I used to walk the concrete decks of massive dams in Pakistan, overseeing turbine installations, supervising construction progress, and coordinating decisions with consultants and contractors on site. I felt the real-world impacts beneath my boots. Now, as a master’s student at Science Tokyo, I find myself clutching a pen in a lecture hall, parsing equations I once saw as second nature. This change does not always feel smooth or comfortable. In this post, I share how it feels to begin again as a student and the unexpected lessons about learning, about people, and about myself along the way.
Section 1｜Confidence: The engineer who thought he already understood “reality”
Working in Pakistan, I believed I already knew what “real problems” looked like. Construction sites were chaotic, unpredictable, and full of things textbooks could never fully prepare you for. Timelines shifted quickly. Equipment did not always behave as designed. People from different organizations had different priorities, and sometimes diplomacy mattered more than calculation. Sometimes, a single decision felt heavier than the numbers that described it.
Working in that environment shaped much of my confidence. I felt that if I could survive such conditions, I must have been “experienced.” I could stand next to heavy machinery and understand instantly what was happening with it, or look at a drawing and immediately see why something needed to be adjusted. There was a certain pride in knowing that what I did could produce a physical, measurable outcome in the real world.
Because of this, I subconsciously assumed that returning to school would not be too difficult. After dealing with real-world constraints, academic theory felt like something manageable. Research seemed like it would simply be another technical extension, just with more advanced tools and more controlled uncertainty. I told myself this before I arrived at Science Tokyo.
I later realized that the challenge was coming from the opposite direction. Being a student again is not easier — I did not think the shift would shake me this way.
Section 2｜Disorientation: From work meetings to group work
The first moment I felt disoriented at Science Tokyo was not during lectures. It happened during my first group work assignment. In my previous job, technical discussions were usually direct and structured. Meetings were centered on solving specific problems, finalizing decisions, and moving the project forward. Everyone in the room shared the same goal: finish, implement, deliver.
At university, group work felt completely different. Instead of quickly converging toward one solution, discussions often diverged in multiple directions. Sometimes we spent the entire meeting just trying to agree on what the actual question was. People were encouraged to suggest “what if” ideas, even if they might not work. It took me a while to understand what “progress” meant in that setting.
I gradually realized that academic collaboration values exploration before execution, and this shift was not easy for me at first. I needed to participate not as someone who pushed toward quick closure, but as someone who could give space for other approaches.
Section 3｜Frustration: When effort does not directly translate into results
In engineering projects, even when things went wrong, everyone still understood the direction we were heading in. Everyone agreed the dam must be built, the turbine must operate, and the structure must eventually stand. Progress could be slow or complicated, but there was always some physical indication that things were moving forward. You could see concrete rising, equipment going into place, or drawings being finalized.
Research does not feel that way.
Sometimes I spend an entire week reading papers, running simulations, and adjusting parameters, only to find that none of it was usable in the end. I am learning that in academia, investing time does not guarantee visible outcomes. There are no construction milestones you can visually check. Results are often abstract, uncertain, and sometimes disappointing. It feels strange to put in serious effort, only to end up with results that barely make sense to anyone, even myself.
In research, the direction is not given in advance. You need to justify it. You have to defend why you choose a certain approach instead of another, even if the result is still unclear. I am realizing that research is not only about finding answers, but learning how to form the right questions. That is something industry rarely trains you for.
This was hard for me at the beginning. I am still learning to accept that research progress is not linear, not stable, and not always visible. Some days I handle it well, other days I don’t — and maybe that is normal for research.
Section 4｜Acceptance: Learning to think differently
Over time, studying at Science Tokyo is encouraging me to think more broadly. I have begun to notice that each problem presents a variety of methods to solve it. The more I learn, the more I realize there are often multiple dimensions that need to be considered at the same time. Ideas become less about reaching one fixed conclusion and more about opening further possibilities.
I’ve also begun to appreciate how much I learn from the people around me. Everyone carries a different academic background, culture, and way of reasoning. Sometimes a casual comment from a colleague in the lab or a short conversation during group work quietly changes how I view a topic. The variety of perspectives reminds me that thinking alone is not enough, so I often leave those conversations seeing the problem in a slightly different way afterward.
Little by little, I feel myself becoming more open, more patient, and more curious. I’ve become more comfortable with the idea that questions can stay unanswered for a while. I notice how discussions gradually shape my way of thinking. This acceptance does not arrive at once. It forms slowly through everyday interactions, small realizations, and steady exposure to unfamiliar ways of thinking.
Section 5｜A second beginning
I used to believe that starting over meant erasing what came before. I really believed that. Now I see it differently. Beginning again can also mean expanding what you already have. The transition into student life is not always smooth, but it is teaching me to stay open to unfamiliar paths and new ways of learning. I am learning that growth can feel slow, unclear, or confusing, yet still be meaningful.
Science Tokyo is becoming the place where I allow myself to take things apart and rebuild understanding from a new angle. I am less worried now about how fast I need to improve, and more focused on how deeply I can understand.
For anyone entering a new phase of study or life, especially after experiencing another world before arriving here, stepping into uncertainty can feel uncomfortable at first. But discomfort can also be an early sign that you are moving toward change. Beginning again does not need to mean starting from zero. Sometimes, it is simply a quiet reminder that there are still many more versions of yourself waiting to be discovered.
