There are many sides to Angelico Obille (BME PhD 2T6).
Sometimes, Obille is a biomedical researcher studying proteins secreted by freshwater quagga mussels in hopes of developing new ways to close wounds after surgery.
But other times, they transform into Kwaga Musselle, a fabulous drag entertainer and creative science communicator, raising visibility and fostering connection among 2SLGBTQ+ people in the science, technology, engineering and math (STEM) disciplines.
Writer Tyler Irving sat down with Obille, who recently defended their thesis, to talk about their journey over the last few years.
Why did you choose engineering, and why at U of T?
I did my undergraduate degree at McMaster University’s Integrated Science program, focusing on mathematics and chemical biology. In first-year physics I learned about the biophysical structural colouration of butterfly wings and it opened my eyes to how evolution has engineered incredibly sophisticated materials.
This perspective naturally led me towards applied science, with a particular interest in studying bioinspired materials design.
I knew I wanted to be in Toronto because my partner had recently found work in Toronto and we both wanted to live in an LGBTQ+ inclusive city. I also knew that I’d have access to high quality research resources, facilities and personnel, enabling me to focus on doing the best science possible.
Tell me about your thesis.
Professor Eli Sone (BME, MSE) introduced me to the problem of wet adhesion and the need for biologically compatible materials to help close wounds inside the human body. You can imagine that surgical tape doesn’t really work well when your surfaces are wet. It makes sense to reverse-engineer materials derived from life’s very own building blocks.
If we can develop faster and less damaging ways to close wounds, we can do things like repair an amniotic sac following prenatal surgery or prevent excessive blood loss in the case of an uncontrollably bleeding internal wound. It’s a perfect combination of fundamental discovery with practical application.
After you successfully defended your thesis, you wrote a post where you thanked your “support system, including the LGBTQ+ in STEM community.” Can you talk more about that?
When I started my career in science, I carried the belief that I had to keep parts of myself hidden and separate in order to be accepted and taken seriously. This mindset helped me feel safe enough to get through my undergrad studies, but the constant self-surveillance ended up taking a toll on my mental health.
Through Science is a Drag, Toronto’s science-themed drag show, I learned that another option was available: integration. By surrounding myself with folks who live unapologetically whole, I learned that I don’t need to shrink one part of myself for another to thrive. In fact, by developing my drag persona, Kwaga Musselle, I learned that the sum of all of me is greater than my parts.
The world is wide enough to accept all nerdy, gay, genderfluid, musical, Filipino-Canadian sides of me at once. I ended up having a lot more fun doing my science while making lasting connections with folks who could relate to the experience of growing up needing to justify their existence.
You’ve shared that you made use of mental health supports during your PhD. What were those supports, and how did they help you?
I worked with my supervisor, the Student Progress and Support office, the Centre for Learning Strategy Support, and Accessibility Services, to find ways to ensure my success. They were all lovely and encouraging people, but I got the sense that they didn’t know how best to help me.
One time I was escorted to the hospital for expressing the despair I felt in my situation. I felt like something was fundamentally wrong with me, that I didn’t belong in my PhD program, and that I didn’t deserve to pursue my academic interests.
Concurrently, I began therapy at Church-Wellesley Health Centre. It turns out that if your brain is used to operating in fight-or-flight survival mode, once you find a soft place to land — such as a loving home with a caring partner and a supportive research environment — your brain might still see it as a threatening situation. That’s when I learned about complex post-traumatic stress disorder (CPTSD).
I wrote about my experiences in Elemental, U of T’s mental health magazine, but the short version is that I essentially put together a mini-PhD in me: I read a lot, I journalled about my experiences and I consulted with my mental health committee.
Eventually, I came to understand that my brain isn’t wrong, but rather it was wired for survival. My new goals became to grieve the reasons it ended up that way, to feel the safety that I carefully curated for myself, and to wire myself to believe that I could thrive.
Do you have any advice or wisdom for people who might be going through something similar to what you experienced?
Draw strength in nature. The fact that we exist today is a result of millions of years of trial and error. Our ancestors’ lived experiences breathe through us every day and I hope we can find strength in knowing that they survived so that we could survive and thrive.
Make it a goal to find community, even if the spaces you find cater to only one of the hats you wear. Sitting in a room where people just “get” certain aspects of your experience can help you imagine the next steps in crafting a space where all of your hats can be worn at once.
And in those moments when you feel truly alone, I hope you can hear the voice that asserts that you are unique and that your uniqueness deserves to be seen.
