"You can neither take credit for your successes nor blame yourself for your failures"
I presented my summer research at a symposium recently, alongside other students who were mostly postgraduates. I want to juxtapose this fact with the one that I am a 2nd year undergrad with no foundation in immunology because it takes my mind off the bitter memory of getting lambasted by the panel of judges and supervisors.
My presentation itself went well because I had rehearsed it way too many times- I could recite it in my sleep. What I did not prepare enough for was how to deflect questions that I could not answer.
It was an unpleasant experience, honestly speaking. It was challenging to only get to spend 8 weeks trying to learn what masters students learn in a year; it was awful to be made to feel like I was inadequate, by a supervisor who could not hide his impatience with me. It was humbling to have to turn to the other masters/pHD students at the lab to accomplish the most minuscule of tasks, like use a pipette or use the Multiskan. It was infuriating to spend most of those 8 weeks sat at a desk, twiddling my thumbs because I did not know where to start and finish in terms of understanding the background of what it is I was actually researching. It was wistful to think that I could have spent those 2 months with my family whom I missed. It was lonely to spend most of that time on my own, waiting for my supervisor to spare time to teach me.
Research is a self-driven exercise. But I was not equipped with the tools to drive my own research, given my shallow base in immunology. I tried reading articles, but failed to comprehend what it was i was actually reading.
Imagine going through 8 weeks of that, only to be humiliated in front of everyone despite trying so hard.
Imagine.
I went through that, and the next morning, I cried my heart out to my dad.
There is a saying that failure breeds success. No one said that failure would be easy, though. Failure is ugly, and it is awkward. It is deafening silence in the room as everyone watched me crack under the pressure. It is the sympathetic smiles I received from some of the more humane supervisors who backed off as soon as I said 'I'm sorry, I don't know enough about the background to be able to answer this.'
However, this experience has taught me an important life lesson.
It has taught me that in the quiet moments when I wish that the earth could just swallow me up, I am growing. I am an inch taller than I was before I got grilled in public. I am a step closer to clinching the award of handling criticism with grace and wit.
Truth is, I didn't know squat about immunology apart from the basics when I started this research. I should have been proud that I had learned a wealth of information I never thought possible, instead of beating myself up for not knowing how to handle pressure.
Truth is, I took this research very seriously, perhaps too seriously to the point where I forgot that I was also having fun; that the whole point of summer research was to enjoy learning something new and refreshing.
Hence, I quietly reflect on this. I reflect on the need to learn how to keep my cool and wits with me when I am questioned by people who are aeons older than me.
I reflect on what an honour it was to be able to stand in front of an audience and deliver 8 weeks of hard work.
I reflect on research as a whole, and take my hat off to these guys who actually spend their lives furthering medical advancements.
I reflect on how silly I was to expect so much from myself, when I am already more than enough.
I reflect on the people around me who were so supportive and did not cast a rock at me when I was already at rock bottom.
I reflect on life, that goes on despite everything, and the need to let go what I have been so tightly holding onto.
Learning to fully appreciate that I am neither responsible for my successes nor my failures will humble me, and prepare me for more challenges that cannot be avoided unless I die early in which case I wouldn't be around to care enough.
But life is long, and the art even longer.