Wasil Ahmed, Benjamin Franklin '21
Go Hard or Go Home: A Journey of Loss, Ambition, and Self-Worth
By Mei Chen
“Why medicine?”
That’s the first question I ask Wasil, whom I’ve known for a not insignificant amount of time now—much of which has been spent as two of a vast horde of ambition-fueled pre-meds in introductory science lectures. It seems like the obvious primer question: ease us both into conversation about, essentially, our ambitions and dreams, which, oddly enough, have never once been discussed in the past two and a half years.
He hesitates, and I rush to assure him that there’s no need to say anything he’s not comfortable saying, only for him to shake his head.
“No, that’s not it,” he says. “I don’t have a problem being open about anything. I just don’t want you to get emotional, because then I’ll get emotional, and that would be awkward.”
“Oh, I never get emotional,” I say, but that’s a lie. I often get emotional. And I get this funny feeling that I’m about to get very emotional, and I mentally pinch myself, just as a reminder that under no circumstances am I allowed to cry during this interview, because that would be very unprofessional and also there’s no Kleenex nearby.
He settles in and begins. “You know about my mom.”
Yes, I do. She’d died of cancer when we were first-years. He visits her grave every time he goes home.
“My mom would have different chemotherapy ports and bandages and stuff, and I’d help her change her bandages and, you know, just help her. Even though it wasn’t much, every time I helped her with her treatments and stuff, she would just look at me with a pure smile of relief and thanks, and I realized that’s what the power of medicine is. There’s no sorts of barriers or constructs—just one person helping another feel better. So, I realized I should make a living helping as many people as I can, putting smiles on people’s faces.”
I remind myself to be professional, and that there’s no Kleenex. I manage, but it’s hard.
It’s interesting how no matter what you think you know about a person, there’s always something new to uncover, or something else that really emphasizes a facet you never paid much thought to. Over the course of the next hour or so, I find out that Wasil, who takes pride in his vast hat collection and even vaster network of bros, is also intensely driven by both personal ambition and a desire to create change in the world. Further blessed with an almost superhuman ability to thrive under pressure, he has, from day one, always pushed himself to his limits, and in the process found a genuine love for learning. An MCDB major, he dreams of a career in surgery, potentially neurosurgery—when I ask him why surgery at all, he tells me it’s because the stakes are so high. “If it’s not high stakes, it doesn’t really matter. Like, I don’t want to do butt lifts all day,” he jokes, before getting contemplative. “I like the pressure because pressure makes diamonds. You find your strengths. I try to be very comfortable being uncomfortable.”
The ease with which he slides into what most others would find inherently uncomfortable is genuinely remarkable, and should serve as an example to young first-years especially who are perhaps a little bit terrified of putting themselves out there. Wasil has been working in the same Neuroscience lab, with Dr. Jessica Cardin, from his first year at Yale onward, having had the tenacity to look into Yale research labs before even setting foot on campus—despite having literally no prior background in research. Since then, he has thrived as a student researcher. In the Cardin Lab, he has been working with Dr. Cardin and her postgrads to investigate the role of somatostatin interneurons in cortical development, with the ultimate goal of understanding their influence on neurodegenerative diseases—he describes it as figuring out how all the players in the “neuronal puzzle” fit together. His passion for his work is clear, and amplified by a genuine enjoyment of his surroundings. “Everyone in lab is cool,” he says. “It’s not stressful, not cutthroat ever, really just a bunch of people helping each other along the way. I’m too busy being in awe to feel intimidated. My PI turns all the mistakes into lessons. She really invests in me—literally, but also mentally, taking the time to break things down to a level that an undergrad can chew at, because we’re obviously not eating at the same level as the postdocs or especially the PI.”
Since beginning at the Cardin Lab, Wasil has also actively participated in the STARS and STARS II research programs, which are intended to provide intensive research experience for undergraduate students, in particular socioeconomically disadvantaged and otherwise historically underrepresented students pursuing careers in the sciences. Wasil and I first met during First-Year Scholars at Yale (FSY), a pre-matriculation summer program for first-generation and/or low-income college students from underserved high schools, and I know even before I ask that this identity, as an underprivileged student on a campus permeated by privilege, has played a significant role in his choices and experiences as a Yale student in STEM. We talk about how common it is for pre-meds at this university, most of whom are not first-generation or low-income, to deny financial stability as a motivator—the setting aside of which is innately reflective of the privilege of coming from a financially stable household.
Wasil insists on honesty. “I can’t say that money doesn’t influence anything,” he tells me, pointing out the shared desire among the low-income community at Yale to rise above backgrounds of hardship and economically provide for parents and future generations. “Affluence breeds affluence. I think medicine is a good middle ground—I feel like the overall vague goal is still to figure out how to maximize your capacity to do good unto the world in one lifetime and what combination of things maximize that contribution.” He acknowledges that he has been fortunate in finding a way to balance academics, research, and finances; his work at the Cardin Lab, five to ten hours a week, is a paid position, thus allowing him further freedom to pursue his interests both in and out of research. He emphasizes the importance of taking advantage of Yale’s opportunities— “From our backgrounds and our kinds of schools? I feel like I’m a kid in a candy store,” he says.
Outside of research, Wasil has taken a path much less traveled by the traditional Yale pre-med, making sure to expand his horizons in all capacities. Last summer, he studied abroad in Paris, taking a course called Age of Cathedrals, to fulfill his humanities distributional requirement but also to challenge his own worldview in ways that the Yale pre-med curriculum does not. “We should not deprive ourselves of that chunk of intellect food,” he states firmly. “You should be taking humanities and social sciences, asking the questions that can’t be answered.” During the Fall 2019 semester, his favorite class was Foundations of Modern Social Theory, which analyzes various major works of social thought from both historical and contemporary philosophers. “I looked forward to that class more than any others,” he says. It’s a sentiment not often heard among pre-professionals of any field, the idea that there is more to life, and more to a Yale education, than simply what matters most to one’s ideal career. It is also a sentiment that perhaps should be heard much more; Wasil espouses the importance of a genuine desire to learn, not just within a single niche or subject, but as far beyond as one can go.
Finally, I ask him how he deals with the stress and competitiveness of STEM, especially as a pre-med—after all, it is difficult, particularly at a place like Yale, not to internalize perceived shortcomings. How does one handle Imposter Syndrome and its symptoms—the insecurity, the unfavorable comparisons to peers?
“Inevitably, you conceive of others,” he says, “but my goal is to not think of others, to instead focus on myself. Competing with myself makes me feel like the others are not my competition.”