I meant to become an anthropologist. Human imagination and
intelligence fascinated me, so I went looking for them in
politics and then in psychology — and ran into the same
dissatisfaction each time. Those fields study human
relationships beautifully, but personality is contingent and
culture-dependent, and I wanted something underneath that: a
general model of how the brain actually works. That is what
pointed me at neuroscience.
Medicine arrived from the other direction. During a hematology
internship at Semmelweis University Hospital in Budapest, I got
my first real look at a clinic from the inside, and left
convinced there was still so much to unlock — in how diseases
are detected, and in how the brain could be interfaced with
technology. That conviction is why I chose life sciences
engineering over medical school: I wanted to understand both
worlds deeply enough to help bridge them.
The question I keep coming back to is what shapes the way humans
think, decide, and change. It has taken me from EPFL's
Laboratory of Cognitive Neuroscience, to neurotech at Roceso
Technologies in Singapore, and on to a medical-engineering
exchange at KTH Stockholm and the Karolinska Institute. Memory
is not an abstract interest here: several people in my family
live with dementia, each of them differently, and work on
stimulation, agency and spatial memory is the closest thing I
have found to a way in.
I want to operate on the brain and build the things that extend
what surgery can do — not as competing ambitions, but as one
coherent one. The kind of goal that takes twenty years and looks
slightly unreasonable from the outside, which is usually a good
sign.