Full Nets, Full Pockets E-Book

Yeong Hwan Choi

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Seitenzahl: 180

Beschreibung

From the depths of despair to the heights of fortune, this is the tale of a journey like no other. I was once a mere goldfish, trapped in a bowl, staring at a rusted, red floor. Now, I command a fortune worth 12 million USD. How did I get here? This book takes you through the wild seas of the stock market, where luck, strategy, and relentless willpower were my only compass. Ever felt like a goldfish in a tank, just going through the motions? That was me, staring at the rusty red floor, unable to look up at the sky. But then I met Master Kang Tae-gong, who told me, "Wait for the right moment, and good things will come." His words were like a lighthouse guiding me to hope. Forget those who preach the "10,000-hour rule" or "hard work is everything." To me, they're like trying to revive a dead fish. Life isn't that simple. It's a rollercoaster, and sometimes when you hit rock bottom, the only way left is up. My big break came unexpectedly, on a day I'll never forget – the day my boat overflowed with fish. My story isn't just about numbers and charts; it's about survival and transformation. From the grueling years on a tuna boat to the mind-numbing shifts at convenience stores, each chapter of my life taught me a lesson. Then came the stock market, the ultimate arena where I learned to play the game of patience and timing. A chance meeting with a mentor, a modern-day Socrates, changed everything. His wisdom was a beacon, guiding me through the darkest nights: "Wait for the tide, and your day will come." And it did. I rode the waves of fortune with a mix of preparation and sheer audacity. In these pages, you'll find not just a financial journey but a blueprint for resilience. I've navigated the stormy seas of cryptocurrency, survived the volatile tides of traditional stocks, and emerged with a thriving empire.

Leseprobe

Full Nets, Full Pockets

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

FULL NETS, FULL POCKETS

First edition. July 11, 2024.

Copyright © 2024 Yeong Hwan Choi.

Written by Yeong Hwan Choi.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Also By Yeong Hwan Choi

Full Nets, Full Pockets

<Life is a fishing place>

Episode 1. Goldfish in a tank

Episode 2. Aquarium in front of | sushi restaurant

Episode 3. Meeting with Kang Tae-gong

Episode 4. freshwater fishing

Episode 5. Sea fishing

Episode 6. Fish farm

<An empty fishing rod>

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Full Nets, Full Pockets

Written by Yeonghwan Choi

[email protected]

<Life is a fishing place>

I was a lucky guy. Once, like a goldfish in a fish tank, sometimes in the aquarium in front of a sushi restaurant, I couldn't even look up at the sky, just staring at the rusty red floor. However, when he met Master Kang Tae-gong, his words that "if you wait for the right time, a good day will come" came to him as the green light of the lighthouse.

When I see people who say "the 10,000-hour rule," "hard work is the only way to live," and "there is an underground underground," it is as if they are touching the testicles of a dead child. I have no dealings with those who hold such values. The world is nothing more and nothing less. All human affairs are in vain, but what is certain is that once you descend into the abyss, there is only one thing left to do but ascend forward. Sometimes a downhill turn into an uphill slope from a distance, and a tragic life can actually become a comedy. Such a day came to me suddenly. I'll never forget the day when the boat was full of fish.

I've lived a life that is strangely intimate with the bay sea. In South Korea, individual investors are called ants. Abroad, David and Goliath. Was it a rampaging fish caught by a fisherman who was more of a hantangist fisherman than an ant that gathered grain one by one and filled its belly? Not. At least once, it was a goldfish that forgot its memory every three seconds. However, after meeting Kang Tae-gong, I finally became a fisherman who played the role of a human being, and now I don't dare to encounter the red and white lighthouses of the sea. No matter whether the red light or the green light of the lighthouse comes, my boat will only sail through the waves without hesitation. I've built a farm where 15 billion fish are constantly laying eggs, and I've hired a caretaker to take reports. Rich Dad. Poor dad. Anyway, in two years, I created one of the theories that the author wrote: a system in which money begets money. My name is Hong Ki-bong. Born in 89, he is now a wealthy man with 20 billion fish. People often call me a super ant, a legend of xx high school.

How is the graph of life drawn? Both the stock market and life are complex graphs of our greed and self-control. We all live in that graph.

Like an investor who watches the volatility of the stock market, our lives have ups and downs. And in the midst of those ups and downs, we grow through hopes and despairs, accomplishments and setbacks. Just as the stock graph rises and falls steeply, my life has also experienced many ups and downs.

He started in his 20s from a family that collapsed due to financial difficulties, and then hit rock bottom and fell into the abyss. And in my 30s, what got me back on my feet was a new perspective on stocks and the economy. 20 years of anti-electrode.

So, is it true? Does success or failure in life depend on luck or on our efforts?

This question has been bothering me constantly for a while. And in the end, I found the answer. Some people get lucky, while others don't have a second eye for the rest of their lives. However, if luck comes to you, we should take the opportunity. Sometimes luck leads us, and sometimes effort can change the vessel in which it can hold. Through the failures and successes I have experienced, and the philosophical meanings I have learned along the way, I hope that anyone can redraw the graph of their life. Going back about 20 years, I was a goldfish in a fish tank that couldn't even get out of the sea. I was 17 years old, in my first year of high school.

Episode 1. Goldfish in a tank

One day, a sunny spring came. A few weeks ago, the snow on the streets had vanished, and the warm sun was shining on the world, raising its head above the clouds. The trees along the road have begun to sprout light green. The sunlight filtered through the branches, soft and warm and wrapped around my face. The air was crisp, and the spring breeze blew softly and enveloped my body pleasantly. Sparrows chirping could be heard here and there, and small flowers were blooming one by one by the roadside.

There was a long line of students walking through the streets where the snow had disappeared. The boys take off their white shirts and drape them over their arms, patting each other on the shoulder. The girls laugh cheerfully and chat with their friends, as if bragging about who is wearing the shorter skirt. They giggled at each other's skirt lengths, as if showing off their legs and legs to see who wore the shorter skirt. "Did you shorten your skirt this time?" one girl asked, her eyes twinkling at her friend's skirt. "Yes, I cut it down without my mom's knowledge. Isn't this a bit of a hit these days?" Even though it was co-educational, girls began to pay more attention to their appearance. In addition to talking about cosmetics, they shared their diet secrets, envying and complimenting each other. We gathered together and laughed and talked.

The boys, on the other hand, were approaching puberty and had black beards growing all over their faces. Pimples were sprouting all over the place, and their faces were becoming really ugly, as if they were playing with hormones. "Hey, did you have a pimple today?" one male student sneered at his friend's face. The friend turned his head away in embarrassment. The boy, with his chestnut hair, had pimples all over his face, and his friend, who wore horn-rimmed glasses, had red swelling around his nose. "When will this pimple go away?" his friends grumbled, but it was hard to hold back their laughter at the time.

The noise from the streets that had awakened from hibernation was lively and lively. I walked quietly alone among them. It wasn't bullying, but it was often teased. "Hey, Kibong! Are you still listening to songs with headphones on?" one male student shouted behind Ki-bong's back. The others giggled along.

"Ki Bong, take off those headphones! You talk to us!" said another student playfully, waving his hand as he walked up to his side. One of the students tapped the back pocket of my bag with his foot. "Ki-bong, your backpack is too stretched. Do you have a lot of books in it?" they couldn't hold back their laughter.

No matter what they say, you can hear the song. "Say love four times a day, laugh eight times, kiss six times..."

It was only 10 minutes before I got to school, but it felt like an infinitely long time. Even on the warm spring weather, a cold breeze brushed against my cheeks.

From the 1990s to the early 2000s, when I was in elementary and middle school, there was a time when people were called rich if they had 1 billion in cash. At that time, it was accepted as orthodoxy that if you did stocks or did business, you would lose money. In those years, I grew up in a family that was close to the upper middle class, or, in today's parlance, upper-middle. We lived in a luxury apartment complex in the metropolitan area. The spacious living room was furnished with luxurious furniture, and the walls were hung with paintings by famous painters. In the center, a gorgeous chandelier was hung, reminiscent of a scene from a movie. Throughout the house, there was a meticulous touch from his parents. Every morning, my mother would open the window in the living room to let in fresh air, and my father would open the newspaper as he got ready for work.

My father, a businessman, always looked cool and confident when he came to work in a neat suit. My mother was a homemaker, taking care of the house and devoting herself to raising me and my brother. Thanks to her delicacy and love, the house was always warm and comfortable. My family lived in the South. On weekends, the whole family would go out to eat or travel to the suburbs. "Kibong, you should study hard and go to a good university," my parents always encouraged me by saying. My mother said, "If you do well, our family will do well." He added.

In those days, when I came home from school, I was greeted by a clean house, and the dinner table was always full of delicious food. On the table was a square white plate and a silver spoon and a spoon stand. On a large silver tray in the middle, a generous amount of browned braised short ribs were served, and the sweet and salty aroma of the ribs exuded saliva glands. Next to it was a neatly laid out bright red tuna sashimi. The soft flesh of the tuna glistened on the plate, and I could feel the delicacy of the sushi master's handiwork. Next to it was a crispy fried shrimp. The golden glittering tempura made a 'crunchy' sound when you took a bite, revealing the tender shrimp meat. In addition, the pickles and pickles were neatly prepared. The bellflower dressing, spinach greens, bracken greens, and pickles neatly placed in high-quality porcelain bowls are exquisitely seasoned and delighted with the taste buds. In particular, cod roe and soy sauce crab paste, which are called rice thieves, were popular among friends who came to play. For dessert, ripe strawberries, golden pears, and sweet watermelon were a feast for the eyes and palate.

My friends were jealous of my house and said, "Kibong's house is really rich." I used to say, "I don't know what to do." Every time I heard that, I shrugged my shoulders and thanked my parents for the comfortable life they had built. If we compare life to a stock graph, our house was like a stock that was soaring sky-high at the top of its limit. The family's finances were always strong, and his father's business was prosperous. The house was always full of leisure and abundance, and we lived a happy life. However, it was a mistake to think that this stable life would last forever. The graph of my family's life has also come to a downward spiral. For 14 years, I had to bear the weight of poverty with my whole body.

I was in my third year of junior high school. One day, everything started to turn upside down. The graph began to turn sharply. Although, unlike salaried people who make a small amount of money but come in steadily and consistently, businessmen have a jagged monthly income. When the business was doing well, a lot of money came in, but when it wasn't, there was pressure. That's why my father was always thinking about how to create a stable cash flow. Turning movable property into real estate, buying a building and receiving monthly rent, or taking the profit from the rental of a commercial house has become a stable source of income.

But a few years ago, the real estate market wasn't what it used to be. Government regulations, excessive taxes, and oversupply have led to a decline in returns. In such a situation, the alternative was found in the stock market. He was well aware of the dangers of movable property, so he didn't enjoy investing in stocks, but as the base rate gradually went down and the market interest rate went down, he changed his mind. He analyzed the financial statements of various companies, understood the stock market, and found new investment opportunities. Just as the economic cycle ends a boom period and begins a plunge in the market, our home has also entered an unexpected crash. Since then, the stock market has always betrayed my father's expectations. His bold investment ultimately failed, and his father's expression darkened day by day.

Every morning he awoke, his eyes were filled with fatigue and despair. Every time I made a bigger investment to cover my losses, the graph of the decline fell off a cliff. The atmosphere in our once sparkling house became somber, and my life was suffocating. By the time I graduated from junior high school, my house had hit rock bottom. Now he stood on the edge of despair, with nowhere to fall. In 2005, our family lost a whopping 1.3 billion in cash.

At the time, I didn't realize how serious this situation was. I just thought it was weird to see my father come home with a heavier expression than usual. However, my mother's crying voice and my parents' frequent quarrels made me more and more aware of the reality of my family.

One day I came home from school, and the atmosphere at home was strange. My mother was crying in the kitchen, her eyes swollen, and my father was in the living room, holding his head in his hands. That's when my mother told me. "Kibong, I think we should leave this house now," I couldn't understand what he meant. I just stared at my parents' expressions in bewilderment.

A few days later, we began to tidy up the house. Precious things piled up in boxes. The moving truck arrived, and we left the house and headed for a new place. It was a rented apartment called LH at the time. It was a small apartment that could not be compared to the spacious and ornate house of the past.

The first day I moved into my rental apartment, I sat in the corner of my room and looked around at my new house. The wallpaper was old, the room was narrow and dark. My parents' room had only a bed and a small closet, and mine had a small desk and bed. The apartment complex was unfamiliar and stark. The playground was full of old and faded equipment, and the surroundings were so unfamiliar.

One day, while sitting in the living room watching TV, my mother's cries came from the room. Sobbs and sighs came through the cracks in the door, weighing heavily on his shoulders. My mother cried and yelled at my father, who was drinking every night. "I can't live like this! What sins have we committed that deserve to suffer like this?"

I turned off the TV and quickly hid in my room, but because the house was so small, I could hear it through the walls without bothering to listen. My mother started packing and soon she opened my room and said, "Kibong, I can't be with you anymore. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

I was just confused and scared. I couldn't understand why this was happening or why my family was so broken. Her face was stained with tears, and her hands were trembling. He held my hand and tried to smile, but it was so sad. "My mom really doesn't want to leave either. But I can't live like this. All we need is a stable home and a place to live. I think we're going to have to be apart for a while to do that. I'll make a better environment for you. Until then, please wait a bit."

I tried to understand what she was saying, but then it was just a thorn in my chest. Since then, the warmth of the house where I lived with my father has disappeared. When I came home from school, I would find myself in a cold, empty house. There was no laughter, no fancy dinners. As her debts mounted, and money became scarce, her love and trust in her father collapsed along with it.  Little by little, I learned more about what poverty causes, and I felt that every day was becoming miserable. I spent more and more time alone in spaces with walls and low ceilings. I had just started high school and had to adjust to a new environment.

We arrived at the school gate. The school gate was a silver-colored entrance. After school hours, the door closed nonchalantly, and latecomers stomped their feet in confusion in front of the closed door. Standing in front of the school gate was Teacher Zhu, the dean of students. She was a female teacher in her 50s. She had a chubby figure, always looked angry, and her makeup was so heavy that her skin was more pale than apricot, her lips red as if she had eaten a mouse, and how much eyeliner and eyebrows she had painted were black. And his eyes were sharp, and his impression seemed to be forever frowned. It was visible from 100 meters away. Without fail, she was examining the boys' hair. "When are you going to cut your hair? It's too long! Tidy up by tomorrow!" he nagged, tugging at one of the boys' hair, scratching his head and lowering his head. The other boys hurried past, their heads bowed to avoid her eyes. Girls were being stripped of their skirt length. "Your skirt is too short! Put it on now!" said Teacher Zhu, measuring the length of her skirt and placing a blanket on the girls. The girls looked dissatisfied and tried to pull down their skirts, but they couldn't escape Teacher Zhu's fierce gaze.

I walked past the school gate. He walked quickly, his head bowed to avoid Teacher Zhu's eyes. My mind was jumbled with thoughts. For me, the goal was just to get through a normal day.

Her voice was thick and strong. "It's late, get in quickly!"

The moment I passed through the school gate, I muttered to myself. "If there were ants and grasshoppers, they were more like goldfish in a fish tank than ants."

When I was in elementary school, I was reminded of a red goldfish in a fish tank trapped in a small world in a large living room. If the filter didn't support it, it wasn't easy to manage the water quality because it pooped a lot compared to what it ate. If it wasn't cleaned, floats would float and the water would always be murky. Similarly, I became a single-parent family and was evicted to a rented apartment with a small square footage. Just as I swam in a small fish tank and hit a wall, I had to constantly bump into the suffocating space. I missed my mother's gentle touch and warm smile, but reality didn't allow me to feel that way.

The school bell rang and the classroom became busy. The floor was a cold concrete floor, unlike the wooden floor that made me feel familiar in middle school. The floor felt as strange and hard to us as it was cold. The concrete floor was worn by dozens or hundreds of students every day, and there was a dull thud as they walked.

The lockers weren't the cozy wooden lockers of middle school. Instead, there were rows of lockers that looked like stainless steel tin cans that stood rough and unstoppable. The cold reflection of stainless steel was bathing the classroom in green. Every time I opened the door of the locker, there was a creaking sound, and the touch of the cold metal was felt in my fingertips. Sitting next to me was my best friend. Whether he knew me or not, he was always joking around and making fun of me. Luckily, I met him in my first year, and the relationship continued for three years, as if it were fate.

The atmosphere in the high school classroom was quite different from that of middle school. The familiar and warm feeling of middle school was gone, and we were greeted by a cold and hard reality. Our school, which was divided into two classes, was divided into five classes for boys and seven for girls. There were 12 classes of men and women, each with its own color. The men's class was energetic and dynamic. Every day, in the classroom, we talked about football, games, and sometimes shallow jokes. The girls' class, on the other hand, had a quiet and sophisticated atmosphere. Not only did she focus on her studies, but she also took an interest in fashion and beauty.

The playground was smaller than expected, but it was enough for the students. The boys, who loved football, enjoyed the game creatively in a small space. Every day at lunchtime, there was always a soccer game on one side of the playground, and girls gathered on the other side to take a walk or talk. The intersection of men and women in between was like a microcosm of a small society. There were about 40 students in each class. The sight of 40 people sitting in one classroom was a spectacle in itself. Desks and chairs were crammed together, and when the teacher gave a lecture at the front of the room, each student took notes and listened eagerly. In the midst of all this, some students stared blankly through the windows or secretly exchanged notes with their friends.

My first class was Korean language. The classroom fell silent, and the language teacher stood in front of the blackboard. He opened the book and began to read to us the novel "Lucky Day." This novel featuring Kim Cheom-ji somehow touched my heart more today.