The Lab

by Rashed Zoubi

Entering this small room inside the school’s science wing during these hard times only aches me more than it brings me good memories. I am reminded of the good days of last year and of the battles in which I partook to grow my ego through competition and passion. I am reminded of the sizzling sounds of the flux cream on the scorchinghot soldering iron, releasing fumes that would stick to my clothes for hours, leaving me smelling like cigarettes and burnt toast for the rest of the day. Despite that, soldering was my favourite part of a project because it usually came last; I could feel the progress during these final touches of almost any project I would work on, whether it be a sumo robot, a side project or anything really. Now that the current circumstances deprived me of working on projects, I finally had the time to come back to these old memories and appreciate what I felt back then. Looking up at the ceiling, I see the same old dim neon lights barely lighting up the room enough to be able to read labels. Luckily, there was a huge window from the room to the outside corridor where people would constantly stop for a couple of seconds and stare at me while I was working, almost like a zoo exhibit. Other than a window for people to glare at me for uncomfortable amounts of time, it also doubled as a good light source to compensate for the barely functional ones inside the room. One of the most noticeable changes was the lack of people after the recent events with the Corona virus demolishing our traditional ways of living, forcing us into this surreal reality we are experiencing. Even thought I was mostly working alone, there was always someone around to entertain my need of company. Whether it was a teacher or other peers studying on the desk outside the lab, there was always at least one person around for me not to feel completely isolated, but now that there is no reason to be there, I realized that I miss that subtle feeling of company, where I wouldn’t feel lonely but also wouldn’t use up my social battery. I appreciated the comfort zone that I had developed around the lab. Knowing that last year was likely the last year I would ever get to work on anything here again was very saddening, but I also think that 44

realization was an important step ahead in accepting the way things are. Looking at the table in the middle of the room, I am immediately brought back to all the metal sheets and metal parts that we had to bend and twist in order to use. The rough and satisfying sound of sanding the edges of metal sheets that followed the sound of the scissors very smoothly cutting through metal sheets with a very subtle springing noise towards the end, indicatory of the end of the process. Leaving the room brings back even more memories. From the smooth sound of the door fitting perfectly in its frame to the sound, triggering the anticipation that came before the testing of my newest creations. Since we were building sumo robots -which were built to push one another off a circular ring known as a Dohyo- we had to test things outside the room since the Dohyo would not fit inside the miniscule lab. Anxiety would hit me every time I made my way to the Dohyo. I would drop the dohyo on the ground, waiting for the pocket of air that forms under its massive volume to catch it and suspend its noise. The clicking noise was the final countdown to either disappointment or progress. The first couple of seconds are usually spent computing rather than moving, they always felt like hours. However, it was all worth it in the end, when the anticipation was followed up by the motor rotating and the robot doing its job correctly. Comparing these memories to what I see now, I cannot really feel sad or mad about it. I can only feel nostalgic to these past days when I felt so free practicing my passion despite it taking up most of my free time. Nothing feels as alive, not the tools and not even the robots themselves. The lights have gotten dimmer. The only thing I can see is the old robots on display, reminding me of the past two years. I decided to disassemble my last robot to move past this era and not dwell on these memories. This is what this room had always represented, progress. Coming back here now, I must come in terms with the reality that my innovation and passion might have to be stalled for some time before I can go back to my rigorous schedule. That is if I ever get the chance to go somewhere where I could thrive. I can only put my trust in the future and hope.