Day In The Life Of A Natural Science Academic.

Writers gather around

“Writers aren’t exactly people...they are a bunch of people trying to be one person” -F. Scott Fitzgerald 

...I am writers. Thank you Scott, for giving an explanation for my dilemma.

• • Neurologist Studies • •

🌱🧠 STEM in Academia is valid 🧠🌱

Confessions from a Chemistry Academic

I was thinking about the scientists from the scientific revolution the other day. And I wonder what drove their passion for science. I am guessing it's their thirst to know more about the world and know why it works the way it does. I think the same applies to modern scientists. But, why do teachers and professors make it so dull? It is almost as if science does not apply to every aspect of our lives, which is far from the truth. But where is the poetry of science? Where is the passion and inspiration? Stem shouldn't just be about Formulas and equations and getting high grades on the MCATs. Concepts are not meant to be only memorized. We are tested so heavily that we forget that there is beauty in science. Scientists from the past were romantics and actually took the time to understand and not just memorize concepts for an exam. We don't have the time to really understand. We are always rushed now. Professors also try to weed us out and give up on our dreams. That could be my golden age thinker bias talking, but what if it's not? I really like chemistry, but how on earth do I learn to love it? As much as I find STEM dark academia posts on Tumblr beautiful, the energy shown in the classroom isn't the same. Take the Dead Poets Society, for example. The students were able to love poetry because of their teacher, who emanated such passion that it inspired so many individuals. I am looking for a John Keating that teaches chemistry, physics, biology, and math. If I cannot find such a person I aspire to be that person. I want to inspire and radiate genuine love for stem. I want to be a chemistry romantic.

Me too

how to love a dark academic:

• write them letters and seal the envelopes with fancy wax seals

• buy them books

• write them poetry

• quote shakespeare, or really any other author or playwright to them

• read and discuss books with them

• listen to their 3 am rants on how we could've heard oscar wilde's voice if he'd had lived just a tad longer

• help them study

Some pictures from today. The weather was absolutely beautiful; the sun, warm and felt rejuvenated even after my neuro exam.

Imagine

I want write poetry and epic fantasy or history or both and I want to travel to old cities and try to transport myself back in time to when the architecture and frescoes were new and baroque was the new thing. I want to hear the people speak and how they’re conversations sounded. All we can do in our time is guess, but I want to know.

*me making my seventh tea / coffee of the day* maybe this little beverage will motivate me to finish my work

A couple confessions from your favorite romantic Chemistry academic….

Is there anything more Dark Academia than Nietzche and Schnabel commenting on Mozart’s music?

Also, is there such a thing as thrift shopping in your father’s closet? If not, I just made it a thing.

I was heading home from University on a rather grey day and whilst walking, a vintage looking barber shop caught my eye. The door was open and on the bottom right corner was a small picture of Ernest Hemingway…my favorite writer. Though it may be nothing really special to anyone else, I thought it was quite brilliant.

Melancholic Medical Student by the Sea

Salty air, grey fog, chilly breeze, cricket chirps, full moon, partially cloudy sky, slippery rocks, cold sand, paper cut, oversized faded blue plaid shirt, chemistry books on the floor, cold abandoned coffee, black cat sleeping an emerald green flannel, heavy rain tapping on the window, cold ears, neatly folded navy scrubs, warm candlelight, unfinished lab report, iodine, verses from Hamlet running through my mind as I drift into daydreams…unable to concentrate, it is cold and I keep reading the same page about aortic aneurysms, dried out perrywinkles, half eaten toast, Franz Schubert’s Schwanengesang, D. 957: IV. Ständchen playing on the record player at a low volume, skull on desk, seagulls dropping blue mussels on the empty beach parking lot, unopened letters, heavy eyelids, barnacle shells, bleak oblivion, creaking floorboards, anatomical sketches collecting dust, distant breaking waves, unreciprocated love, tight chest, fidgeting, messy illegible notes, smell of old books, staring into nothingness….

“To die, to sleep- to sleep, perchance to dream/ Ay, there’s the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come” (Hamlet, 3.1)

This is such a beautiful definition

Science is simply the word we use to describe a method of organising our curiosity.

- Tim Minchin