How long does a person walk before realizing they have been walking in a circle? That is how my whole life felt—thinking I was going somewhere, but reality kept showing otherwise. I never thought I would be anyone or do anything important with my life. But all that changed with a prayer.
Let’s go back in time—but not too far back. We will start in 2017, because that year marked a very dark, depressing, almost hopeless season in my life. It was not the first time I had felt this way, but it was one of those moments when you stop, look down, look up, look side to side… sigh… and ask yourself, “After all these years, what do you really have to show for yourself?”
That was when I decided to pray. Not that I had not prayed before throughout my life—just not seriously enough to believe that God was listening to a sinner who had been wallowing for the past forty-ish years. As my wife would later describe it, my life felt like a roller-coaster ride that terrified the soul.
This time, though, it was different. It was serious. My body was not feeling well. My job did not feel fulfilling. And if you have ever spent time teaching abroad, you understand the basic polity of working in private schools—where children in kindergarten are already being prepared for material that feels closer to college entrance exams by the time they graduate. All of that pressure eventually lands on the teacher as expectation.
That day, I prayed to God and asked for a change in my life. I knew I could not keep going the way I was going. What follows, in short, is what began to change.
2017: My stomach was not feeling well, and I will admit the drinking had become excessive. My wife was not happy with my sudden outbursts, or with the reeking smell the neighbors had to put up with. Yeah—it was not a small amount. I was drinking more than water, coffee, or tea.
Eventually, I went to the hospital. On the way there, along the road, there is an island that supports the upper freeway. On that island, I noticed a man lying on a cardboard slab on the ground. I did not think much about it at the time, though I had seen him there before. My life felt too focused and too busy to pay attention to someone I assumed was just crazy for lying between two roads—or so I thought then.
When I arrived at the hospital, the doctor was friendly at first. She asked what was wrong, where it hurt, and all the standard questions. After running some tests, she came back—but her tone had changed. She bluntly asked whether I drank, how much, and I answered honestly. She then told me, just as bluntly, that two more drinks and there would be no reason to come back. She gave me something similar to milk thistle and did not even provide a follow-up paper, which would normally be standard. I understood the message immediately.
On the way home, I was quietly contemplating my own demise. I was two drinks away from not living very long. As I passed the place where the man on the cardboard usually lay, it felt like my scooter suddenly had a mind of its own. Something—some hidden force—seemed to guide me to turn around and park in a nearby spot. So I did.
After parking, I walked over and said “Hi” in Chinese, then asked if I could come closer. He looked at me like, “What? You actually want to talk to me?” Then he said, “Sure.” And just like that, I started a friendship that would last until…