I purchased The Sunday NY Times.

I never read or bought The NY Times before that day. Today I’m an avid reader.

I am a firm believer in faith, Karma, destiny and a higher being. Just not the Church.

It was going on six months since losing my job at a CALDOR department Store (They went out of business). I became miserable and started a downward spiral into depression.

Here’s a pic for those too young to know.

The job paid $4.35 per hour in 1998. And it was my full time job. I was going to auto tech school at night hoping for a better career one day.

I started drinking heavy. I didn’t care. It was bad enough that I was already poor, on welfare and housing assistance. But when all that misery combined with alcohol, my situation made me feel even more hopeless. And I was ready to let go.

But life turned into a blessing on that fateful Sunday. I got up around 7:00AM to go buy more beer. It used to be illegal to sell beer before 12:00PM on Sundays in NY. But because I’m a regular from the neighborhood, I was allowed to tuck the bottle in my jacket.

(SOOOO EMBARRASSING!)

I started to walk out after my purchase when I decided to buy a NY Daily News. But it’s too early. No daily news, only The NY Times. So I grabbed one, handed over my $1.50 and walked out.

I immediately went to the help wanted ads when I got back in my apartment. And there it was. The biggest help wanted add on the page.

$12 - $18 per hour.

For one day only 9AM-12PM. on that following Monday.

Doors close promptly at 12.

I was twenty-four years old and never came close to earning $5 per hour.

I woke up early that Monday morning. And gave myself two hours to get there for a trip that takes about one hour. I put on my Sunday best, grabbed some résumés and started my trip to the JFK Hilton.

I arrived and found the conference room and it was barren. There were only about fifty people in the conference room. It didn’t feel like a job fair. I almost turned around because I thought I was in the wrong place.

We were called in the order that we signed in. I watched as some people left after the short interview and some sat back down. I was one of the people that was told to sit back down after my interview.

Round two came as fast as round one. This company has this job fair thing down to a science. I’m called back up to the table by Mrs. Alexander. I will never forget her. She hands me a drug test cup and says follow me. A drug test! at a job fair. Probably the best way to weed out the druggies.

After that, I fill out all my employment forms. And then she says. “let’s go over some things while we wait for your results. Because of your experience and interests I have decided to hire you as a motor pool mechanic. This is your rate of pay, you will be on 90 days probation with random drug testing, report to this man at this location this time next Monday. Now read and sign your code of ethics booklet.”

(And with the most beautiful motherly I understand what you have been going through smile) Mrs. Alexander says “Congratulations Gerry and fix your tie.”

I’M HIRED! The whole process took all of 40 minutes. I went from $4.35 per hour. To $16.52 in 40 minutes. I walked out of that Hilton with tears in my eyes.

It only gets better from there. I start work and immediately fall in love with the company, the work hours, the people, and of course the pay. Life got good and was only going to get better.

I get great advice from an older worker. One can go anywhere in this company. Just get your Qualies (Qualifications) for everything, go to class for everything, read and study everything and then get your ass out of the motor pool.

So I did just that. I went from repairing company vehicles at the motor pool, to lineman electrician, and now my present position as a locomotive engineer earning six figures. Six figures with a high school degree and a technical school certificate. And I can honestly say that I do not mind paying taxes at the end of every year.

Being poor and uneducated gave me serious depression. And That Sunday NY Times was destiny.

• If the NY Daily News was available that Sunday I wouldn’t have bought The NY Times.
• The job fair had few people because poor people won’t pay $1.50 for the Sunday NY Times when the NY Daily News is only $ 0.75.
• And NY Times readers don’t usually look at the help wanted ads.

Something was definitely pulling the strings behind the scenes for me. I was going the opposite direction of where I am today.

I didn’t really have one turning point. I had two.

When I was eighteen, I didn’t really know what I was going to do with my life. I’d made it into the school of my choice, and was planning on majoring in English and Journalism, but beyond that? Not a single clue. I didn’t know if I wanted to go into teaching or journalism or what, but I needed a degree and I didn’t think I was good enough at anything else to try.

Unfortunately, my back had other plans. The bad disc in my spine flared up, halfway through my first semester, and I was forced to drop out of school and return home for several months’ worth of physical therapy. I ended up re-enrolling at the local branch of the same college to continue my degree.

While I was there, I met the man who is now my fiancé. I got engaged at nineteen. If you’d asked me up until that point if I planned on finding a future husband so young, I would have laughed and said I had better things to do with my time.

So that was point number one.

Point number two came along shortly after. As if my back wasn’t enough health problems to deal with, my body decided to reinforce that it hated me, and I started growing tumors in my breasts.

Benign, thankfully, but the more time that passed, the larger and more painful the tumors became. I started staying up all night long, unable to sleep because the pain was so bad. I’d doze in the middle of class because I was exhausted all the time. My grades slipped. I finished the semester with a 1.9 GPA. A few weeks into the next, my mom caught me before I was able to swallow a bottle of pain pills, and I was sent to a psychiatric ward for the second time in my life. I had to drop out again; I’d missed too many classes.

I ended up taking a year off school to figure out what to do with my life, and as luck would have it, one of my mother’s photographer-slash-videographer friends was looking for an assistant around his studio. Seeing as I had nothing better to do with my time, I signed on, figuring I could at least make some pocket money before going back to school.

Ha, school. Like I could get back in with my track record.

I ended up loving the work. The lighting, the editing, the filming, all of it, and I realized I finally knew what I wanted to do for a living. I began looking into a community college that I knew would accept me despite my less than stellar performance over the last year.

I ended up making the Dean’s List, and my fiancé and I are planning on going overseas to London in the fall to continue our education. Life sometimes has a funny way of turning out alright.

I got punched in the face so hard my cheek was shattered.

I had one bone sticking out into my eye socket.

And I was so drunk I didn’t even realize it.

Every Wednesday night before Thanksgiving my friends and I would get together and drink bourbon. A lot of it.

On that particular Wednesday—a week before my final exams at UC Davis Law—we all went to Denny’s at two in the morning to have breakfast. When we were done, one of my friends got into a fight in the parking lot. I stepped in to separate the two.

That’s when I got hit.

I was out cold.

When I came to and stood up my friend stared at me, his mouth gaping and his eyes wide. “Dude! You need to go to the hospital, NOW!”

“I’ll be fine,” I replied. “It’s nothing.”

I’d been in plenty of fights growing up. I was bullied in high school and I fought back.

Besides, I was completely drunk. I couldn’t imagine this being anything serious.

I sat down on the curb.

Sirens blared and blue lights flashed. A police car screeched to a halt and the officers came out. When one of them saw me, he had the same reaction as my friend.

“You need to go the hospital!”

“Thanks Officer, I’m good.”

He shook his head and made a phone call.

When the paramedics came they told me what everyone had been telling me. And I replied stubbornly, again, that I was okay.

“Come have a look in the mirror,” one of them said. “And if you still don’t want to go, we won’t make you.”

When he held it up to my face I gasped.

I ended up needing facial reconstruction surgery. And it turned out bone fragments floating in my eye had almost made me blind.

My father worked at the hospital. He picked me up in the morning and took me home.

I started sobbing uncontrollably in the car. “I’ve ruined my life,” I thought. With mere days left to the exam, I was sure I’d fail.

If I did and I were forced to take the exam again next year, no decent law firm would hire me. Lawyers being lawyers they’d find out about the one-year gap and why it happened and reject me.

I could see my future dissolving in front of my eyes.

It was a watershed moment. There was the old me, getting into fights, drinking, being reckless and destructive. And there was the new me, working hard, being thoughtful, trying to carve out a bright future for myself.

And they could no longer coexist.

I didn’t want to press charges against the guy. But the DA did and they called me to testify. When I showed up to his arraignment I was shocked.

He must have been six foot six and 240 pounds with an ugly scar on the side of his face.

His hands were as big as Big Mac burgers.

He was massive. I felt stupid. No wonder he shattered my face.

Walking around law school with a blue eye and bandages on my face was humiliating. But despite being high and hazy on painkillers, I passed all the exams. And when I say I passed I mean I did very, very well.

To this day I’m not sure how I managed.

I got a job at a prestigious Global 50 law firm fresh out of school. Eventually, I ended up leaving to join a Bitcoin company. And then I founded my own startup dedicated to freelancer financial inclusion.

It was the last time I got into a fight. And it was the last time I got so drunk.

I had made my choice.

Exactly 9 years back.i.e., 25th January 2009.

One phone call changed my life.

Story behind this date:

She was my classmate.

I proposed her on 19th Sept, 2008.

She rejected then and there.

We became friends gradually.

Then she started loving me back and I didn't know that.

(You know how smart are the girls right?)

But she never wanted to tell me that because she knew that it would never work out in her family due various reasons .

(Mainly due to different community)

And it was 25th Jan, 2009 12.15 A.M

Place: S.V.University Engineering College Campus, Tirupati, Andhra Pradesh.

We were there in our respective hostels. It was one of classmate's birthday.

I knew that she is still awake to wish our classmate on B'day.

That day I was very low, feeling very sad. I Was thinking of her and decided that she's not mine.

But I decided to let her know my pain atleast.

Till then I never called her at midnights even on her birthday.

But that day I decided to talk her.

When I was talking to her, she came to know my pain.

She realized how deeply I'm in love with her.

Until then, she never wanted to express her love and she already decided to hide that love within forever.

(They are experts in that)

But it was her weak moment after listening to sad part of my one side love.

She opened up.

She said “ Nuvvante naku kuda chachentha ishtam. Kani vadhu. Idhi jaragadu. Nuv inka badha padatam naku istam ledhu”

Even I like you so much. But it won't workout. I dont want you to hurt anymore. Please leave it.

Then, I started clearing all the dark clouds around her.

Finally we are together now and also our families.

Last night also we were remembering that day.

And she said

“ Btw, thanks for that phone call. That was very weak moment otherwise I wouldn't have expressed my love forever. ”.

Here's a recent click.

Edit: We are happy 4 now

I had one big turning point that completely changed my life and my way of thinking.

When I was 19, around New Years, I had an anxiety attack. It was like nothing that’s ever happened to me before. I’ve always been somewhat of a worrier, but this hit me hard. I only remember that I thought I had some kind of brain tumor and I thought I was dying. I spent the next two nights in the hospital because I was sure something was wrong.

Anyway, after realizing that this was indeed just anxiety, I was obsessed with it. I couldn’t stop thinking about why this happened and how I could get back to normal. Of course, this gave me a sense of constant anxiety, and eventually lead to a pretty deep depression. When I was at my worst, I couldn’t even be alone. I withdrew from college that semester just to try to deal with this.

This was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever went through, but I am so thankful it happened because it taught me a few very important things.

• Face your fears head on - about 6 months after this, I decided to move to a town where I didn’t know anyone, hours away from friends and family. I had to get out of my comfort zone and start my personal journey. This manifests in different ways for people, but you must do exactly what it is you’re scared of in these situations.
• Focus on the journey, not the result - This may be the most important thing I’ve learned in my life. This applies to absolutely everything. My ideologies changed so much because of this notion. I no longer cared about money or social status; I now only care about my own passions and helping make the world a better place. My religion changed as well. There’s a story in the Bible that talks about “getting to heaven because you’ve done good” rather than “doing good so you can get to heaven”. There’s a big difference.
• Stop caring what other people think - This helps your mental health in so many ways. You stress a lot less and live how you want to live.

You see these pieces of advice or quotes and don’t really think twice, but until something drastic happens you don’t fully realize the importance. Yeah id say this was definitely my turning point in life.

I was in the military in the early 80’s. This was before drug testing, before MADD (mothers against drunk driving) before all the hubbub about smoking etc.

Back then in the USA if you were caught drunk driving they took your keys, you paid a fine, and they made you walk home. In Germany the polizei beat your ass, you paid a fine, and they made you walk home, but no one got their career ruined over a DUI.

AIDS wasn't a thing then and even when it did become a thing it was something that only happened to gay people, or so we thought.

Our drinking culture just doesn't exist in any kind of widespread capacity today in the western world except maybe still in the military.

We drank. A lot. So much so that its hard to believe we ever survived it, indeed some of us didn't.

The enlisted ranks were full of mainly the “new” society's unemployable. Coal miners and steel workers’ kids, hicks, immigrants and minorities trying to escape the inner city. Round that off with what was left of the Vietnam Vets and you have a picture of what it was in 1981.

In the Barracks we had one big garbage can that was off limits so that on the weekends we would fill it up with ice, Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, Bacardi, assorted types of beer and whatever else anyone wanted to drink.

There was a bar that served a drink called an “Archie special” (named after the owner Archie). If you could drink two of them, sit for 10 minutes then walk across the bar without stumbling you got to drink for free the next weekend and got your official BIG BOY CARD.

I got my card, but Archie died of liver failure, a victim of his own concoctions.

I remember getting drunk one night and driving through town while my buddy hung out the window with a baseball bat killing snowmen. I remember 4-day weekends and being drunk 3 of the 4 days. I remember being helped to my car because I was so drunk I couldn't walk straight and being put behind the wheel to drive my crew 45 minutes away to the big town where the bars stayed open until 4 AM. I remember sex with dozens of nameless faceless women from all over the world in every dive bar in every military town I was ever in.

I had “girlfriends” that I never saw sober and they in turn probably never saw me sober except coming and going in the morning. We always met at a bar and whoever came first was always drunk by the time the other one showed up.

I survived it all without a scratch or catching anything worse than crabs (once) from the lounge lizards.

One thing changed all that.

One normal day I woke up on the side of the highway behind the wheel of my car, an eighteen wheeler passed by speeding and it rocked the car waking me up.

I was in Germany, I was 70 kilometers away from my post, the car was out of gas, and I had no clue how I got there.

Kind of like this guy

Still don't know how I got there to this day.

None of my buddies saw me leave and I don't remember one minute of that night. It was like I was abducted by aliens or just dropped off the face of the earth.

Scary is waking up behind the wheel of your car with no recollection of how you got there and no ideal where you are.

That was a real turning point in my life. I still drank but nothing like I did before that happened.

This happened three years back. The time between school end and start of college.

That was the time when I was going through a lot of thoughts about admission process and I had not performed well in entrance exams as well.

I was attending a party with my family. Here comes those so called well wishers from my neighbors. They made me feel so ashamed in front of my parents due to my poor performance in academics that I wanted kill myself.

I left the party in between and cried a lot. Suddenly my phone rang. It was my friend -a guy. And I am a girl .... to make it clear.

I ignored the call few times. Then he he messaged me ... hey I am around here ... wanna ride in my new scooty ?
I replied no.
Few minutes later he was in front of me. ( I was sitting in park).
He saw my face ... said nothing.
Pulled me on his scooty and started going somewhere.
We exchanged no word in 30min ride.

I was lost in my thoughts so deeply that I couldn't realize that we came too far.
He stopped .. parked it somewhere and here we are .... at marine drive.

Now he said first words to me .
.....Sit here and cry... it is easier to drain down tears directly to the sea!

That's what I like in guys. He never asked me why I was crying nor gave any sympathy. He just gave me space. Just made me forget whatever I was thinking few minutes back.

And it worked.. we talked casually for few minutes and then started walking along marine drive.

I was wearing a high heels sandals and was finding it difficult to walk properly.
He suggested me to take those in hand and walk.

I said no... what would people think of me.
He forced me to remove my sandals and took one of them in his hand.

I was like... what the hell he is doing?

He said.. I am holding one you hold another yourself. And started walking.

I thought... being a guy he is not ashamed of holding a girl's footwear in his hand. And here is me... can't hold mine.
I quickly grabbed my other sandal and ran few steps ahead to catch him and snatched the sandal from his hands.

Then he said...

If you always care about what others think of you... you won't be able to walk the way you like.

Those words just changed my mind.

I was feeling so free now. I realized that I was the only one who was making my life so complicated.
I just kissed him (not on lips... a friendly one)... hugged him and said thanks so many times.

He didn't knew what he has done.
He was surprised by my sudden behaviour.

Then he said... that was too much for little petrol I wasted for you.

We laughed... and started our ride back to home.

It was around 11pm and it started to rain.
My parents were worried and had called me numerous times... but my phone was silent.

I reached home hugged my mom who was in tears already. Dad was out ... to search for me.

My mom called him inside and insisted him to stay for night as it was raining heavily that time.

I called my dad to come back from wherever he was.

My mom started asking him what happened and how he changed my mood.

I said- maa... he knows nothing what he has done.

He said ... aunty even I don't know what made her so happy... she thanked me many times... but never offered a treat....(with is hand over his stomach)

Mom said... ohh yeah I haven't asked you for food. Ohh NO.. no one had dinner today... everyone was worried about this mad girl.

She gave us some snacks by the time she was cooking food.

When mom left to kitchen... he said... I feel like hero today.

Mom heard that.... she shouted from kitchen...
Hero baad me banna .... pehle apne ghar phone lagao.

which meant-
first call and inform at your home.. then become hero.

he whispered......

don't care what others think... but do care what your parents think.

This was the moment that changed my life. From that day I never bothered what my neighbors say and think of me. I moved on … far ahead.

And here I am today. May not be very successful in others eyes, but I know that my parents are proud of me.

That guy is not my boyfriend. He is just one of the special friends we all wish to have in our life. Though I would have proposed him if he was single.

I am waiting for last three years, but he is still in that relationship. I wish he was mine ;)

But I think someone else is more lucky than I am.

He is very active on quora, hope he reads this. He still don’t know what he has done that day.

It seemed like a regular Thursday afternoon…I was at an orientation for a new job I was going to start the following week.

I remember sitting their listening to the presenter giving us information when all of a sudden the security guard came up to me and said that someone was their to pick me up for something urgent.

I walked out of the orientation and remember my grandpa in his maroon dodge caravan waiting for me. I got into the car and all he said was “were going to go see your mom.” As we left, I couldn’t help but notice the gloomy and gray skies.

In my head I was thinking “I’m not really sure what’s going on…”

On our way to where my mom was, he mentioned something about “hospice.” Being the curious person I am, I started to google on my phone what hospice was. That’s when I read some disturbing information…but I didn’t believe it.

It said something along the lines of hospice is a place where people go to pass away peacefully. The thought of my mom passing away never really ever crossed my mind. We arrived and I remember a ton of my family members being there.

It seemed like our family was there to celebrate something. No one really told me why we were there but I was grateful to be visiting my mom. Let me give you some background…

Before being admitted to hospice she had actually been battling stage 3 cancer for two years.

I saw my mom go from healthy, glowing and full of life to having no hair, looking like she was always in pain, had no appetite, looked skinny and her glow wasn’t the same anymore. You could see on the outside the toll the disease was taking on her physically, mentally and spiritually.

I remember seeing my mom cry because she didn’t want to lose her hair. That’s one of the major side effects of chemo therapy. For most of us, our hair is apart of our image and identity as a person, especially for women. I could only imagine how she painful it was to go through that but it was painful.

My dad being the kind soul he is decided that he was going to cut his hair off too so my mom didn’t feel like she was alone. My mom was always the one to support us and now it was time for us to support her.

I was inside one of the family areas when someone came in and asked me to go into the room where my mom was. I walked in her room and saw one low lit lamp in the corner making the room feel peaceful, relaxing and comforting.

Different family members were standing around her saying prayers and with their hands on her over the blanket she had. I was standing on the left side of her as she seemed like she was having trouble breathing but her eyes remained closed.

The nurse came in with a cup of water and one of those small sponges with a stick at the end of it for people who can’t drink on their own. She rubbed the wet sponge on her lips so they didn’t dry and so she had some water.

What seemed like a few moments later, one of my family members said to me in a gentle voice “Rj, tell her it’s okay to let go.” Not consciously knowing what they were talking about I grabbed my mom’s hand, closed my eyes and said:

“It’s okay mom, you can let go now, everything will be okay.”

Never will I forget witnessing my mom take her final breathe. After that moment, the day kind of turned into a blur. I didn’t think I’d have to experience my mom passing away until I was much older but it happened at eighteen.

The hardest thing to find out was that my mom didn’t want my sisters and I to know that she was going to die. My mom and entire family already knew that my mom only had a few months to live. Unfortunately, that’s not something I knew until the day she died.

I believed that the doctors would be able to cure her cancer and bring her back to a state of good health. But that belief was shattered when I found out that cancer is a business for pharmaceutical companies. The doctors are taught to treat with drugs.

I found out that doctors are trained to treat symptoms of cancer and disease but not the cause. This was painful to find out because I started to find alternative medicine and holistic healing approaches that my mom never got the full opportunity of doing.

This made me realize that not everything we believe is true. This was a game changer for me because I started to question the beliefs that I had about the world and the things I believed in.

This experience led me to my dark night of the soul. I had lost faith in the religion I mildy believed in. I started to question if God was real and what the purpose of my life was if we’re going to die someday. These deep questions led me to figuring out that my purpose is inspiring hope in other people.

I’ve discovered that by accepting reality, working on my mindset, improving my self-awareness, prioritizing my health and adopting positive habits, anyone can transform their lives no matter where they’re at right now. It all starts with a deciding that enough is enough. Now, go live your best life.

P.S. To learn how to use the law of attraction and power of the mind to manifest your BEST LIFE, watch this video I made here.

I was 41, and in an emotionally abusive marriage. One night about midnight I was outside smoking a cigarette on the front porch and I had a satori.

Suddenly my consciousness is whisked through the universe and I can see EVERYTHING. I see the planets and I see earth, I see the people, the plants and animals, the hopes and joys and fears of billions of people. I see and understand my “place” in the world and the relation of my place to the place of everything else in the world. I understood that there is a perfect equality for every living thing. My life is no greater than a tiny bacteria and bacteria is no less that the greatest being on the planet. We are all equal.

The whole event lasted a split second but it was so moving and profound that my point of view on EVERYTHING changed in that split second. In that split second I was irrevocably changed. I left my emotionally abusive husband, discovered new confidence in myself. I lost 40 lbs. I healed my relationship with my mother, got my “dream job”, met my boyfriend (almost 8 years) and finally found a positive stride as a mother.

I went from wretched and scared to capable, happy and calm. I sure do wish I knew how to bottle this stuff!

Moving away for college. I needed to get away from my parents misery.

In order to understand why this was the biggest moment that changed my life for the better I will have to tell you the story of me growing up…

I wouldn’t say I had a terrible childhood but growing up with parents that argued about everything and used me to talk ill about each other was very difficult for me. I love my parents dearly and hearing all these terrible stories they told me changed my whole perception about them. They were being childish, hot-headed, stubborn, and selfish. I was still growing up, still trying to navigate my own life, my friends, and relationships.

By the time I was in 8th grade I was suicidal, crying daily and became a recluse. My very best friend from 2nd grade started talking shit about me because she was jealous (she wrote me an apology letter in sophomore year). She would call me a slut, a flirt, hoe, etc. She spread so many rumors about me that all the boys wanted to date me because they thought I would be easy. I started hiding away in the girls restroom when it was recess time. I begged my teacher to let me stay in her classroom when lunch came around.

All this was happening while my parents put me in the middle of their arguments. I didn’t understand why my parents would do this to me. They probably didn’t know what I was going through. I remember many days I would spend talking to my very own psychologist at school because my teacher recommended it when she noticed I was secluding myself from other people and crying so often at school. My parents was not notified about my behavior because I told my teachers and psychologist that they were the problem too. I felt safe with my counselor. She provided me a safe haven when I felt like there was no hope for me.

My situation still did not get better as the years went by. I was in high school but I was still depressed and suicidal. I remember every cut, every pill I took to numb my pain. I always wore long sleeves to hide the cuts on my arms. Ran away from home several times. I know what I did probably did not help the situation but at that time I just wanted to get away. When my brother was finally old enough to understand what I was going through he tried to make me feel better. He would leave me alone when I needed to be by myself. He made me food when I was too weak to even put food in my mouth.

I was in college now and my parents never stopped arguing; about money, about cheating, about where to live, about what to eat, about anything and everything. My mom blamed my dad for never buying a house (I lived in the same apartment for 22 years of my life). My dad blamed my mom for not taking care of him and not “making love with him”. Yes, my dad complained to me about not having sex. My mom moved out with my brother once she got accepted to Section 8 Housing. My dad and I stayed in our apartment.

My dad was so sad so he wanted to go to Vietnam. He asked me to let him borrow $2,000 to go to Vietnam and visit his family. Little did I know I was paying for his trip to see a woman he met online. I remember when my mom asked me where my dad was and I told her Vietnam. Her eyes bulged and she started screaming: “Why did you let him go?!?! How did he pay for it?!? When did he go?!?! Have you spoken to him?!?!” She was screaming at me in the parking lot after I got out of my part-time job. She followed me back to the apartment to scream at me some more. She said that she wanted to speak to him but I told her that he would probably call in the morning (when it was night for him).

So the next morning she came back and my dad called on Skype. I had a 40″ monitor so my mom can see my dad clearly. She stood right beside me (not in view of the webcam) and told me what to say to my dad (even though my dad can hear her). She still screamed and told me what to say. My dad was also screaming and told me what to say. It was RIDICULOUS! I had enough! I started screaming so loud that both my parents were shocked. I started pulling my hair out and showed them all my cuts told them how bad I wanted to die. They called me crazy. I felt so little, so tired, so over everything. I had a mental break down. My mom finally pushed me towards my bed (it was right next to the computer). I was rocking back and forth still pulling hair out. My mom finally faced my dad and they argued and fought. I just sat their crying and realized I needed to get to class.

Finally two years in community college was finished and I was eligible to transfer. I only applied to schools that I had to move away in order to attend. I got accepted into CSU Long Beach. I was so happy when I got the letter. I told my parents I was leaving. They did not understand why I wanted to go to a school so far away. I told them because I could not be with them anymore. I could not be in the middle of their drama. I finally got the courage to tell them how horrible they were; to me and to each other.

I think something changed in them when I told them that it was their fault that I couldn’t be near them anymore. They realized how horrible they were to each other and to me. I have been living in southern California for about 7–8 years now. My parents are still together. They are more amicable now. They are handling their issues more calmly. They still talk shit about each other but it is less frequent. Whenever I visit it is awkward. I still feel guilty for leaving. I feel guilty I couldn’t do more, be more, handle it better. I also feel sad that it took me leaving for them to understand how much they hurted me. They made me feel like I was the source of the problem. I am much happier now but still traumatized. I am still working on my own issues of insecurity, low self esteem, and just trying to love myself.

Thank you for taking the time to read this…

We all have our own paths in life and my path is not the same as yours or anyone else’s. I believe that some people will have a fairly smooth journey through life with no major ups or downs.

But, others will have a rollercoaster ride and won’t know which way is up sometimes. I think it is these people who are more likely to experience pivotal turning points, as they come out of one bad situation, into a good one.

I have been through many turning points in my life; some good, some bad.

I think the most pivotal turning point was a rare, chance meeting of a friend in a pub one evening.

We knew of each other, but we weren’t close friends at the time. And I was a quiet, shy, repressed, introvert - married to a narcissistic, controlling, hypochondriac woman. We got talking at the pub and he said that he was looking for a Systems Engineer for a new project he was involved with. I was in a dead-end job and extremely unhappy. Not only that, I had an official complaint lodged against my boss for harassment and inappropriate behaviour. So, I was looking for any way out.

Basically, I had my interview that evening and my friend said I’d get a phone call the next day. Sure enough, midway through the following afternoon I got the call. From that moment onwards, my feet have not touched the ground. Literally. I travel around the world now, working in lots of different countries.

But, it’s not just the job that changed my life. I met a guy who has turned into the best friend anyone could possibly ask for. First, he helped me come out of my shell. Without me knowing, I became more confident and I started believing in myself. He also helped me understand all the reasons why I was so unhappy at home and in my marriage. I started to see that my marriage was not normal, as I had been led to believe by her family. It was anything but normal and the way I was treated is absolutely disgusting. I finally found the courage to say “enough”; the last time you’ll abuse me. I got out. Luckily, we did not have children, so I never need to see her again.

The story doesn’t stop there. My best friend went on to help me rebuild my life, supporting me all the way. I’ve cried with him when I needed, because I was not ashamed with him. Then, when another pivotal moment happened and I met my current partner and true soulmate, he has been with me all the way. I was a little short of money when buying an apartment, so he lent the money to me from his own savings.

In essence, he has supported me 100% and helped me when almost everyone else wanted to screw me.

I can honestly say, if I did not go to the pub that evening, I would not be where I am now.

My parents were very active in the church. We were there twice on Sunday and once on Wednesday. While I was still in elementary school there was a retired individual (named Quincy) who played the xylophone. He really added a lot to the traditional piano and organ. One particular Sunday morning I noticed how empty the music sounded. I was told that Quincy had gotten a lethal does of ‘carbon monoxide poisoning’ while idling his engine inside the garage. It was January and very cold outside. Quincy had been trying to get the engine of his car to idle smoothly. Even though the building was nothing more than an old shed that the snow would blow through on occasion, it didn't take long for the carbon monoxide from the engine’s exhaust pipe to build up and become deadly.

What I remember thinking is that we lived in a county that had a large community of Old Order Amish. The only choice they had for transportation was a “horse and buggy” or a bicycle. I knew that a horse or human does not release lethal amounts of carbon monoxide in a matter of minutes. When I began asking how such a death could be justified, since we had an example of alternative transportation in our own community, I was surprised what happened. The adults seemed to be angry at me for even thinking such a thing. They began a type of manipulative dialogue that I now know as gaslighting. Even at that young age I knew that something wasn't right about what I was being told. The adults were just making excuses and didn't want to admit how important comfort had become for them. This incident is definitely the turning point that resulted in the person I am today.

The pivotal moment in my life was when I became self-aware. Until you become self-aware you are something that is reactive, not proactive. I can still remember the day. It was in Seventh Grade English and the teacher was Mrs Willard, an aged but incredibly dignified woman who commanded respect by treating the students with respect. It was the first day of class and we had been handed out one of our textbooks, a vocabulary textbook. I can still see it. The book had been published in the 1950s but we were still using it in 1972. It had cloth-bound covers with frayed pieces of string hanging from the binding but it was a well-made, solid book. I didn’t want to open it. I didn’t want to learn. I wanted to be home having tea with the cat and hiding in my warm little spot next to the clothes dryer with it’s comforting rumble and warm exhaust. But Mrs Willard would have none of that. She cracked that book open to the list of words we had to learn.

And there they were, in alphabetical order. I don’t remember the words now, just how superior I felt already knowing most of them. The ancient book used words in sentences and many of the sentences used awkward subjects that were common in the 1950s but way out of touch in modern 1972. We often snickered over the paragraphs of text with words like “keen” and references to President Eisenhower.

But one sentence caught my eye. The word they were teaching was “initiative”. The sentence was “If a boy wants girlfriends he must take the initiative.”. I thought it was an archaic expression like the others. I didn’t want girlfriends. I had barely passed puberty the month before. Girls were uninteresting and if they were anything like my sisters, merely enemies to be suffered or do stuff for me.

But the sentence nagged at me. I read it over again. I didn’t know why it impressed me so much. I read the surrounding text, something stupid about John asking Mary to the “hop”. It was stupid. I tried to dismiss it. I looked around the room. Sitting next to me was a girl named Marsha. In that moment I noticed that under her velour jumper Marsha had somehow developed breasts. They were tiny but they were there. And they were extremely distracting. Something was happening to me in that very moment and I suddenly was covered with sweat, and I was hot. I looked around the room in confusion. Nothing had changed. I looked back at Marsha and her tiny breasts and cute jumper. She was different. She had become “attractive”. Suddenly. All the girls were different. Something was different. “If a boy wants girlfriends he must take the initiative.” I didn’t want a girlfriend. I didn’t know what I wanted. The class ended. I moved on and forgot about it.

But over the next days I found myself walking the halls to class after class and examining the chests of all the girls I passed. Some had nothing at all, as flat as I was. But some were developing. I didn’t know a goddam thing about my body or sex. When I woke up one day earlier that summer and discovered pubic hair I was so panicked I cut it all off. But you can’t hold back puberty with scissors.

If a boy wants girlfriends he must take the initiative. I didn’t want girlfriends. I wouldn’t want girlfriends for a long three more years and when I did it was because nature hit me with a brick and woke me up. I was standing in the light cage manning the massive spotlights and fresnels during the school play, working the board like Dr. Frankenstein when a girl came up to me to ask me a question about the work. I took one look and it was like getting hit by a bus. That night I laid in bed dreaming of her, wondering what the hell had happened and how inadequate I was. And then that sentence came back to me. “If a boy wants girlfriends he must take the initiative.” And then I knew. Not only was that girl not going to ask me out, some other boy might get her first. What a bad night that was.

And when I woke up in the morning I was a mess because I had become self-aware again. I was ugly and my mother dressed me funny. How was I ever going to get girls the way I was? Who could I talk to? No one, it seemed. By then all my friends were talking about girls, girls, girls all the time but until then I had been a spectator. Now I had been thrown into the deep end and I couldn’t swim. I never got that girl. In fact, she’s still married to one of my worst high school enemies and lives nearby. But I have never forgotten that day and what it taught me about initiative. After that moment I embarked on a life-long program of self-improvement in order to meet girls, get girls, bed girls, date girls and perhaps one day even marry one. But I also discovered that the word “initiative” didn’t only apply to girls. It applied to everything. Jobs, school, friends, paying bills, buying cars - everything. A friend at work some 20 years later philosophically summed it all up for me one day. He said, “There are three kinds of people in this world. People who make things happen; people who watch things happen and people who say, “What happened?”.

Which one do you want to be?

For me..probably my senior year in high school. A little back story I was extremely shy and introverted, painfully so. I had 3–4 close friends in school. At the start of my senior year I had been huge in the CB. Consequently I became a know quantity even though we were seniors I would get someone who knew of me.

Had to come out of my shell a bit, enlisted in the Army Oct 1975. Also wanting to be in law enforcement so here I am this shy, scrawny 18 year old. I took for my 2nd semester a “creative drama” class. All was good until our teacher told us we were going to put on a play for the school!

WTF..who’s we? I was one of the leads..great Mark. We did it slowly, read it in class, then reading it on stage. By the time we did the play I was still nervous as hell, got through it. We were maybe a month from graduation.

A a caveat my entire high school had 600 students, plus teachers and other staff. Shortly after graduation I left for the Army, spent 7 active, 8 Reserves, 10 years as a cop, another 14 years with Florida Dept of Corrections. I was medically retired in 01 due to injuries received during a large incident occurring.

But through painfully shy introverted kid to where I am now..huge. My bride of 43 years has been a huge influence on me as well.. believing in me when I couldn’t.

I have been eager to venture out of India in search for a better life and career during my mid-20’s. I was a mediocre all my life be it studies or work. So, I knew that the life that I had envisioned for myself will not be possible in India as I was not the best at studies and couldn’t afford to study in the Tier-1 universities.

I have never done something ‘Wow’ that puts me into the wow category of people.

I was 27 and was searching for an opportunity to do an MBA from anywhere out of India. Well, to be honest from any place in west.

I have got offers from some Australian universities but had to decline because I couldn’t afford the fee structure or just couldn’t afford it because of personal situations.

Then after about 2 years when I was 27, I got this opportunity from an MBA school based out in Boston. I was very excited to go to Boston. Just a few months before the commencement of the course the university has informed me that all the seats were full at their Boston and San Francisco campus. I was heartbroken. I didn’t want to study in their London campus. But, in order to just grab this opportunity of going out from my usual life, I had reached out to the admissions officer and he shared that there are still some seats left at their Shanghai campus. I said yes to it and moved to Shanghai with my newly wed wife. We both had to given up on our jobs. I was under extreme pressure to ensure that we get settled in west after studying from Shanghai. But, this was China and jobs were still were very limited for a foreigner plus we didn’t want to settle down in China. Just before the onset of the last semester all students got a message from the universities about the University’s policy of rotation. Which means anybody who is interested in completing their degree from some other campus of Hult in any of their many campuses worldwide, can do it. Many of colleagues were happy to stay back in Shanghai but some of them including me chose to relocate to Boston. That moment - changed my life forever at the age of 30.

Post the course there were many challenges to get a good job. Start a family with kids and settle down in Boston or any other good city in US. But, destiny has its own ways and my wife has to leave US as she got a great job in Shanghai because when we were there she had given some interviews and got lucky with a few of them. It was during the end of my MBA course. That changed our personal life as she was away for almost an year and a half, a decision we always regret but we had very little choice at that time because none of us were working.

It is absolutely true that wheatever you have always imagined to become in life, you actually become that but just because it happens after a long long time, we never actually appreciate or acknowledge it.

I am very thankful to myself to have taken that decision to go for an MBA and then the decision of relocation.

I have had many situations like this, but I suppose last year is a great example. I had a crisis. I was very depressed and there were a lot of factors contributing to that. I didn’t have good teachers, was very stressed about schoolwork, me and my Mom were have constant fights (even more than usual), and I felt super alone. I felt like I was trapped by myself in an empty void. I listened to dark music while I locked myself away from the world. I stopped caring about everything. My mind was just….numb. I ended up moving to my Dads house and things were better there because he is much more empathetic. I ended up just falling apart, piece by piece of built up anger busting bursting out. I ended up getting more involved with the church at some point, of which my Dad is a cofounder. I met so many wonderful people and also met my best friend of all time. I went on a trip to Florida with my youth group, which was my first time I felt truly happy in months. What ended up happening is a slowly left that terrible place, aka the worst year of my life so far (yes, including 2020). I began to explore my personality. It is still going, but I have found much of my identity. I have made good friends with a few people, and though I still have many emotional and mental issues, I feel like a cane out of the experience a completely different person. I somehow….understand the world better. I now have huge parts of my personality discovered, like my love for rather darker music and the connections I have with other people. In fact, I haven’t spoken to my best friend in a while. I’ll go do that now.

Growing up, my sister was the difficult child in our family.

I was the quiet one — meek, obedient, kept to myself, and tried my best to make my parents happy.

My sister — my sister was always fighting with my mother.

This was one such incident.

“I wish I'd never had you.”, Maa screams at Didi.

Didi looks defiantly at her, and shouts back, “I hate you. I wish no one has a mother like you.”

The door slams shut, while I run after my sister to console her. Her boards were near, and there was no way she could be allowed to be in a bad mood.

“Didi! Open the door!”, I scream as I bang on her door.

A faint voice ventures out of her room, and she says, “I just hate her, Hirak. I hate her.”

My mother adds, “I hope no one has a daughter like you.”

Two years later, on 9th January, 2012, my sister would fall from the fourth floor while Maa and I were away on a picnic.

For two months, she'd be in the hospital fighting for her life while Maa — Maa would lose her sanity.

She'd stop eating. She'd go to temples to pray. She'd pay thousands to visit fortune tellers who were obviously ripping her off.

She'd buy six different rings for her. She'd ask, literally beg her office colleagues to donate blood. She'd cry whenever she was alone.

She was devastated.

She blamed herself. She never told me, but I know, she blamed herself.

She'd often be heard murmuring how this would have never happened had she been at home.

Finally, we ran out of money.

Didi was still struggling for her life. The doctors said, “Listen, steel your hearts. She only has a ten percent chance of survival.”

Debt mounting, one organ failure after another, a fever that was about to collapse her body, and one surgery to the next.

Didi was yet to be conscious.

She was on the heaviest dosage of morphine you could prescribe. Dust, where her hip bone was supposed to be.

Maa, had to find a way. Some way, some money.

Back then railways had this scheme for employees where railways gives back some money for medical treatment as long as you submit the receipts.

But, this process takes months, sometimes, years to clear.

We just didn't have time.

So, Maa would plead with Delhi, beg to be processed faster.

No response.

Coincidentally, Maa would contract chicken pox from my sister right then.

She was sweaty. She had a throbbing headache. She was barely able to stand.

Marks were just beginning to appear on her face and her arms and legs. But, it paled to what stared at her — the death of her daughter if she didn't find a way.

You wouldn't believe it unless you were there. I was.

I said, “Maa, where are you going? Are you okay? You look sick.”

Maa just stared at me and said nothing. Just silence, while I reached out with my hand to touch her.

She finally said, “Don't touch me. I think I have chicken pox.”

I asked, “Then where are you going?”

She says, “I have to go to Delhi, Hirak. Please take care. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

Those last few words weren't for me, they were for her. I said nothing. I waved a heavy goodbye.

Baba couldn't go with her since someone had to stay with Didi, so she went alone.

Raging on painkillers, mouth parched, struggling to hold on, she'd make the long almost thirty hour journey to Delhi. We didn't even have money for a flight.

She finally reached Delhi.

The first day, while my sister was being prepped for her surgery, Maa was desperately waiting for a meeting.

No food was going in. She was surviving on Parle-g and water.

Back in Kolkata, I could sense the tension in the house. No one was eating. Everyone was waiting to hear back from her.

In Delhi, she wasn't given a time the first day. She was desperate. Dehydrated, she fainted. She then picked herself up and walked away the fever of the pox.

Her body temperature was 103 degrees on a cold, chilly, January.

Day one passed. Day two. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

The unbearable wait.

Finally the phone rang in Kolkata. The papers were processed. She was placed on fast track and the money was arranged for.

In a day, Didi was operated on.

Today, she wouldn't be alive if Maa hadn't made that trip to Delhi risking her life and health.

Two years before this incident, they told each other that their lives would have been better if the other one died.

Two years later, one would risk her life to save the other’s.

This incident changed my life. It changed all I'd come to know about love and loss.

It taught me, that just because you fight, doesn't mean you stop loving someone.