Xavi's alarm clock had gone off almost an hour ago, but he was still stretched out in a limpy fashion on his bed. The tears welled up in his eyes as he stared endlessly at the ceiling, although he barely noticed the ceiling.
Xavi was brought up in the slums of São Paulo, the first of 3 children to a widow. His mother had worked her back off to give him and his siblings a proper education, a chance at a better life than she ever had access to. He once discovered his mother sobbing after some posh teens had poured water on her while she was cleaning the floors of the hotel where she worked at the time. He had promised himself to retire her as early as possible.
But here he was, 23 job interviews and 6 months after, exhausted. There was always something impeding his employment. It was as if the universe was asking him repeatedly to prove his dedication to achieving success. But Xavi was not one to back down from a fight. He had learned how to defend his siblings and himself on the streets early.
An idea struck him on his bed. If no one was going to approve of him, he would approve of himself, with vigour. A light went of in his mind that reflected on his face. “I am going to start my own business.”