8:00 a.m. the following morning. I hurried to the lab office, gathered my belongings, and bid farewell to my fellow lab members.

Night view of the Campanile

The walk home that night was unsettling. The campus was shrouded in darkness, and I was on high alert, burdened by thoughts of my unfinished work waiting for me at home. I was still grappling with the realization that a year of effort had resulted in minimal success.

“Yes, I had learned a lot, but what tangible results did I have to show for it?”

I attempted to dismiss these negative thoughts, attributing them to fatigue as I trudged toward my apartment.

Upon arriving home, exhaustion washed over me. I lacked the motivation to dive back into my tasks. Instead, I decided to take a shower to refresh myself before tackling my assignments.

As the warm water cascaded over me, it blurred the line between the droplets and my tears. I had endured an entire day while suppressing my emotions, and it felt cathartic to finally release them.

Ten minutes of cathartic crying, and then I could tackle the rest of my work and get a good night’s sleep.

I acknowledged that I wasn’t at my best late at night and that a new day could bring a fresh perspective. I pushed through that evening, determined to move beyond my stress and welcome a new day. Mornings always uplifted my spirits; the sunlight and the promise of new experiences made them my favorite time.

The following morning, I aced my organic chemistry exam. I received positive feedback on my presentation, and both graduate students and post-docs offered valuable advice on potential reagents and alternative synthetic pathways.

UV detection during compound fraction analysis

At Cal, for every challenging day, another brighter one awaits. I am fortunate that the positive experiences have significantly outnumbered the difficult ones. The tough days have been instrumental in shaping my resilience as a student. I have learned crucial lessons from enduring long nights, equipping me to handle similar challenges in the future.

Sometimes, all it takes is a step back, a breather (or a refreshing shower, in my case), and the reminder that countless good days lie ahead, just waiting to greet me.