Student profile
Discuss an accomplishment, event, or realization that sparked a period of personal growth and a new understanding of yourself or others.
My eyes followed the citrus-orange streetcars running down the palm-lined waterfront. As I passed by the [Monument] on my way to the March for Science in [city], I pondered the scene. It was immaculate, like a postcard. But it hadn't always been like this. The decades rewound in my mental projector . . . it was 1959. I visualized the overpass being constructed, a concrete Goliath. Two decks of elevated roads now loomed over me; I couldn't catch a trace of the bay anymore. [Citizens] demanded it be torn down immediately, but their protests were of no avail. The overpass seemed invincible - for now.
My mind skipped thirty years - 1989. Rumble. The earthquake struck. Crack. The overpass collapsed.
I have always had a habit of daydreaming, and the story of the overpass had captivated me long before the March for Science. Now, here I was at the same spot as the freeway protests of 1959, fighting for the conclusions of science to be recognized: that climate change is real and vaccines save lives. I felt more hopeful that, just as the earthquake demolished the "invincible" overpass, data and hard facts would eventually topple the widespread misconceptions about science. I wouldn't be marching in vain.
The same week, I was selected for COSMOS, a summer course about biomedical research at UC Irvine. My optimism from the March for Science took a personal turn: one day, I would tear down an old way of treating disease and replace it with a revolutionary new perspective. It would be my own earthquake in the scientific world.
To introduce us to study design, [Dr. X], the instructor at COSMOS, assigned our groups to read and present about a published trial of the HPV vaccine. I carefully followed the "Steps to Read a Research Paper" that he gave us. I Googled all the statistical terms and even looked at the supplements. Going into my presentation, I was confident that I hadn't missed anything.
I proceeded through my presentation: "For the final analysis, the researchers excluded patients whose tests already showed signs of immunity to HPV before they got the vaccine."
"Hold on," [Dr. X] interrupted. "If they hadn't been vaccinated, how would they be immune to the virus?"
"They must've already had HPV, I suppose."
"In that case, did the researchers inform those participants that they had HPV?"
Rumble. Crack. With just a couple of questions, [Dr. X] had torn down my analysis. Only, this "earthquake" didn't take down an imposing overpass. Instead, the enemy was more elusive: a blind spot in my own thought process. I had totally glossed over the scientists' ethical duty to protect the patients' health.
As my team and I designed a mock clinical trial for the final project, I recalled how (Dr. X) was always ready to challenge our lines of reasoning. Now, I tried to be my own critic and weed out every potential discrepancy from our study. It wasn't as easy as [Dr. X] made it seem, but after all, I was just beginning to lay the foundation for the mindset of a researcher: one not just of peer-review, but of painstaking self-evaluation.
As a daydreamer, I've always been fascinated by the spectacle of scientific innovations. When I went to the March for Science, I'd imagined taking down undefeatable beliefs, the same way the earthquake had taken down the overpass. However, at COSMOS, I was reminded to confront my own hidden bias. I have found that, both in my academic journey and my everyday life, the "earthquakes" that shake my own preconceptions are just as profound as those that rock the world.