Chapter 2 — My Favorite Number

Today is 11.11 — my favorite day.

Why this number? Because, in ways I still cannot fully explain, the number 11 has quietly walked beside me through seventeen years of living and working far from home. I received the joyful news of my first job abroad in November. My first working day was January 11. Even the letters in my English name add up to eleven. And two years ago, a dear friend who studies numerology told me that my “last peak of career” would also arrive under the number eleven — November 2025.

At the time, I had no idea what that “last peak” would look like. I only knew that I was strangely excited to meet it. Now, as I write these lines in the sixteenth hour of this special day, a quiet realization settles into my heart: the final peak of a career is not the place where we stand the highest — it is the place where we feel the most complete. And I write this after leaving behind the hardest ten-month climb of my life.

By pure coincidence, today — while copying my blog onto a USB drive — I picked up an old Intel key-shaped flash drive I once received as an employee gift. When I opened it, I froze. Inside were all the photographs from my mother’s funeral ten years ago. Tears came before I could stop them. In that moment, I felt her presence so clearly, as if she were gently watching over my writing, encouraging me to continue — at least to finish this chapter on this very special day.

“Your life reflects what you think, not what you do.”

During my ten-month journey through depression, anxiety, and psychosis, I learned that healing does not begin with action. It begins with thought. When the mind is filled with fear or doubt, even an ordinary day can feel unbearably heavy. But the moment I began thanking God — the moment I accepted that there was a reason I had been asked to walk through this illness — a small light returned. That light did not explode into brilliance overnight. It flickered gently, teaching me how to return to ordinary life step by step.

I started with simple rituals I once loved: writing in my journal, greeting the morning with music, ending each day with prayer — thanking God for what I had managed to do, and asking for more health and time to complete what still waits ahead. Slowly, moments that once felt suffocating became lighter. Anger and bitterness softened into sweetness and calm.

I began to recognize myself again — the version of me that existed before illness. The woman who believed that actions can change circumstances, but thoughts color the entire journey. Gratitude, I discovered, is not decoration; it is medicine. When we learn to think with gratitude, it gently eases pain, quiets anxiety, and opens a silent strength within us. It becomes a bridge between wound and peace, despair and hope.

You may wonder how I managed to rise against three illnesses at once — when even one can break a person for months or years. The truth is, I still marvel at it myself. But I believe my strength was rooted in love: I grew up as the youngest daughter in a large family, surrounded by unconditional care. That foundation carried me. And if I could find a path forward, I believe others can too. To those reading this who are still fighting, I want you to know: there is a way through. Life remains beautiful. It is still waiting for us, full of unexpected miracles.

And I remember the words of the psychologist I met in Singapore when my illness first began:

“You have only one life to live.” Those words were not a warning. They were an invitation — to return to life fully, consciously, gratefully.