"I grew up in a household with a physicist and a ch..."

I grew up in a household with a physicist and a chemist. Our cupboards are occupied by periodic table mugs, our closets by t-shirts with taglines like “velociraptor= displacementeraptor/timeraptor”.

Underneath all the unabashed nerdiness, my parents fostered an environment of inquiry. Our kitchen moonlighted as a laboratory, complete with burets. My mom once brought home a 3D printed likeness of her own brain; I traced each sulcus in wonderment, imagining how each fold shaped her personality. My house was a sanctuary, a place where no question was too small, no claim uninvestigated.

It is precisely this background that drew me to research. Spending the past two summers in a neuroscience clinic, I found my second home surrounded by quirky med students, exhausted post-docs, and incisive surgeons. I felt more comfortable than I ever had in high school; loving science was no longer an embarrassment, but an asset. Lunch was spent in discussion about anticipatory alpha activity, and that’s just how I liked it. Though we used EEG’s in place of homemade indicators, MATLAB instead of “borrowed” dry ice, we were working towards the fundamental goal I’d spent my childhood developing: finding new knowledge.

Every one of my dreams can be traced back to my past, to individuals and experiences that have shaped the way I see the world and how I hope to better it. My parent's passion for learning by doing was passed down to me, finding its intersection with my love for the brain in one field: neurosurgery.