When I was a kid, I had one obsession: space. My walls were plastered with posters of galaxies, stars, and astronauts. I spent countless hours staring up at the night sky, dreaming of one day understanding the mysteries of the universe. I didn’t come from a family with scientific backgrounds my parents were both teachers, and we didn’t have much beyond the basics. But I had something they couldn’t buy me: an unquenchable curiosity.
In high school, I took every science class I could. My biology teacher, Mr. Greene, noticed my enthusiasm. “You’ve got the spark, kid,” he told me one day after class, handing me a pamphlet for a summer research program. I was in awe. I couldn’t afford to pay for it, but I applied anyway. To my surprise, I got in and even received a small scholarship. I spent that summer working at a local university, assisting with a project on plant biology. I remember the first time I held a pipette, my hands trembling slightly with excitement. This was it. I was doing real science.
That summer solidified my dream. I wanted to become a scientist. But when I told people—family, friends, and even teachers—they often looked at me with doubt. “That’s a tough field. You sure that’s what you want?” They didn’t mean to discourage me, but their scepticism was a hard weight to carry.
I enrolled in a state university, studying biology. The work was tougher than I expected, and the hours were longer than I had imagined. I doubted myself often—was I smart enough for this? Could someone like me make it in the world of science? My first year was a blur of late-night study sessions and failed exams, but I refused to quit. The passion I had felt as a child didn’t fade; it only grew stronger.
During my second year, I managed to land a spot in a research lab. The lead scientist, Dr. Simmons, was brilliant but tough. I was a newbie, fumbling through experiments and struggling with complex theories. But Dr. Simmons didn’t give up on me. “Keep pushing. Learn from the mistakes. They’re just as important as the wins,” she would say, her voice calm, her eyes sharp.
I worked hard, day after day. Slowly, I started to understand the science behind our research. I could see the connections between concepts, and I began to contribute ideas. By my senior year, I had my small project. I felt a thrill every time I made a breakthrough, no matter how small. I realized that being a scientist wasn’t just about knowing the answers—it was about asking the right questions.
Graduation day came, and I felt a mix of pride and terror. The next step was graduate school, but the competition was fierce, and I wasn’t sure I was good enough. I applied to several programs, but I was rejected from most. I almost gave up. But then, one email arrived. It was an offer to join a research group at a prestigious university for a PhD in molecular biology. I didn’t believe it at first. I’d made it. It felt unreal, like the culmination of everything I’d worked for.
PhD life wasn’t easy, but by then, I had learned how to push through. My research focused on genetic mutations in cancer cells. It was gruelling work, full of long hours in the lab, failed experiments, and moments of doubt. But every small discovery kept me going. Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle started to fit together, and I knew that this was what I was meant to do.
The day my dissertation was approved, I stood in my office, staring at the thick stack of pages. I had done it. I had achieved my dream of becoming a scientist. It hadn’t been a straight path, and there had been moments where I felt like giving up. But here I was, ready to make my mark in the world of research.
Now, I work in a lab studying the genetic causes of diseases, hoping to find answers that can change lives. I often think back to those childhood nights spent staring at the stars. I might not have become an astronaut, but I became a scientist, and that’s more than I ever could have imagined. Looking back, I realize that the only thing standing between me and my dream was my willingness to make it transpire. If I had given up, I would have never known how close I was to achieving it. But I didn’t give up. And now, every experiment I conduct feels like a small step toward that first spark of curiosity I had as a child.
Bio: Prasenjit Pratheesh Kumar is a 13-year-old student studying year 8 at Sale Grammar School in Manchester, United Kingdom, who has a passion for writing stories and is also very passionate about developing online games. He found out about Engzine through family relations and decided to be part of it.