The Long Road

      I can’t believe three years have passed since undergraduate graduation. Many times my dreams were tested, many times I wanted to give up. To go the easy route. Maybe a scientific life would be too rigorous for me, or too competitive for me to make a mark in the field.

      Of course, undergrad was far from a breeze. It too was fraught with challenges. Making friends, living far away from my family, eating BVU’s infamous dining hall “food” when I had been used to Island home cooking, learning how to study…

      But my biggest hurdle had been getting over failure. I was afraid—no, terrified—of failing, of proving the “why go to college? You have a job on the doughnutfruit farm,” Neopians right. I know I’m not the smartest Kougra in Neopia, far from it. Yet someone saw potential in me, even invited me to her Crokabek Behavior lab after class.

      Dr. Corvis, Quinn as she insists we call her, always spoke highly about my work. Sometimes I wonder why. It wasn’t groundbreaking. Results were messy and hard to interpret. Still, Quinn says science often is, especially our first research experiences.

      She often told me about her first experiment with a Dr. Minnows at Ye Olde Meridell College studying wastewater discharge and aquatic Petpet development. Basically, a wastewater plant cleans the dirty water discharged from the city. It was placed next to the Triumphant King River during the “Restoration Era,” after the Great Meridell Wars.

      The plant had been a new addition after some “wibbly wobbly, timey wimey” activities from their partner school, Virtupets Institute of Technology, and they wanted to see how it was affecting wildlife. As an undergrad, she focused on two aspects of the Petpets’ biology: body length and respective growth rates. She determined growth rates by sampling 250 fish Petpets from the water and measuring their body length once per week for twenty weeks; such a study had been duplicated the following year and compared with baseline data collected prior to the treatment plant installation.

      She found that wastewater pollution halved their growth rate in year one when compared to the baseline data. The following year, she found just the opposite. Post-treatment Petpets grew 1.2X more than that of the baseline Petpets.

      Needless to say, writing about those results proved to be quite the story, or so she tells me. Quinn says it had been one of the most frustrating experiences of her undergrad, but that she came out stronger than before. Whenever I doubted myself, she always told me things would improve, that a breakthrough is only found with determination.

      I believed her. Sometimes it was all I had to keep going.

      If not for Dr. Corvis, I would have given up long ago. She was the reason I kept fighting. She was the reason I kept telling the doubters—my Neoschool guidance counselors—they were wrong about me, that a socially awkward, “foundation class” Kougra could make it in college. Sure, I would struggle. After all, my Neoschool classes hardly prepared me for the rigor I would face. Sure, I would embarrass myself by missing social cues or talking too much. It took a while—and I’m still learning—but I would get better at reading emotion, understanding cues, and finding my study niche.

      I often doubted myself. Perhaps the Neoschool guidance counselors were right about me. A slow learner. A loner. No wonder I had so few friends back then. But things have changed for the better, I hope. And I’ve worked hard to make it here, even if figuratively ascending Terror Mountain was scary.

      They say scaling life’s mountains requires the help of great Neopians—those who direct you through the poorly marked paths of life. That’s only partially true. My supporters did not direct me; they supported me when I fell. They caught me before I tumbled down the rocky slopes. Their cheers echoed in my ears, gave me secure footing, and kept me from stumbling through life’s challenges.

      I couldn’t have made the climb without them.

      Countless others switched majors, some quit school entirely. By graduation day, three-fourths of our original Biology 101 class were gone. Not me, I survived.

          We wore our verdant green robes and matching mortarboards with pride, beaming the Brightvale University logo to the many campus photographers around us. Even Dean Green was there, shaking our paws and wishing us well. My family screamed for me when President Evergreen called my name: Melody Harvester. It was a magical time filled with hopes and dreams and bursting joy. Like many of my colleagues, I graduated college brimming with optimism, ready to take on the world.

      Fast forward forty-eight job applications. I only heard back from two, both of which said I lacked the experience to be hired.

      Lacked the experience? Was that really all they were going to say? I know I was not the perfect student—far from it—but I worked so hard to finish on time, even retaking Organic Chemistry my final semester after barely passing before (this time I did much better). I worked hard, I really did. I even helped the Biology club with their community days. So why? What experience was I missing?

      And what about my research? Didn’t Quinn say it had potential, that I had potential?

      With my undergrad over, no friends nearby, and no jobs replies, I turned to helping my family on the doughnutfruit farm by planting new trees, pruning the old ones to keep them healthy, controlling any Petpetpet swarms, and maintaining the automatic watering systems from the control barn. They assured me that “the right path would come before me,” but with each passing day I felt like more and more of a failure. Maybe the right path would never be clear. Maybe those guidance counselors were right about me.

      I barely slept during those months. Recurring nightmares kept me awake at night, assuring me that I would be nothing more than a failure.

      At least my siblings gave me something better to think about. They make my world a better place.

      Cyprus idolized me—still idolizes me. Ever since he could stand, he would run into the tropical forests with me and explore. He loved the squawks and chatters of the local wildlife; Mystery Island is rich with biodiversity. When I came home from college, he wanted nothing more than to go exploring with his older sister. I happily obliged; at least it kept my mind away from darker thoughts. He’s applying for colleges now, and has been accepted into a biodiversity program at Volcano Island College. How time flies!

      Crystal is my little sister, only seven years old today. She rarely speaks and does not give eye contact at all. We’ve tried to introduce her to the outdoors multiple times. She’s slowly opening up to the idea, but loudly protests almost every time. When Crystal’s away from the dinner table, her mind is in her castle. It had been a gift from my grandmother, a model of King Hagan’s fortress. So big was it that Crystal could crawl into each room—the same time each day—with scale models in each paw, excitedly acting in her own little world.

      One of the few times she’s spoken this month was when I gave her a model of Brightvale University’s Academic Mansion, a building granted to the college by a long-deceased Duke with no heirs. When my sister saw the Mansion, she let out a loud squeal, grabbed the gift from my hand and placed it next to her own elaborate setup.

      “Princess goes to ball,” she said with a toothy grin, parading her princess doll in the Brightvale University foyer. “Mell-dee goes here. Come on, Princess, the ball is starting.”

      And that was it. Again she was lost in her own little world. Sometimes I envy her innocence.

      If truth be told, I felt guilty to leave her behind at Brightvale University. Mom says she would sometimes ask for “Mell-dee” at dinner and repeat my name with a pouty face and tears. The more I heard that, the guiltier I became. I had to make it up to her.

      An enclosed rainbow butterfly garden came to town recently, so I brought Cyprus and Crystal along. Of course, Cyprus was ecstatic. He walked ahead of us and eagerly identified each and every butterfly species in the exhibit. Crystal had been less excited. After all, we separated her (through kicks and screams) from her coveted castle. At first she stared only at the ground and shuffled her feet, clinging onto my sides.

      Just then, a butterfly landed on her nose. She moved in to swat it. When she looked at her paw, she saw the remains of a green butterfly, still twitching and legs flailing. Instead of shaking it away, she stared at it, petted it with a single finger, and said “sorry” over and over as if her words could bring the butterfly back. I could sense her sadness and redirected it towards the other graceful insects in the enclosure.

      “They’re all very special, Crystal,” I said, pointing to the butterfly just in arm’s reach, then back to her. “Just like you.”

      She smiled. I continued, giving a thumbs up to the exhibit owner her saw the event occur.

      “They want to be loved, Crystal, and they want you to love them too. But you have to be gentle.”

      Cyprus had returned to us with feeding sticks in his paw. “The owner insisted,” he said simply, handing the two of us a sugar-water-dipped cotton swab.

      I held out my cotton swab in front of a purple butterfly with black spots. It hovered for a second before landing on my feeding stick, greedily drinking the sugar water through its proboscis. Crystal once again petted the now motionless green butterfly before pushing her feeding stick to my butterfly friend. To her delight, it crawled upon the stick and began to feed.

      Cyprus stood over us with his “look what I know” pose and stated, “butterflies—especially the Darigani Three-spot—taste with their feet. That’s why they want to land on these sticks. Plus, they have a particularly high metabolic rate for a bug of this genus.”

      I gave him a look.

      “Ummm…” he laughed nervously before kneeling down to Crystal’s level. “I mean, purple butterflies really love it when you feed them, Crystal. You make them really happy.”

      Crystal’s eyes lit up.

      And for the first time in a long while, Crystal did not beg through grunts and mutters to return home and see her castle. This time, she had been invited to the home of the Butterfly Queen.

      A month or two passed where I sold doughnutfruit at the farm stand while applying for other work. When a volunteer position at the local environmental center opened up, I jumped at the opportunity. Maybe this could be the experience I needed. Sure, it would be unpaid, but the student debt bills would not come for another eight months or so. If I volunteered, proved myself and found a job, I would be fine. Then everything would work out and I could live out my dream. And the nightmares would stop.

      My parents could not have been happier when the Mystery Inlet Environmental Center (MIEC) reached out to me. Five days a week, eight hour days, that is what they asked. I did not need a second to think about it—yes, I would volunteer.

      Without going in the details now, I’ll say this: it did not work out. Despite a handful of really nice Neopians there, I felt like the center was not a good match, like I wasn’t really respected or appreciated. I still feel bad about lying to my parents about the MIEC, saying it was everything I hoped it could be and that I had been thrilled for the opportunity. Then again, if it was not for that MIEC, I might never have found Lauren. Same with Jaime and Jim.

      Lauren is a freelance editor; her expertise includes that of molecular genetics, a topic she received her PhD in at New Meridell College, and extends into Petpet Behavior. The day I met her, she was editing “Scientific Highlights: The Crokabek,” an article written by Dr. Corvis for the Neopian Times. It had been a popularized version of her review about Crokabek behavior, published three years hence in the journal Petpet Behavior. We struck up a conversation about her work and eventually shifted into some of my own research.

      Crokabeks fascinated me from a young age. A population of tool-using Crokabeks lives in the forest behind the farm. They would use sharpened sticks to prod at juicy Petpetpets and gobble them whole once they had been skewered like a kabob. They didn’t mind an audience, either. I think they liked it when I watched them. Their flocks would keep me company on the roof sometimes after I threw gobs of peanuts their way.

      One time a nest was built in our storage barn atop a wooden support beam. Baby Crokabeks covered in tufts of black fuzz chirped at me when I climbed up to take a peek. They were unbelievably cute! And as long as I kept very quiet, their Momma would let me get close enough to watch them. That was the moment when I realized how much I loved watching wildlife, and it’s just as fascinating now. Their enormous flocks swarmed near the bedroom window each morning to feed; there were always so many of them!

      We had about twenty Crokabeks to take care of in the Corvis lab. I specifically looked at their ability to pair audio cues with other stimuli. Like I said earlier, the results had been a bit on the inconclusive side, probably not publishable. Still, Lauren echoed what my adviser had said: science can be tough sometimes, downright frustrating others, but if you have the determination to continue, you’ll eventually find something that no one else has seen before. Lauren was fascinated by my enthusiastic explanations; we bantered for quite some time. She then thanked me before picking up her twins from an environmental program.

      Looking back, despite all of the challenges, it was still a great experience working in the lab, one I’ve recently been enjoying again.

      Again? Yes, again. While volunteering at the MIEC, I ran into an avian Petpet enthusiast, and pointed out an exhaustive list of resources he might use to better his Petpet ID experience. That and, because this is me we’re talking about, I bantered about Crokabek stuff for a long time. The Elephante I chatted with is named Jim; apparently, my enthusiasm inspired him. He works for Jaime Caledonia now, the senior researcher of Petpet Biology at the Peter Blackwater Institute for Petpet Behavioral Studies. Well, we both work there now. It doesn’t pay much but it’s a start. And a start’s all I need—all any of us need—to keep going. Better still, I no longer needed to lie about my happiness. I truly feel it in my heart.

      I share this story not for the sake of self-pity, but for the consolation that we’re not alone, that the post-grad journey is rarely an easy one. Even when you slam into a tree trunk, keep on rolling. I won’t lie to you and say it will be struggle-free or that all your dreams will come true right away, but I will say to take risks, to interact with those who share your passions, and to know the paths we take are individual. There is no cookie-cutter path, no linearity to success like some claim. In whatever way you might achieve a small step forward, embrace that opportunity. I think the climb, with all of its many twists and turns, will be worth it in the end.

      The End.