“Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented lest;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings,
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”
Sonnet 29, by William Shakespeare
“What do you do?” is probably the second question we typically ask when meeting someone new, right after learning their names. It’s understandable that this information is important, considering we spend almost half of our time working.
I’ve always found this question tricky to answer because, as a chemist, what I’ve been doing is quite different from what people imagine a stereotypical chemist do: working with beakers, test tubes, and mixing chemicals. Hence, simply answering I’m a chemist is misleading although I generally do that. However, I’m in the mood for a chat, I usually respond by saying I’m a researcher. Then I attempt to address the inevitable follow up question about the specifics of my research.
About a decade ago, I had the pleasure of meeting a delightful couple named Mike and Susan from Denver. During our first encounter, Mike inquired about my profession. Despite my attempts, I found myself mumbling for five minutes without able to explain what I do. This interaction compelled me to think about how to respond the question.
Since then, my research direction changed several times. I’ve traveled to Australia and obtained a Ph.D. degree. Currently, I am working as a research fellow at Erciyes University in Kayseri. In this post, I’ll try to explain my research journey.
I arrived in the US in the fall of 2010 and enrolled in a chemistry Ph.D. program at the University of Wyoming. I spent the first semester attending classes and working as a teaching assistant. The following summer, I started working in the lab of Prof. David Anderson.
The specific area of research I did in Laramie is known as matrix isolation spectroscopy. Spectroscopy is a widely used technique for measuring molecules. In this technique, certain properties of a light beam-such as intensity-are recorded as the beam interacts with or reflects off the target molecules. The resulting data, represented as light intensity changes plotted against wavelength, is termed a spectrum. A spectrum provides valuable insights into various aspects of a molecule, such as its size and state of excitation.
My daily task in matrix isolation spectroscopy involved filling a 80-liter hollow steel chamber with liquid helium to cool it to minus 270 degrees Celsius (which is about 455 Fahrenheit). Afterwards, I would inject mixtures of hydrogen gas and dilute target molecules into the chamber to grow well-isolated target molecules in ice-like solid hydrogen. Once the sample is ready, I would take spectrum of the sample and sometimes do additional tests, such as subjecting the molecules to intense laser pulses to observe their reactions and behaviour.
After doing matrix isolation spectroscopy for two years, I lost interest, and for personal reasons, I decided to complete this research with as master’s degree instead of pursuing the originally intended Ph.D. degree. After spending sometime to take care of personal matters, I went to Australia in 2013 on a Ph.D. scholarship to continue doing research.
When I started my research at La Trobe University in Melbourne, two potential themes came up: one focusing on laser spectroscopy of cold molecules and the other on spectroscopy of cold molecular ice crystals. The former involved cooling molecules without freezing them, achieved through a technique essentially similar to how refrigerators operate. By forcing molecules through a narrow apertures (comparable in size to the diameter of a typical human hair), one could cool them to approximately minus 170 degrees Celsius. Then, one would measure the spectrum of cooled molecules by subjecting them to laser pulses while the molecules are still flying. An interesting aspect of this research was the ability to change a molecule from one state to another using a second laser while constantly recording the change with another laser.
The second research theme was about spectroscopy of molecular ices. The techniques and instruments employed in this area had some overlap with my previous research in the US. However, here, we would need to utilize strong, focused beams of light to study ices as they formed and moved about. Fortunately, all the necessary infrastructure was available at the Australian Synchrotron, where I spent significant amount of time doing the experimental work.
After completing my Ph.D. in chemistry at La Trobe University, I joined Erciyes University in 2019 as a postdoctoral fellow in Prof. Serdar Önses’s lab. Here, I was exposed to a diverse range of research fields. One area that particularly intrigued me, and which aligned with my previous experiences, is a specific spectroscopy technique known as surface-enhanced Raman scattering (SERS). This technique involves the preparation of nanometer-scale metallic particles, such as silver and gold nanoparticles, which are then utilized as lenses to concentrate light onto minuscule nanometer-scale areas. The SERS technique is commonly used to enhance molecular signals, enabling one to detect minute amounts of molecules. For instance, we employed the SERS technique to detect parts per million concentrations of various toxic pesticide residues in water.
Another molecular sensing technique similar to SERS is known as surface-enhanced infrared absorption, often abbreviated as SEIRA. The difference is that in SEIRA, the requirement for metallic nanoparticles is more specific and hence hard to prepare: the nanoparticles has to be longish. SEIRA was a new technique for me, although in retrospect, it seems like something I should have been aware of. I learned the foundations of the technique through reading, identified areas for further improvement, and wrote a proposal to improve an existing technique for fabricating long metallic nanoparticles. Luckily, my proposal was funded by the European Horizon 2020 Marie Skłodowska-Curie Actions program for two years. Although the project was not as fruitful as I had hoped, I gained valuable experience: I acquired some skills required for nano fabrication, learned about practical application potential of academic research, and learned about computer simulating of the interaction of nanoparticles, and matter in general, with a bean of light.
Another very different research theme is called superhydrophobic coatings. You might have heard of the term hydrophobic, which refers to coatings that make items resistant to water. Rain coats, umbrellas, and water resistant boots are generally coated with hydrophobic coatings. Superhydrophobic coatings, as the name suggests, takes water resistance to extreme levels. I don’t want to dwell too much on this topic here since I have wrote about it before. But interested readers can explore my post about superhydrophobic coatings here.
When discussing work and life in general, it’s rare that we openly talk about failures and setbacks. Here, I’d like to share two setbacks from my own experience.
While completing my Ph.D., I applied for a couple of positions that seemed very promising at the time, two of which I was excited about but ended in setback.
One was an engineering position at a small company called Aeroqual, based in Auckland, New Zealand. Aeroqual manufactures air quality sensors, such as ozone and carbon monoxide sensors. The role would have involved designing and building a chamber to test their sensors and contributing to the improvement of particle matter sensors they produce. I applied for the positions, had a positive phone interview, and was even invited for paid visit to their offices. Meeting the founders and the team was pleasant, but unfortunately, I did not get the job.
Another failed applications was for a postdoctoral researcher position at the Universite Libre de Bruxelles in Belgium, at the atmospheric spectroscopy lab of Dr. Lieven Clarisse. I had multiple interview with him, and both of us seemed very enthusiastic about the prospect. The research would have been similar to what I’ve been doing, but instead of measuring the spectrum of molecules in the lab, I would have worked with data obtained from sensors on NASA and European Space Agency satellites. The potential application is broad, such as detecting and monitoring greenhouse gases, wildfires, volcano eruptions, and ammonia emissions from agricultural land.
Despite these setbacks and the fact that I haven’t discovered any earth-shattering phenomena or patented life-changing inventions yet, I consider myself a successful scientist. After more than ten years of research experiences, I’ve realized that what’s important is consistently doing solid work in a down-to-earth manner, showing up and persisting. As you may have gathered from reading about my research journey, success in research, like many aspects of life, often involves a considerable amount of luck. If I continue my efforts, there’s a chance that I might discover something groundbreaking; if not, the work I’ve done may contribute to the advancement of the field.
Of course, I would not be here without the support and help of advisors and senior researchers: Prof. David Anderson, Dr. Jan Kubelka, Lecturer Dr. Evan Robertson, Dr. Courtney Ennis, Dr. Dominique Appadoo, and Prof. Serdar Önses. I’m grateful.
Throughout my career and life, I have been fortunate to have colleagues who often turned into friends, not only supporting me in the lab but also in life in general, and don’t hesitate to lend a hand when needed: Ben Anderson, Yagya Regmi, Isabella Lobo, Sami Pekdemir, and Burak Kiremitler, Ilker Torun, and Nusret Celik. Thank you !
