Actually, I had choices. And I blew them.
Was it a right decision to come back to where it all started? Did I remember the grudges when I left this fucking shitty town? Thirty years later, it is even worse just like nightmares.
I had a choice to make. I could have stayed in the United States. New York, San Francisco or Los Angeles or could have even been Chicago.
But I blew it. I stayed with the bank.
Not because of the loyalty to the bank but that was for my grandma.
Both in Hong Kong and in Bangkok, I had offers from other investment banks for much lucrative paychecks.
If I had taken any one of these offers, the life could have been better off, I wonder.
I usually do not look back and regret. But when I do, it always ends up thinking Fuck.
I’m just saying.
All I need is to live in the place where people speak my fucking language. Why is it so hard to find?
