I sit here, every single day, every day, looking at these spreadsheets. Luxury watches. That’s my life now. Selling luxury watches. My parents — they came here, worked so hard. For this. For me to have this job, this nice office. In the homeland, this would be a HUGE deal. A big, big deal. And it is a good job. It is. Good pay, good benefits. Everyone at home would be so proud. My aunts, my uncles, they call, they ask, they say how happy they are for me. They tell my cousins to be like me. But I feel… empty. Is this it? Is this all I’m going to do? Is this my big contribution to the world? Just making rich people feel fancier with a watch they don’t even need? I look out the window at the city, all the lights, all the people doing important things, changing things. And I’m just… here. With numbers. And expensive timepieces. It feels small. Like I’m small. I want to do something that matters. Something real. Not just sell things. I don’t know what. I really don't. But every morning I wake up and it’s the same dread. The same spreadsheets. The same watches. And I just think, is this all there is for me? Is this it?