CHAPTER ONE “NO PERFECT INSTAGRAM I NO PERFECT LIFE”

It’s the FIFA World Cup Final. Korea vs. Germany. It’s Michael Yumin Gehles, 180 cm, young, attractive, successful, and the striker who will write history for both nations in the final penalty shootout. A German-Korean Millennial, the son of a middle-class family, who made it to the top of football history. Millions of people are watching the fascinating event on their screens, but nobody knows exactly which team he is actually shooting for. Everyone seems confused, even himself. I have to take the penalty, but I’m confused. I hear French, but I’m not French. Everything is so sweaty and blurry. I realized it was nothing more than a sweaty dream. It was a dream. My dream. I’m sitting on the train in Economy Class, looking out past cities and the wild, once again on my way to Paris.

I just turned 31. In China, they call me a Diamond Bachelor. Someone who is unmarried, attractive, successful, and socially desirable. Is that a compliment to welcome me into my thirties? These days, I find myself at more weddings than on vacation. I see the brutality between the beginning and the end of life, between births in hospitals and empty graves in the cemetery. And with a bottle of beer, the heartbreak and toxic relationship fuckups of my friends somehow become a little easier to endure. And during deep conversations somewhere between Seoul, Bangkok, Shanghai, and Frankfurt, a bottle of wine brings out my most honest thoughts in the night. Is this really the life I am living?

The deeper the night gets, the clearer it becomes to me how much I am being told in the real world, how to live my life. But isn’t being different better? They keep saying: “Too young to be simple.” But am I still too young in my thirties? I somehow feel blackmailed by society simply because I am searching for my own answer to life. They say I am a stranger because I am different. Not a role model. I’m awakened from these deep thoughts by my alarm, when the next bill comes knocking at my door. Money became the oxygen of my lifestyle.I see so many broken dreams, shaped by greed, the craving for recognition, and the desire to make more money. In this world, money is never enough. Money is magical.

People keep telling me that money isn’t everything in life, yet time is money and money is time. But if money rules the world, who rules money and time? It can create hope, create fear, make people forget their passion. And yes, money creates life. They all run with pressure, following the herd. Pressure, pressure for more money. But where do most people actually want to go in life? More money, more better life, they say. But isn’t time more precious than money in my thirties? A religion cannot finance itself on prayers alone in this day and age, and insurance in life is ultimately just a bet against the bank and your own fate. On social media, I scroll past successful models to terminally ill people chasing for more clicks and in the end, its all about money. Somehow, it feels like money is the simple answer to everything. Or is it?

Somewhere between my Millennial generation, Gen Z, wars, and politicians who never seem to change, I wonder: Was it all Fugazi or Fagazi? The scene from The Wolf of Wall Street comes to mind. Did I dream my life away? Everything seems like it’s running ahead of me, even though I knew exactly what I wanted in my twenties.
 They all keep telling me about the "next time." But how do you explain my next times when I’m already in my thirties? I have to smile when people say that life is unfair. What life is fair anyway?

No, I’m not drunk. I’m almost in Paris. I don’t have time for philosophy. I have to work. I have to get off the train soon and function.