Inwards and upwards

The reasons I consider molecular biology my passion are many and entangled. For one, it has just as much to do with hatred as with love; in high school it was the first subject that challenged me, so I had to pound it into oblivion. After some give-and-take, I ended up here at the University studying it. We still haven't worked through our problems. Macroscopic biology angers me with its cheap showiness, its cuteness and furriness. I've always been an advocate for the small and invisible. But such is any relationship, and one day I hope that wisdom will temper my fears.

Right now the main joy I derive from reading this dense, dense textbook is the effect it has on my mind's eye. I find myself imagining the random walks of protein molecules, much like asteroid fields in time-lapse, bombarded by water, folding and refolding, colliding a million times before fulfilling their function in the crowded cytoplasm, motes of dust on speed just waiting for that fateful kiss with their substrate. After spending a couple of hours focusing inward (sometimes I stare at the back of my hand and think how amazing it is to be able to understand anything about it at all) I am suddenly confronted with the breadth of extracellular reality. Air! Granite! Light! Electricity! Clouds! Sky! Stars! And every walk thereafter is not just a walk, it is immensity as can only present itself to someone who five minutes ago gazed at a protein's immensity.

Consider: "oppressed cultures tend to produce the finest people. In the Old Country I spent a great deal of time in a gypsy encampment on the outskirts of our brave 20th century city. I could not appreciate it then, but the passion and carefree nature of those people is something I will always remember fondly."