I often feel swamped by how little I know about the universe. I view it as having maximum entropy to explore the vastness of the unknown, rather than feeling crushed.
I often feel swamped by how little I know about the universe. I view it as having maximum entropy to explore the vastness of the unknown, rather than feeling crushed.
But even to acknowledge the vastness of what one doesn’t know feels like a lot.
When I was a little kid, I often wondered how the molecules in our body and in nature coordinate to sustain life — though my thoughts back then were far less coherent. My curiosity, for most of my life, has manifested in lots of whys and hows.
I carried these vague questions with me to school, but the science that was presented there often felt far away, esoteric, and set in stone. It wasn’t until my first college course in biology that I realized what it meant to design and lead my own experiments — that I could contribute to the existing base of what we knew about the world.
It was unexpectedly exciting to find little pockets of truth that no one knew about before. All it took to convince me that I needed more of this adrenaline rush was one exhilarating and nerve-wracking experience of presenting my first research poster. One science class led to another, a summer research opportunity turned into more, and here I am now, pursuing this mysterious career of being a “scientist.”
As a PhD student studying biochemistry and biophysics, I spend most of my days thinking about the worlds inside our bodies.
All living things are made up of these building blocks called cells. If we zoom into cells, we will find thousands of molecules executing crucial tasks that keep us alive.
I study one molecule in particular, called Myosin 10. It’s this strange molecule that helps cells form finger-like protrusions so that they can move around. The protrusions that it creates are about 500 times thinner than a strand of hair!
Myosin 10 has to partner with other molecules in these extremely narrow and crowded cellular spaces to carry out important functions for life, and my goal is to figure out how it does this.
But as much as I love my cells, these days I am trying to dedicate commensurate time towards using my paintbrush as I do towards my pipette.
In college, I majored in studio art and biology because I wanted to weave the fields together. I did things like draw the snake collections at the Natural History Museum in London and design interactive murals at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry. This year, I finally discovered the magic of educational science comics. I find that I can make complex science and abstract ideas more accessible to people through comics, by molding these thoughts into shapes one could see and create visual narratives that people could connect with.
I find that I can make complex science and abstract ideas more accessible to people through comics, by molding these thoughts into shapes one could see and create visual narratives that people could connect with.
This passion for science communication especially became a matter of urgency when I saw how widely and easily misinformation spread during the COVID-19 pandemic. This is still a significant issue that scientists and science communicators deal with today. Scientific papers are vital for compiling data and findings, but equally crucial is the task of effectively translating that information to the public.
Witnessing how fear could be leveraged to push political agendas and how data can be distorted when removed from its original context made me alarmed. Moreover, it saddens me how public discourse often overlooks the basic nature of science: evolution. Science is fundamentally rooted in exploration and revision, and like most forces in nature, it also changes over time. What we may know today may either be disproven or reinforced in the future.
But rather than being a flaw of the scientific method, it highlights the beauty of its adaptability. The evolving nature of science is the proof that we are doing it right.
As a visual science communicator, my goal is to help share scientific ideas with the wider public and to continue updating our collective knowledge over and over again.
My lab work involves engaging with very tiny molecules that our naked eyes cannot see, but creating educational comics allows me to step back and reconnect with my work in the bigger picture of the universe.
I still have many more questions than I have answers about the world, but with each comic I make, I gain a bit of clarity.
An earlier version of the story contained several editorial errors. We regret the errors.
