In 2019, I would never have guessed I would be where I am today. I graduated from SJI International with complete confidence and certainty in pursuing Chemistry as a career; that was the class I enjoyed the most in high school. Much to my surprise, I am living in my third country in five years and pursuing an academic career in Quantum Physics.

During my undergraduate studies, I majored in Physics and Math, discovering a deep love for the rigour of these subjects and the insight they provided into the world around us. I wanted to understand everything from the tiniest subatomic particles to the vastness of galaxies. I spent my summer breaks working with different research groups in Singapore, Chile, and Portugal, immersing myself in observational astronomy. Using real telescopes and collaborating with professional astronomers - including those behind humanity's first-ever image of a Black Hole - was something high school me in the Astrophysics Olympiad Club could only have imagined.

I took a special interest in Black Holes, captivated by the beauty inherent in the physics of extremes. My work primarily involved radio-wavelength observations of galaxies located over 10 billion light-years away - effectively peering 10 billion years into the past. Nothing quite compares to the feeling of being the first human to set eyes on an astronomical object after processing the telescope data.

Our research focused on understanding how the supermassive black holes at the centres of these ancient galaxies influenced their evolution, shaping the large-scale cosmic structures we observe today. I was struck by how much information we could infer about systems so distant, yet I found myself craving an even greater level of mathematical rigour. This led me to the other extreme of physics - the super-cold and super-small.

After graduation, I took a leap of faith and accepted a research position in Okinawa, Japan, venturing into the field of quantum physics. Bose-Einstein Condensates (BECs) incredibly intrigued me. These giant matter waves exhibit properties like interference and diffraction at extremely low temperatures (∼0.0000000001 Kelvin), opening up a fascinating realm of phenomena and physics to study. My focus was on understanding the evolution of these systems when their properties - such as temperature, volume, or chemical potential - were altered. I used numerical simulations to model their behaviour, comparing theoretical predictions with experimental results.

Beyond the science, living in Okinawa was an extraordinary experience. I worked alongside and learned from a vibrant community of scientists, often bonding over evenings filled with food, conversation, and even late-night Dungeons and Dragons sessions. The tropical setting added a layer of magic, with frequent trips to beaches and nearby islands for snorkelling and scuba diving. It was a chapter of discovery, both professionally and personally.

Fast forward to today: I am a Mathematical and Theoretical Physics graduate student at the University of Oxford. Initially, I was captivated by the institution's prestige, but being here has given me a deeper appreciation for its unique opportunities. Learning directly from pioneers who have written the textbooks I study is both humbling and inspiring. (You can argue with your professors about the content in the textbooks if they are the ones who wrote it.) The intellectual atmosphere pushes me to grow daily, equipping me with the confidence and knowledge to delve deeper into condensed matter theory and non-equilibrium physics - fields crucial to my research aspirations.

As an early-career scientist, I am still navigating the complexities of the field. There are challenges I never anticipated, from the stark gender gap in physics (it's not uncommon to have only three women in a lecture theatre) to confronting narrow stereotypes about what it means to be a scientist. Yet, I've learned to embrace a mindset of resilience. When I encounter obstacles, I remind myself that progress is rarely linear - even for the most remarkable scientists we admire. Science demands not just logic but faith: faith that our work has meaning, that chaotic steps eventually lead to breakthroughs, and that our questions will someday yield answers.

In recent years, I've been fortunate to meet and work alongside scientists from diverse backgrounds. They defy the clichés of lab coats and test tubes that dominate popular imagination. Whether operating the world's largest land-based telescope in the Chilean desert, conducting fieldwork in rainforests, experimenting in cutting-edge labs, or solving equations on blackboards, these scientists share a common thread - a deep curiosity and commitment to answering big questions about the universe. It's a commitment I've come to see in myself as well.

To the readers of this article: if you've ever questioned what you were told in class or wondered about the mysteries of the universe, you share this curiosity, too. Science is not reserved for an elite few - it is for anyone with the drive to ask "Why?" and "How?" My journey from high school chemistry enthusiast to aspiring quantum physicist proves how far curiosity can take you. I hope this inspires you to follow your questions wherever they may lead.