The last person I wanna be

The last person I wanna be is someone like that German hypocrite I met at the science exhibit. He serves as a perfect example of someone who doesn’t practice what he preaches. It was disheartening, to say the least. I believe that our environment has a profound influence on shaping our personalities and perspectives. In his case, shaping a two-dimensional square.

When you’re confined in an institute filled with those kinds of squares, you can’t help but unconsciously mimic their behavior. To avoid this from happening, from now on, I’ll only stick around the not so square clique in the institute even though there’s only a handful of them–there’s Xavi, my main PI and Mr. Kenji and Zava and Taski and Alex. I could be wrong, C. They too could be hiding stink inside like the German hypocrite but so far, they’re the few gems in the institute that made a good impression on me.

It’s not in my nature to be so judgmental, C, and you know this more than anyone in the world but swear to god, C, the first day I stepped inside the building, I already sensed the army of squares ganging up and getting ready to contaminate me with all their flatness and two-dimensionality. Swear to god, C, there’s more depth in my cat’s eyes than in the eyes of all them squares combined which is plain sad since you’d expect these bunch to be some sort of the “hope of the universe” considering most of them are self-proclaimed brainiacs. If brainiac’s all they got, then never mind what I said about them being some sort of the hope of the universe. I mean. Hello??? Yes, I clearly see your 3-pound protruding noggin but where the hell’s the rest of your organ system?? Ever heard of your guts? or your heart?? Ugh. I couldn’t understand where all my frustration’s coming from. It must be rooted in my experience getting served bad coffee the other day from the only functional vending machine in this entire damn multimillion institute. That or there really is no living, breathing soul in this giant intellectual hub whom I can genuinely connect with…

Every day, I gather more evidence to support my hypothesis. Just last Friday, for instance, when I was waiting for my PCR to finish running, I overheard a conversation between my co-workers, Alex and Lauritia, discussing the concept of the soul.

“Do you believe in the soul?” Alex asked, hoping to catch a glimpse of spark in ol’ Lauritia’s deadpan face.

“Nope,” Lau replied bluntly.

It looked like Alex wanted to say something more to her but nada. Dead air. That was that. He must’ve figured there’s no convincing flat Lauritia otherwise. Besides, she does look like someone who lacks flavor...

Case number two’s a common case in most academic institutes which I’m sure you’re familiar with: Two weeks ago, over lunch break, I sat next to Mr. Kenji at the lunch table. Behind him was Nuria, another co-worker, who randomly asked him when was the last time he was truly happy. Mr. Kenji hesitated to answer the question, but his lackluster eyes gave it all away.

“I’m not sure. Must’ve been seven or so long years ago...” he said and I mumbled, copying his exact words, pretending I knew exactly what’d come outta his mouth.

Mr. Kenji is a man of few words who usually keeps to himself but, from what I’ve heard, Mr. Kenji graduated from a fancy Ivy League university in the States. You know? The ones most squares work so hard to get into to impress their folks and their future employers? Anyhow, from Mr. Kenji’s response I’m more certain than ever that getting into every square’s dream school does not guarantee lifelong happiness…

Third case happened just this weekend, when I was out celebrating late Castanyada–a traditional festival in Catalunya held at the beginning of winter where locals honor the dead and eat roasted chestnuts–with my labmates, Mr. Kenji and Manolo. We went out to buy roasted castanyas along the streets of Poblenou. Afterwards, I invited the boys for a couple of rounds of beers at a nearby bar. I figured, if I’m gonna be working with these folks for 3 or so years, I might as well give ‘em a chance and challenge my initial impressions of them.

Once we were settled in our seats, to break the ice, I asked the boys about their thoughts on drugs, specifically hallucinogens like psilocybin, mescaline, acid, and DMT.

You met Pablo, right, C? I got a knack for asking taboo-related questions like those related to drugs or sex or race or gender from him. Once you get the chance to play roundtable with brainiacs, take it from me, C, take the chance to ask them ‘bout the juicy stuff. It’s a once in a lifetime experience. You’d get the chance to sort out who the real intelligent ones are versus the plain dense, close-minded ones.

Take ol’ Manolo as an example.

God. his answer—or rather, his silence—spoke volumes. It was obvious he was trying so hard to avoid and close the topic straight away. Mr. Kenji, on the other hand, was the complete opposite. He was so adorable! He suffered from the Asian flush syndrome and started resembling them Tokyo boys after work, drinking and partying hard to forget work.

His entire face turned tomato red and he went on and on about how he would, someday, be open to dropping acid with me.

What a sad, cool guy.

“Have you tried psychedelics before?” His face flushed and brimmed with curiosity.

“Yes, I did.”

“Which ones?”

“A friend of mine was into that stuff and he made me try microdoses of shroomies and acid a couple of times.”

“Well? How was it?” Mr. Kenji asked, visibly excitedly.

“All I can say is that everyone should try it at least once in their short life. It helps provide a fresh perspective and keeps you grounded and connected to all."

“Hold on. Can we switch topics for a sec?” requested Manolo the party poop.

“What’s wrong, Man? Got an issue talkin’ ‘bout drugs?” I teased.

“I try to avoid the topic as much as I can. It’s not something I am interested in.”

“Why not? Aren’t we all curious and open-minded here? Aren’t those supposed to be the inherent characteristics of every scientist? To be all out committed to being curious and all?”

“It’s just a stupid topic for me. All people who use it are dumb,” he looked away and fidgeted on his seat.

Idiot. First of all, the alcohol you’re consuming is a drug. In fact, a highly addictive one. Second, even our brains naturally produce DMT. And third, then I must be dumb af and Mr. Kenji too since he’s interested in trying someday, I thought.

I remained silent and stared blankly into his nervous eyes, studying them just like a tiger gawking at a dying deer.

“Talk to us, Manolo. Where does all this angst against drugs come from?” asked Mr. Kenji “Kool”, taking a long slow swig of beer.

“Nowhere. Drugs are stupid. It kills people. Period.”

Swear to god, C. You couldn’t squeeze a drop of lime outta the guy. His mind was so plain and dry. I must have set the bar too high, thinking he would be curious or at least have an open mind. God. It was obvious he was trying so hard to show off his unbendable morals only to end up looking like a total self-righteous stiff. I wasn’t even asking him to drop acid with me. I was only curious about what he thinks of drugs, psychedelics in particular. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure these types of squares are the ones internally screamin’ desperate to drop acid.

I should start lowering my expectations of people, C, especially squares like Manolo. Geez. I wonder what kind of childhood he was deprived of…

“Mmmkay let’s brush off the subject for a sec. But just sayin. Let’s try to keep it real here. There are lots of legendary dead folks like Sagan, Freud, Crick, Mullis and even Jobs who dabbled in drugs to find out what it's all about. Many figured, popping drugs could possibly open up a whole nother realm in Pandora’s box. Hell. They’re not wrong ‘bout that. Though, I’m not gonna totally dismiss your point, Manolo. Too much of anything is not good. Even watching porn but there’s no need to give the subject a cold shoulder just because you’re against its consumption. Geez. It’s not like I’m forcing you to pop one…”

“Agree. Let’s brush off the subject.” Manolo finally relented.

Woof! What a tool, C. I’ll say. A real party poop.

“Mmmmkay…why don’t we change the subject to…food!” suggested Mr. Kenji, innocently hoping to fill in the awkward air.

“Why not…” I agreed, keeping the disappointment to myself.

“I heard Raval’s got loads of good food options since it’s a hotspot of immigrants and expats,” said Mr. Kenji, downing the few drops of beer left in his mug.

“Raval? That street’s dangerous. I wouldn’t go there even if it’s a popular food destination. Especially at night. It’s crawling with creeps,” said Manolo.

God. And I thought he couldn’t get any denser…Doesn’t he realize he’s with two Asian expats??

His insensitivity was off the charts.

What a tool.