Rooms of requirement

There is nothing, in my opinion, that can reduce me to an emotional wreck as skillfully as the end of a professional engagement-be it as a student or a research scientist. I still haven't figured out why that might be the case but as I have gotten older and lived through various types of losses, it has gotten a bit easier for me to choke up at these moments of transition. At the convocation for my first degree, I was merely nervous about the ends of my academic gown catching on the heel of my shoe, tripping me, and preoccupied with the choice of food I would indulge in to celebrate the end of this first formal learning period. The only tears on that day were from the over-spiced dinner I had treated myself to. However, by the time I reached the end of my doctoral study, tearing up seemed a more familiar response. Afterall, in the gruelling years of doctoral study, I had cried on numerous occasions about the nth hurdle I had encountered. So, in the days leading up to my doctoral thesis defense, my fears and the tears they wrought on were more about the possibility of failing to make it to the finish line. Could an Expector Patronum like spell sent by an unwelcome source suck the text and figures out of my thesis to render it contentless and therefore, worthy of failing? As you can see, diligent reading of fantastic tales can make one's fears more colourful and laughable than usual. I shudder to think the sort of form my fears would have taken had I took to the Game of Thrones series in those days. Fortunately, I didn't. But the tears that followed after the successful culmination of my thesis defense were the result of reflecting on the larger, philosophical questions about my work, and the people and places around whom it was done. Would these walls that housed my lab remember the sound of my footfalls after I have left? Will they ever set sight on me again, and if so, would they recognize me and welcome me back with a fondness reserved for old neighbours and friends? Afterall, I did face them on many occasions, trying to read the nth scientific poster, or memorandum posted on them?

If my reflections seem too focused on physical spaces than people around these important professional journeys I have undertaken, it might have to do with the fact that much of my most pressing work has required solitude and independent functioning. Moreover, graduate study has made night owls of legions. I am merely one member of that bleary-eyed group who have blazed their professional trails on inkblack nights and early mornings before the sun and roosters (or smartphones working as roosters) wake up the world. Is it any wonder we show up to soirees in jeans and sneakers? Afterall, we have never needed anything better. The sleek dresses that I had acquired in the first heady days of starting graduate school have touched the walls of the closet more than their owner's skin before they had to be retired to make room for yet another pair of functional clothing.

Following my doctoral and post-doctoral training, on my very last night in my dear old Halifax, I was walking the silent hallways of the hospital that had been my workplace for the past few years with a lingering lump in my throat. I remember grazing my fingers through its walls, giving a deeper smile than usual to the barista who gave me what would be my last cup of their delicious tea (at least for now), and trying to offer an affectionate grin to the night security staff. Such palpable sadness at the mere leaving of a temporary, training period would have felt alien to an earlier me who would have laughed at such dramatic displays of emotion. But not anymore. I think I have learned that my endings are now dramatic, emotional moments, possibly because of the fact of getting older or the complex interplay of my genetic and cultural heritage and environmental factors.

Considering how vital these university and hospital buildings and physical spaces have become to my memories of time spent there, it is surprising that I have never publicly voiced my love for them (until now). But, to be honest, my feelings were less generous in those times. In the days that I inhabited those buildings, I only ever found them to be functional and adequate to my needs. With time and experience, I grew used to them, and even found nooks for myself that felt most comfortable and private. For example, after an entire night of no sleep running experiments, I recall begging the gods for a Harry Potter style Room of Requirement where I could catch a few winks before the day began in earnest. The room that revealed itself for my needs was a tiny room that we had been using to house extra equipment. So, the building did appear to care for my needs, especially when they were the most pressing. I recall another such moment of much greater need when the physical spaces around me answered my tacit request: I had just had devastating news of my beloved father's passing, and needed a quiet corner to let the news sink and to find a constructive way to grieve. As if by magic, the big event scheduled a few rooms down my office nook got canceled and within a span of minutes, the entire hallway and floor of the building were quiet as if waiting for me to begin my journey of grief and reconciliation with this fresh loss. Similarly, the burial ground next to my office building served a similar purpose. It was a silent witness to my tears and longing for my departed family member. While not a reflection of my cultural traditions, the cemetery with its numerous gravestones, looming, ancient trees, and moist, makeshift walkways offered me a reprieve to escape from the then painful reality of my life at least for a while. In spite of being surrounded by busy roads and busier buildings, this smallish space managed to house a quietness and sense of stillness within it that I would have never discovered had I not felt the dire need to step into it in order to escape from the noisy spaces and people around it. Another Room of Requirement delivered for my very individual needs by some gods, whether pagan or christian or from the fantasy world of Hogwarts and Harry Potter! For many moments in the first few months of having lost my father, this cemetary and my own work spaces offerred me solace and solitude, two of the most pressing needs of mine in those moments.

Lest there be any doubt, let me clarify that these physical spaces I so cherish in my memories are not comely, at least not by modern, mainstream standards of beauty. While they turned out just what I needed in my most dire moments, these buildings appear to be no match in terms of modern aesthetics to the newer, sleeker buildings that have sprung up around the university campus. While the newer buildings have large-windowed labs overlooking the beautiful scenery of the city, my buildings mostly house windowless, dull rooms that form the research labs, animal rooms and classrooms. Moreover, these plain buildings house not just tired, bleary eyes graduate students and post-docs, but also many feral mice populations. I recall spotting many a feral resident zipping down a hallway just as I was carrying my own research rats for experiments. It felt like carrying a potted plant through the wilderness!

Clearly, we spent much of our times in relative discomfort in those old departmental buildings, and felt that lack of discomfort and aesthetics acutely. But now these buildings are the very edifice of my fondest, most personal memories. Afterall, when many others were curled up in their beds cuddling up to their pet kids or partners, I would be curled up in a creaky sofa trying to catch a quick nap between data analysis sessions (such was my comfort with these places that I accidentally dozed off on the corpse of a feral mouse that had died under the cushions of the sofa. It was only the next morning that my labmate informed me of the fact that the sofa had housed the carcass of a departed feral mouse. In hindsight, I feel the appropriate response to this information would have been a dramatic recoiling in horror and rushing out of the lab to never enter it again. Stripping to my skin, and exfoliating every inch of it under scalding water, as well as setting all my clothes worn that day alight would also be considered normal under the circumstances. But if I remember correctly, my response was utterly undramatic, and involved being mildly surprised, making a quip about the occurrence, and then getting on with my day. Maybe I am not all that dramatic as I said in the earliest paragraphs. Moreover, when you're passionately working on the next big breakthrough (or so you think), dead mice under sofas and drafty, eerie buildings stop bothering your equanimity.

To end this piece, I'd like to say: Dear Psychology building at Dal, Abby Lane Building, and the cemetery across it, thanks for being there for me, and you now live in my fondest memories encoded in the neuronal circuits of my brain. It is the best space I have to offer, and I hope you stay there till eternity.