Money is only secured once it is in hand.
On March 12, 2020, my contract was liquidated, and my account hit zero. At that moment, I truly understood what a "liquidity vacuum" meant for the first time—it's not about numbers shrinking, but rather hope being drained away.
I tried to reach out to three people who had helped me before, and that same night I received three different style responses of "sorry". One of them was my college roommate.
In our freshman year, he was so frugal that he wouldn't even use the seasoning packets for instant noodles. I lent him half a month's living expenses without even writing an IOU. After graduation, I joined the company internally, and during my leadership interview, they asked me about him. I used all the positive words I could think of. He rode the wave and earned over 2 million in a year.
Later at a gathering, he talked about watches, shoes, and the bag he bought for his girlfriend while I listened with a smile, remaining silent.
On March 15, 2020, I sent him a message: "Need 50,000 for turnover, will return in two weeks."
He replied with three voice messages, summarizing it in two words: no money.
At that moment, I felt no anger, just a "click" in my heart as if a door had been shut. That night I walked on the road, the streetlights compressed my shadow flat, resembling my dignity at that time.
I suddenly understood that so-called human feelings are not debts that can be settled; so-called friends are not banks that can be withdrawn from at any time.
That night, I told myself: no matter how much I earn in the future, I will first liquidate half and no longer use "sentiment" as collateral. The market will not pity your positions, and friends will not automatically honor your goodwill.
When one is poor once, one wakes up once.
Since then, I no longer believe in "let's talk about it later" and no longer place hope on others.
I convert my earnings into cash, convert cash into options, and keep the options for myself—this is all the knowledge I gained through 312.@juice13