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Iridescence in a World of Noir

Parin Shaik: “I sacrificed my hobbies and interests for the sole purpose of becoming the epitome of perfection. I became afraid that if I couldn’t live up to their expectations, I would be nothing but a failure.”

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Parin Shaik

[su_boxbox title=”About”]Parin Shaik is a rising high school sophomore from Shrewsbury, Massachusetts, and organizer of Science & Us, a non-profit youth-led organization inspiring young people to find a medium in which science meets personal interest and hobbies. Outside of school, she enjoys drawing over her classwork, studying Latin, and writing. You can reach her via LinkedIn.ย [/su_boxbox]

[su_boxnote note_color=”#d5ecb3″]Key Points

  • The quality of your passion will mirror the quality of your self-perception.
  • Coincidence can be pivotal on oneโ€™s outlook on life.
  • Think in color as opposed to the mundane black and white.[/su_boxnote]

Adaequล: Latin word meaning โ€œto equalizeโ€. The origin of the English word โ€œadequateโ€.

[dropcap]A[/dropcap]dequate is an adjective I never thought Iโ€™d use to describe myself. Born into a family of accomplished people, I felt obligated to fit into one of the boxes my parents had implicitly carved out for me: doctor, engineer, or lawyer. Anything outside of these options and Iโ€™d consider myself a failure. The burden of responsibility that came with my last name weighed on my 10-year-old shoulders as I desperately looked for career alternatives.

Parin Shaik

For five years, I proudly responded to the question, โ€œWhat do you want to be when you grow up?โ€ with a prepared answer. After regurgitating an incoherent jumble of medical facts from Wikipedia, I would proudly tell them โ€œsurgeon.โ€ I didnโ€™t specify what kind, but their satisfied expressions meant I didn’t have to. It made me feel adequate. However, I harbored the following secret: I actually hated science. Atoms and animal anatomy were boring. In science classes, I would strum my pencil against my desk with frustration, waiting for time to pass. But striving to become a surgeon felt almost like a rite of passage.

My parents came to America in the early 2000s with my older sister seeking the American Dream. We first moved into a tattered apartment on the outskirts of Boston surrounded by a plethora of other immigrant families. The walls of the apartment locked up our wishesโ€”dreams all the immigrant kids had of buying a mansion and a Benz to drive down the road. My mom would regularly take my sister and myself downtown. While walking through the wealthy parts of Boston, my mom would squeeze my hand and tell me that I would live there someday when I had more money. When I would be living the perfect life.

But that day, my life changed. I was introduced to a safe space where the topics of art and science could coexist.

But in my personal standards, the definition of perfection was vague. Was it being pretty? Being smart? Being wealthy? Being successful?ย  Or maybe it was being more like my sister. I would copy whatever she did and seek validation. Unfortunately, as she went on to college, I realized that we were polar opposites. She was outgoing, pretty, smart, and straight-forward. On the other hand, I was very introverted and insecure.

Driven by dreams of money and by my motherโ€™s words, I sacrificed my hobbies and interests for the sole purpose of becoming the epitome of perfection. I became afraid that if I couldn’t live up to their expectations, I would be nothing but a failure. I would become the black sheep of the family, or the odd-one-out.

But despite my struggles with perfection and societal expectations, one thing that stuck with me was art. My mom, with limited English, stayed at home and painted. She drew on any sombre surface within her vicinity ranging from our wooden TV stand to the vases. She was no artist, but it was her escape from the reality of living in a foreign country with no one except for her family. Her passion became contagious, as I found myself picking up colored pencils and crayons in order to draw on any surface I could get my hands on. I found a world of happiness concealed within the broad streaks of crimson hues and shades.

As morning cartoons buzzed on television, I would analyze the movements and humanistic features of the characters. I then sketched them on the backs of recycled coupon papers. I began to find a passion for sketching and doodling in the pages of my math workbooks. Initially, my characters were the manifestation of who I wanted to be: pretty, white, rich, and skinny. Beneath them, I hid many of my insecurities and my true self.

When my infatuation with the concept of color started to slowly grow, I bought a mood ring lying on one of the shelves in the nearest CVS. Upon slipping it on, I naively concluded that there was only one color attained to each person who wore the ring, instead of a variety depending on oneโ€™s mood.

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But in a family accustomed to the standard black and white, I was scared to show my blooming color. My family stigmatized change, and I resented the idea of being unique.

In the eighth grade, a peer had called me โ€œa cow and a whaleโ€ behind my back, and once the word got around, my self-esteem plummeted beneath the ground. My character began to form around sickly thin people, with tighter, skimpier clothes. Realization soon reminded me of the harsh truth: who I was and who I wanted to be became two distinct personas that I no longer had the capacity to carry.

Early June of 2018, my dad signed me up to attend an event called Science & Us being held at Boston University. I was intimidated by the word โ€œsci-commโ€ on the flyer and desperately prayed the event did not revolve around writing lab reports.

But that day, my life changed. I was introduced to a safe space where the topics of art and science could coexist. I didnโ€™t have to feel ashamed of being a โ€œliberal artsโ€ student in a world of scientists. More importantly, I came to realize that my hatred for science was misplaced. Seeing the connections between art and science was like entering a foreign territory: I didn’t know what I was entering, but each step I took was fascinating. As promising careers and futures started to unravel, hope slowly started to seep back into me.

The event gave me clarity I had been searching for some time. Without much hesitation, I subsequently applied to become an organizer and learn more about the Science & Us initiative.

Becoming an organizer meant I had to look beyond my comfort zone. I learned how to send emails to highly respected adults and how to end calls without awkwardly bidding goodbye. I was lucky to be granted the opportunity to fly to Portland, Oregon, to speak at Science Talk in April 2019. I met professionals who also enjoyed art, which sparked more hope within me.

Science communication made me realize that I didnโ€™t have to be ashamed of being Parin Shaik. Everything begun to come together like perfectly crafted puzzle pieces. Specifically, my identity and purpose were slowly snapping into place.

As a result, my mental health began to also improve as well. In November of 2018, I took a short course at MIT on the science behind happiness. Why? Well, I wanted to explore the links between the brain and mental health. Neuroscience managed to connect many of the dots.

You see, growing up, I had always struggled with mental health. It was unpredictable. One instance I’d be euphoric and the next, I would be an anxious wreck with worry consuming my mind. I often contemplated if I was to be solely blamed for how my mind behaved. Taking the course heavily altered my perspective on how the brain worked, and allowed me to realize the science behind my emotions and the influence my body had on them. The guilt was lifted off my shoulders.

Studying neuroscience allowed me to better understand the science behind my mental health and how my brain was affected by color and design. Using science was actually a gateway to influence my art, and in turn using my art to inspire my mind.

One year ago, my life and self-esteem were in shambles due to loss of direction. Fast forward to today, Iโ€™m living in a comfortable environment as myself. I embrace my diverse interests instead of suppressing them. My doodles are inclusive and show people of all backgrounds, and highlight the variety of humanity.

Eight years after my encounter with the mood ring, I now identify as a broad spectrum of colors, rather than just one color. I now understand that all the colors created an equilibrium which crafted me.

Cover image by Alexas_Fotosย fromย Pixabay.

[su_boxnote note_color=”#d5ecb3″]Science and Us is currently having an Indiegogo campaign. Support them by clicking HERE >ย [/su_boxnote]

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CivicSciTimes - Stories in Science

Unexpected Stories and Spindle Mistakes: Discovering that Wild-type Cells are Full of Surprises

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Natalie Nannas

Natalie Nannas is an Associate Professor of Biology at Hamilton College in Clinton, NY. She teaches courses in genetics, molecular biology, and bioethics. Dr. Nannas graduated from Grinnell College with bachelor’s degrees in biological chemistry and French. She received her Masterโ€™s and PhD from Harvard University in molecular biology and genetics. Dr. Nannas conducted her postdoctoral research at the University of Georgia where she won a National Science Foundation Plant Genome Postdoctoral Fellowship. At Hamilton College, Dr. Nannas enjoys teaching and sharing her passion for microscopy with her undergraduate research students. When not glued to a microscope, she loves spending time with her husband and two daughters. The narrative below by Natalie Nannas captures the human stories behind the science from a 2022 paper titled โ€œFrequent spindle errors require structural rearrangement to complete meiosis in Zea maysโ€ which was published by her group in 2022 in the International Journal of Molecular Sciences.

Science never works out the way we plan. As scientists, we ask questions, hypothesize and outline our goals โ€ฆ then reality of science occurs. The reality of science is often full of failed controls, endless troubleshooting, and sometimes strange findings that lead us in new and unpredictable directions. Our publications give the impression that we planned these scientific journeys from the beginning and do not tell the human side of the process with all of its twists and turns, dead-ends and U-turns. I want to tell you the real story behind my first publication as a faculty member with my own lab. It did not go as planned due to the COVID-19 pandemic. My lab was shut down in the middle of our investigation, and my students and I were unable to generate new data. In the beginning, it seemed like we were stranded with only control data and no story to tell, but the time away from the lab allowed us to spend more time looking carefully at wild-type cells. What seemed like a dead-end suddenly became its own story when we found something unexpected hiding within microscopy movies. Our wild-type cells were making mistakes, attempting fixes and changing directions, just like we do as scientists.

My scientific journey began with flickering green lights and a microscope (you can read more about it here). As an undergraduate, I was mesmerized by the beauty of watching living cells shuffle fluorescently labeled proteins throughout their cytoplasm. I followed this passion for microscopy into my doctoral dissertation research at Harvard University where I investigated how yeast cells build the machinery needed to pull their chromosomes apart. This machinery is a dynamic collection of long protein tubes called microtubules and other organizing proteins that help move and shuffle microtubules. I loved watching the delicate dance of chromosomes interacting with microtubules of the spindle, and I wanted to continue studying this process in my postdoctoral studies.

During postdoctoral studies at the University of Georgia, I won a fellowship from the National Science Foundation to develop a new technique in microscopy. No one had ever watched plants building their spindles in meiosis, the specialized cell division that produces egg and sperm. Other scientists had performed beautiful microscopy studies observing how mitotic spindles function inside of plant cells, but due to the technical challenges, no one had ever observed live plant cells building spindles in meiosis. I was thrilled to take on this challenge by using version of maize that had fluorescently labeled tubulin, the protein that makes up microtubules of the spindle. With this line of maize, spindles would glow fluorescent green, allowing me to image if only I could extract the meiotic cells.

Dr. Natalie Nannas

We were so busy collecting data and prepping for our mutant studies that we never really took time to analyze the wild-type cells.

After almost a year spent dissecting maize plants, I finally managed to develop a method to isolate these tiny cells and keep them alive in a growth media long enough to image them. This new method of live imaging was going to serve as the foundation of my new lab at Hamilton College, a primarily undergraduate institution. With my students, I planned to investigate the pathways governed spindle assembly. Most animal mitotic cells have a structure called a centrosome that dictates how spindles are formed; however, female animal meiotic cells lack these structures and must use other pathways to direct spindle assembly. Plants also lack centrosomes, and I wanted to inhibit these known animal pathways in our plant live imaging system.

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As I set up my lab, my students and I collected live movies of wild-type maize cells building their spindles. I told my students and myself that these movies were not the main event, they were just the control cells so we would have a baseline comparison for our experimental conditions. We were so busy collecting data and prepping for our mutant studies that we never really took the time to analyze the wild-type cells. At the surface level, they built spindles and segregated chromosomes in a generally expected amount of time, so we focused on preparing for our upcoming experimentsโ€ฆ. then March 2020 occurred.

The pandemic forced us to slow down and look more carefully at our wild-type data, and I am grateful for the detour.

My students headed home for spring break with a warning that there may be a delay in coming back to campus due to the spread of COVID-19. None of us were prepared for the shutdown that followed. Like many colleges and universities, our campus was closed for the remainder of the spring 2020 semester and the summer of 2020. My students and I began meeting on Zoom, trying to make a new plan for our research. The only data we had to work with were the microscopy of wild-type maize cells, so we decided to spend time digging more deeply into these movies. Originally, we had only measured the total time it took to build a spindle as it would be a baseline for comparison to our mutants. We had not looked carefully at any of the intermediate time points in the assembly process. When my students looked more closely at our movies, they discovered that wild-type cells built an incorrectly shaped spindle over 60% of the time!

We found that maize meiotic cells often built spindles with three poles instead of two, and they had to actively rearrange their spindle structure to correct this mistake. We also found that in these cells, there was a delay in meiosis as cells refused to progress until this correction had been made. This is an exciting discovery as it showed that plants are error-prone in their spindle assembly, much like human female meiotic cells. Our findings also suggested that meiotic cells were monitoring their spindle shape when determining if they should move forward in meiosis. Previous work has shown that cells monitor the attachment of chromosomes to the spindle to make this decision, but our work adds a new dimension, showing that they also monitor spindle shape. As we continued to analyze our videos, we also learned that cells corrected their spindle morphology in a predictable way. They always collapsed the two poles that were closest together, creating a single pole and resulting in a correct bipolar spindle.

The image shows the first page of the paper which can be accessed here.

My students and I had begun our scientific journey planning to breeze over wild-type cells, moving on to what we envisioned would be a more exciting story of spindle mutants. The pandemic forced us to slow down and look more carefully at our wild-type data, and I am grateful for the detour. I rediscovered my love of closely watching flickering green fluorescent lights, the dance of microtubules sliding into place or making missteps and shuffling into new arrangements. Watching life attempt a complicated process, make mistakes, and try again, is a lesson that never grows old. It reminds me that our scientific journeys are just the same, they start in one direction but are fluid and constantly changing, and hopefully, they end with a functional spindle!

Read the Published Paper

Weiss, J.D., McVey, S.L., Stinebaugh, S.E., Sullivan, C.F., Dawe, R.K., and N.J. Nannas. 2022. Frequent spindle errors require structural rearrangement to complete meiosis in Zea maysInternational Journal of Molecular Sciences, 23 (8):4293โ€“4312.

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ABOUT: Stories in Science is a special series on the Civic Science Times. The main aim is to document the first-hand accounts of the human stories behind the science being published by scientists around the world. Such stories are an important element behind the civic nature of science.

SUBMISSION: Click here to access the story guidelines and submission portal. Please note that not all stories are accepted for publication. After submission, we will let you know whether we have selected the story for the review process.

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