Yeju

What is the point of going to work?

No, seriously, I have been here for three hours. I did so much, and at the same time, I did nothing at all.

First, I stepped into the lab to see the mass spectrometry beeping in error. A group of younger graduate students stood around it, discussing among themselves frantically. I’ve seen the same problem multiple times before, so I spent thirty minutes helping them get the instrument up and running again. 

Then, the ultracentrifuge broke on me as I was using it. I needed it to spin down the bacteria samples I had grown in liquid last week; instead, the machine cracked the bottles, causing all the samples to leak out. I had to toss the bottles, clean up the mess, and contact the company to report this issue. That would have been the end of the ultracentrifuge saga if not for a random researcher insisting that I fix the machine so he could use it afterward—resulting in another hour and a half wasted.

Last but not least, the bacteria I had grown in a Petri dish two weeks ago was contaminated; some green fuzzy thing grew over the bacteria cells and killed them. Great. Not only did I lose my liquid bacteria samples, but I also lose the bacteria that was used to grow the liquid samples. Thankfully, I have more stored in the freezer, but frozen cells take a while to thaw. And because of this contamination, I spent yet another hour cleaning out the storage with ethanol and bleach.

 What the fuck is the point of going to work when things keep falling apart like this and ruining my experiment? After three hours of work, all I have done is set myself back by at least two weeks. I desperately need to wrap up my project and graduate, and the universe is making me suffer through it as much as possible.

I escape to the office space and slump onto my desk. Five minutes. I’ll give myself five minutes to wallow in self-pity. Then I’ll get back to work.

Nothing is working out in my life. Not my scientific endeavors, not my love life, not my family—and now, not even the safe space of my apartment. Whenever I go home, I have to see the person who was part of the cause of my parents’ breakup. 

Well, at least Lia is kinda cute. That’s the only redeeming part of this situation. And the fact that she talks like a Disney Princess. 

Whatever, I still refuse to forgive her for what she and her friends did.

There’s a knock on the door. I lift my head to see Yuna leaning against the door frame and scowling at me. Her pink hair is tied up into a messy bun—her typical lab day hairdo.

“Fancy taking time from your mice surgeries to talk to me,” I mumble.

“I already did the surgeries last week. I’m not doing anything with the mice except to feed and weigh them now,” she explains as if I cared to hear the specifics of her experiments. “Anyway, I’m not here to talk to you about science. I’m here to talk about you, Yeju. What did you do to poor Lia last night? She sounded traumatized.”

“Nothing much. I don’t like her, and I want her to know that.”

“You’re being very unfair to her, Yeju. She seems like a nice person and does not deserve whatever you’re doing to her.”

“I don’t fucking care if she’s nice or not. She can be Mother Teresa and I’ll still want her out. You know what it was like at home for me.”

“But it’s not Lia’s fault and you know that too. It’s not even that other girl’s fault—your half-sister, I mean. It’s your dad’s. You can’t take it out on him so you’re taking out all your anger on Lia, and that’s not fair to her.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t care. I see her, I get angry, and so I want her to get out of my sight. Is that too much to ask in a place I live in?”

Yuna throws her hands up. “You’re always like this, Yeju, a total lack of control of your emotions!”

That statement strikes me like a knife to my heart. I grind my teeth. I’ve had enough of a bad day to be attacked like this. 

“And what about you, Yuna?” I bark. “Why are you always making decisions for me? Like, what was that, moving out without discussing it with me first? Getting a new person to move into the apartment without telling me who it was gonna be? You’re fucking controlling, Yuna, so are you seriously blaming it all on me? Because that is also unfair of you!”

Yuna purses her lips. I must have hit the bullseye of her sore spot too. 

Instead of retorting, she glances warily behind me. That’s when I realize—oh, I’m not alone. Each office sits four graduate students, and Darren, a fellow fifth-year Ph.D. student, is currently sitting across the room from me, as silent as ever. Too silent.

He senses us looking at him and tears his eyes away from his computer screen. “It’s not bothering me. Don’t worry about it.” And he returns to his work. 

After suffering through five years of graduate school with me, Darren has seen it all—my shouting matches with Yuna, my overnight experiments, my frequent breakdowns at my desk. Meanwhile, I’ve seen him pull out every strand of his hair in anxiety. 

A minor squabble like this must be nothing to him.

“Anyway,”—Yuna takes in a breath—“I’m sorry, Yeju, for arranging all that so last minute. I guess I saw an offer for my current place and pounced on it. But… I don’t know, I didn’t think you’d be so against it. Can you just take it down a notch, please?” she pleads. “She’s RJ’s good friend. I don’t want her to feel unwelcome.”

I cannot help but roll my eyes. Of course, Yuna is pleading because this is about her lovely ex-girlfriend whom she cares so much about. What about me? I’m also her ex. She should care about my feelings too. 

I am about to reply with something snarky when Gabby appears behind Yuna.

“Hey girlies, what are you talking about?” he asks, his cheery tone a stark contrast to the sullen mood of the room.

“Gabby!” Yuna’s entire demeanor changes. “Hey! We still on for dinner tonight?”

“Hell yeah! Harvey has already bought all the stuff, bless their heart.” He turns to me and clarifies, “The three of us are doing a post-move-in celebration dinner for Yuna. Wanna join?”

Dinner with three of the most extroverted people on a Monday night? Just thinking about it makes me shrivel up in exhaustion. 

“Nah, I’m too tired,” I admit.

Gabby and Harvey are third-year graduate students who also work in my lab. Their office is two rooms down from mine, and I can often hear their boisterous laughter from where I sit. Especially whenever I am particularly stressed out and upset. Their excess positivity irks me to no end, but that is exactly why Yuna hit it off so well with them. Sometimes I wonder how Yuna and I dated for so long; we’re so different.

“Ah, that’s too bad,” Gabby says. “Oh right, Victoria was asking to see you in her office. There’s an undergrad looking to join the lab. I think she wants you to mentor them.”

I stand up so fast that my chair almost topples over. “Finally!” 

For the past few months, I have been asking my professor to assign me a slave—I mean, a competent and hardworking undergraduate student—to mentor. I need all the help I can get with my project. In turn, the student will get lab experience outside of the usual curriculum and something extra to put on their resume, so it’s somewhat a win-win situation. But so far, there haven’t been a lot of applications.

As I make my way towards Victoria’s office, I hear Gabby ask Yuna, “So what are you two fighting about again?” and suppress a groan. That guy needs to learn to keep his voice down.

Knocking on the door, I enter after hearing my professor’s confirmation. Her office is twice the size of the regular office that holds four graduate students. Across from her large work desk are two couches for visitors and a large TV for displaying presentation slides. It is an intimidating room, especially for the sweetest professor ever. 

Indeed, if there is one thing that went well in my life, it is that I joined Victoria’s lab for my Ph.D. thesis. Even with all my setbacks, she has been considerate about my progress. Well, I’m sure she got me the undergraduate student to help because she wants to expedite said progress and then kick me out of the lab. But that is exactly what I want too. 

“Hey, Victoria,” I greet. “You asked for me?” 

“Yes, Yeju, come, sit here and have a chat with this lovely student…”

My smile disappears when I turn to look at the student sitting opposite my professor.

A high ponytail, a prim and proper posture as if she’s a Victoria’s Secret model, and a pair of bright, round eyes that are staring at me incredulously.

Are you fucking kidding me?

Lia is the undergraduate student?

My luck is getting worse and worse by the minute.