NOT FINISHED!

Entering college, I knew that I wanted to do research. I had discovered in first-year high school biology, that I had questions to which there were no answers. By the time I entered college I was happy to find that nearly all of my original questions had been answered (and then some) by researchers over the passing years. Unfortunately (or not?) my mind did not remain satisfied for long. Each new fact I learned in class seemed to produce another ten questions. Although I found many answers over the course of taking other classes, reading research articles and consulting those more knowledgeable than I, many questions still remained "un-answerable". I wanted answers. I wanted to contribute to the science community by finding answers myself. And even though I did not know in what are specifically I wanted to research, I knew that I wanted to do research. Or so I thought. Looking back now, I can say that I had no idea what being a researcher entailed or if I possessed the qualities needed. Regardless, I was determined to jump into the answer-finding community as quickly as possible.

I joined the lab of Brad Hyman during the last quarter of my freshman year. I owe much of where I am now to Professor Hyman for taking me in so early despite my inexperience and for immediately putting me to work alongside graduate students. I was taught the basics of how a lab operates and the basic skills needed to function in one. Learning the basics was a slow process. A very slow process. Like learning how to cook a good meal.

In research, as well as in cooking, being able to perform the basics is often taken for granted; being able to use the proper equipment for example. Take away a fork, or the ability to use one, from a professional chef, and simple tasks become quite difficult. Without basic tools such forks, knives, measuring tools, heating equipment etc., larger tasks are impossible. The concept of not knowing how to use these simple tools may seem a bit exaggerated, but in actuality, no one is boring with the innate knowledge of what a fork is and how it is used, much less how to stir, chop, or saute their way to a gourmet meal. The basics must be learned step by step and then built upon before a 3 course meal is made.

Once all the "forks" have been learned, remaining still is the critical thinking needed to create and trouble shoot recipes, and this is not gained without many, many attempts (with both success and failures). In cooking technique is everything, and mastering it is a long process. Just because all the correct ingredients can be added together to make a lasagna does not mean that when it comes out of the oven that it is going to taste very good. Essentially, learning to cook beings when that first fork is picked up, and can continue a life time.

Similarly, the same is true for conducting research. A researcher must first be able to use, perform, and understand all the basics. Once a procedure is learned, initial success and quality is never guaranteed; technique must first be perfected. Even after a successful experiment, the researcher must then develop the ability to analyze and draw conclusions form the data. As with cooking, the small steps are often forgotten about in the overall scheme of things. But when I walked into the lab on that first day and picked up the awkwardly shaped instrument called a "pipette", I realized that I was indeed back at the "fork" stage of my life as a researcher.

As I developed my techniques and learned the basic experiments, I was encouraged to be more independent; I was given small projects to carry out on my own that required me to conduct several smaller experiments in sequence to accomplish a larger goal. Learning how to make mini lysates, extract mDNA from live Nematodes, set up PCR reactions, and perform transformations were of little practical use until I began to understand how each step related to another. By the end of my second year, I had built an arsenal of puzzle pieces, but I still severely lacked a "larger picture" mentality. It was not until my junior year that I began to learn that the only way to put the pieces together was to focus on the picture that they were supposed to make. It was also during my junior year that I was forced to confront growing doubts of whether the lab bench was really where I belonged.

My third year was spent abroad in Japan at the University of Tsukuba. Due to fortunate miscommunication, I was placed into the lab of Ezura Hiroshi, given a project, and placed under the immediate super vision of the lab's head post-doc, Akihiro Takashi.

My project was a precursory to a secondary project that would ultimately aim to create a GABA enriched super tomato through the exploitation of the natural synthesis pathways. Before this could be done however, GABA's role in tomato plants first needed to be identified. The primary genes involved in GABA synthesis and accumulation were isolated and their mRNA expression patterns were characterized. Anti-sense orientation and RNA interference constructs were created and transformed into infant plants using agrobacterium. If successful, the transgenic plants would lack the ability to accumulate GABA, and upon reaching maturation, GABA's role could be characterized through comparison with non-modified plant.
Although hard to get along with, Akihiro was one of the best teachers I have ever had. He was very detailed and thorough in his explanations of experiments; making sure that I understood the purpose of every reagent involved, and the mechanisms of every reaction. He heavily emphasised the importance of understanding the smaller experiments in the context of the larger goal of my project, and had me countless re-iterate verbally and through flow charts a detailed account of the steps involved in my project.

Additionally, each week I attended and participated in lab meetings where each project's recent data was presented to and critiqued by the other members. The intelligence and experience of my lab mates was intimidating. I spent hours pouring over journal articles and molecular biology text books in an attempt to catch up to where I felt I was expected to be. Trying to absorb so much so quickly was extremely exhausting, but extremely satisfying. My understanding, competency and ability grew exponentially during the time I spent in the Ezura lab, and although I struggle emotionally, the experience was invaluable.

Truthfully though, I hated my lab. The originally agreed upon five hours each weekday that I was to spend in lab soon grew to eight, and continued to increase to 10-12 hours a day including weekends. My lab mates were emotionally cold and distant. We worked together in the same room, but it felt as were still thousands of miles apart. There were days when I arrived, completed my work, and left without speaking more than three words to anyone. I had no time or energy to make friends or enjoy the new experiences of living abroad; the work load and absence of social interaction began to take its toll. As time passed, I became more and more depressed, and after a long eight months I left the lab. Shortly after, life picked up. My grades improved, I made friends and caught up on the sleep I had been deprived of, and for the first time since arriving in the country, began to finally adjust and enjoy myself.