In My Third Year of the PhD
December 31, 2025
Auto-translated by ChatGPT 5.2 and manually refined to preserve meaning and tone. I write equally in Mandarin, but simply and more comfortable.
Honestly, I should be continuing the literature review for my PhD qualifying exam. But the constant drilling noise upstairs, plus yet another stretch of insomnia (I’ve lost count of the days), has made it impossible to write a single line. Then again, maybe those are just excuses. Maybe I simply want to avoid the dozens of comments my advisor left for me—the long list of problems I’m supposed to fix.
I knew there were issues the moment I finished the first draft: a few figures still missing; and even if I make them, they’ll probably look bad. My definitions aren’t clear. The logic doesn’t flow. One thing I genuinely admire about my advisor is how she can point out all of this without hurting me or making me feel small. She makes me feel like she wants to help me become better, not just criticize me. Anyway, I’m rambling. The point is: I can’t write. I can’t get into it.
I don’t even know when this state began. This year I submitted 10 papers, got 2 accepted, and the rest are either still “soaking” somewhere in the pipeline or rejected, sometimes very thoroughly. If you ask whether it’s success, sure, maybe. At least I finally know what specific topic my PhD is about. But if you ask whether it’s failure… compared with people older than me, younger than me, and even those in the same cohort, the gap feels huge. It would be a lie to say I’m not jealous. At the same time, I’m genuinely happy for them, because they earned it. But then… what about me?
Since the second half of the year, everything I’ve submitted (papers, scholarships, proposals, internships)has been rejected. It’s been a very, very long time since I received any positive feedback in my own field. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt this kind of helplessness, but for me it’s turned into numbness. It makes me think maybe I’m just not suited for this.
I’ve never thought of myself as some unbelievably talented student. But whenever someone asks, “So what’s your research about?” or “What have you accomplished?” my instinct is to run away. I don’t know how to answer. More than anything, I feel like I don’t deserve to answer—because nobody has told me or affirmed that what I’m doing makes sense. If I don’t even know whether the answers in my head are right, how can I confidently respond to other people?
Some days I sit in the office and I honestly don’t even know what I’m doing. This whole semester I haven’t really moved any project forward. I’ve just been reading and writing, writing every day, all kinds of fucking writing, until I feel like I’m going to throw up. Maybe what I’m missing is doing something creative again. I haven’t designed anything. I haven’t coded. I haven’t run experiments. It feels like I’ve lost my sense of identity as a researcher.
In life, I’m often jealous of some of my friends. They have stable relationships, stable routines, stable work and life. And I still don’t even know what kind of person I am, because I feel like I am a boring man, and I don’t really have hobbies. Does gaming count? Does cooking count? Maybe. But they feel more like ways to avoid doing research. Other than that—do I have any real hobbies? Not really. It’s like I could do things, but I don’t have the desire to—unless someone asks me, I probably won’t.
On my commute, playing that silly little mobile game (“小冰冰传奇”) is honestly kind of fun. Completing daily quests gives me more of a sense of achievement than doing research. And a lot of the time, I’m just wearing different masks in different groups so I can fit in. Of course, none of those masks are fully the “real me.” But somehow… they’re also all real parts of me.
I’m truly, truly an overthinker. I can sit on the couch for two hours doing nothing, just staring at the moon. You might ask: “Isn’t a PhD busy every day?” Yes! busy. I have so much to do. But you know how it is: so much of it, you don’t want to do. Or it feels like you’re doing it because you have to.
When do I actually feel happy? Maybe when I’m with friends. That’s a small utopia. They’re saving me.
To be clear: I’m not writing all this to fish for sympathy. And you really don’t have to say anything. More than anything, I just want the new year to bring some change. I mean, even the LA Clippers managed to change and win five in a row, right?
First, I hope I can figure out who I am. I hope I can feel more grounded. I want to build at least one sports habit, learn a new instrument and a new language, share a bit more, be slightly more “active” on social media, and keep doing the research I truly believe in. At the very least, I want to find some passion again (I’m not saying I’ll change the world or publish in Nature—lol).
If you’ve read this far: If you’re also anxious, please believe that there’s someone out there who’s even more anxious than you (if that makes you feel a little better, though I hope neither of us has to be anxious). If we haven’t talked in a long time, I miss you too. If you think I’m important to you, then you’re definitely important to me—and I’m grateful for you. And if nobody reads this… well, not many people read my papers either. Honestly, when I look back at my own writing after a long time, it often feels kind of stupid. Haha.
Anyway. That’s it for 2025. Happy New Year.