ALBERT EINSTEIN AND ACADEMIA

I was reading about Francis Crick and James Watson’s discovery of DNA in 1953…and admiring Santiago’s beautiful drawings of neurons…and Alan Hodgkin et Andrew Huxley’s mathematical discovery of calculating how action potentials propagates along a neuron…I couldn’t help but think how romantic it all is. To me it’s so interesting learning about the process of discovery. It’s incredible because all these people were just like us—students. It’s romantic because it’s human—a human experience—an insatiable thirst for knowledge, curiosity that knows no end. A perseverance to succeed. The ultimate quest to generate a novel idea before anyone else does. How can anyone say that science is not poetic? Science is poetry written in a different language, an esoteric one at that. But poetry nonetheless.

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.

Give a more iconic title for a book dedicated to your life, I’ll wait.

This is the epitome of academia and it’s beautiful in my eyes.

Hot espresso with a small slice of lemon peel and a hint of anisette liqueur, warm flaky buttery croissant, small batch of tart raspberries, dark chocolate bar with sprinkles of hazelnut, and amethyst coloured figs straight off the tree.

Yorick...bae

Why is this me?

tweed jackets, corduroy pants, brown trousers, oxford shoes, white button ups, brown leather, heavy sweaters, coffee rings, ripped out pages, thick belts, wire rimmed glasses, dusty books, quiet spaces, low lighting, dark wood, the picture of dorian gray, thick paper, expensive pens, figering brushing while reaching for the same book, long eye contact, small classes, close relationships with teachers, being an enigma, disappearing without explanation, wilting flowers, long coats, thrist for knowledge, thick volumes of ancient words, reading poetry aloud, old watches, golden jewelry, classical music, red wine, black coffee, music played on the piano, close knit groups of friends, a morbid longing for the picturesque at all costs.

Picture credits: yours truly

Tchaikovsky is playing whilst the fire burns in the stone fireplace, red embers resemble the sun, rain tapping furiously on the window, thunder, the smell of wet earth and musk, messy handwriting, bromothymol blue ink stains on my fingers, empty glass bottles, a warm emerald green and deep blue tartan shawl,wrinkled white chemise, cold Irish breakfast tea, daydreaming into the night, warm socks, writing ceaselessly, finishing my chemistry lab report, simultaneously yearning for an archenemy to fall in love with, might light a cigarette and let the rain caress my face...

I believe that this is the essence of academia. This is just so beautifully written. My heart fluttered as I read through the page.

A Confession to the Astral Bodies

October 19th 3:25 am

I went downstairs to make a cuppa of Lady Grey. The moon illuminated my path down the stairs. The kitchen was lit with her silvery light. Candles were not needed at all. The white marble tiles were tinted with a silvery periwinkle hue. I made my way towards the windowpane after putting the kettle on. I leaned against the icy glass to look up at the heavens. The full moon looked majestic in all her regal vestments. She is hypnotizing tonight with the stars ever so bright. My eyes began to wander, and came to an abrupt halt upon spotting Orion's belt; the three distinguished flickering dots above me. Soon enough, I found some of my other friends: Sirius, Perseus, Lynx, and Gemini. Draco and Aries were out of reach tonight, probably navigating about the celestial sphere. But, we will meet again at the zenith of my universe when the conditions are right. I recall making my daily confessions to the constellations above. They would listen and provide me with the consolation and redemption I sought out for. The stars have seen me cry. The stars have seen me smile. And the stars have been my dearest companions. I woke up from my trance when I heard the kettle whistling. I took out a teabag from a viridian tin box and placed it in my beaker mug. As I poured the boiling hot water, the aroma of citrus and lavender filled the air around me. I then poured milk and stirred in a wee bit of sugar. I took a sip and the gelid numbness on my toes and fingertips subsided. The howling wind and the elegant rustling of leaves outside was the moon’s sirens call. I was once again in a trance and made my way towards the kitchen door of my humble seaside cottage leading into the veranda outside. The wind pierced through my skin and salty sea air filled my lungs. I felt truly and in every possible way, alive. My senses seemed to be enhanced by some mystic power. I looked up and let the moonlight penetrate my mind, body, and soul. All my woes dissipated at that serene moment. All that lingered on my mind was the moon’s sublime beauty and her scintillating stellar servants in the empyrean domain.

-A Chemistry Academic

H.A.