punctuated equilibrium
2024 had hands
punctuated equilibrium: the theory that evolution happens in spurts instead of the slow, steady path that Darwin suggested.
For us, it’s when life feels stable for long periods of time until something abruptly changes… and we settle into a new “normal.” Think: getting laid off, losing a loved one, getting a huge promotion, having a child… you get the gist. Monumental events—good or bad—that change the course of your foreseeable future.
All to say, 2024 punctuated the shit out of my equilibrium.
I can think of a few moments these past few years that changed my course. Uber rescinding new grad offers, randomly moving to NYC.
But for a while, it’s been steady. I got a new job, built an amazing relationship with Selina, traveled with family, and spent time with my closest friends. Nothing too crazy; the future seemed… predictable.
I started 2024 by moving in with Selina into our cozy Clinton Hill apartment. Within a couple weeks, we stuffed 40 of our favorite people into our 500 sq ft home and got blasted. Shit, this year started off great.
Four days after that party, I had some discomfort and got an ultrasound done. I traveled deep into Brooklyn, stumbled upon this random imaging clinic, smeared suspect jelly on my balls for this ultrasound, and then began to make my way home. On the way to the train station, I stopped by a TJ Maxx HomeGoods to pick some things for the new place.
Less than 30 minutes had passed since my appointment. Right before I could check out, my phone buzzed.
Results were in. And then—boom. Punctuated.
There are few moments I remember as vividly as standing outside that damn TJ Maxx, panicking while trying to decipher this report. I pasted it into ChatGPT (which confirmed my fears) and texted my family, Selina, and Shivam: “It’s cancer.”
(Which, in retrospect, I admit was probably not the most constructive text message to send, but oh well)
I had an atrocious Uber ride back: sobbing uncontrollably, googling survival rates, and fielding frantic calls from my parents. I’m more than okay now—you’ve probably even seen me get stupid drunk since. They say TC is the “best” cancer to get. But in that moment, I was scared shitless and felt like my life was imploding.
The very next day, I flew home to the Bay for treatment, not knowing how long I was going to be gone for. Shit, would I make it back for Selina’s graduation?
Surprisingly, the moment I landed, a switch flipped. My mood turned… positive? Maybe it was wanting to appear strong for my family, to keep my own spirits up, or some misguided belief that a positive outlook would lead to a better outcome. Either way, to the surprise of everyone, and myself, I was cracking one-ball jokes the moment I touched down in SFO.
Two weeks later, I lose righty. Other than telling my nurse that I loved her, sending my manager insane post-op pictures (see below), and making neutered jokes to the dude pushing my wheel chair, I was chilling. My scans were clear (no metastatic disease!). I was confirmed stage 1A, non-seminoma (aggressive, but caught early).
A month later, I’m declared cancer free without any further treatment. 30% chance of recurrence, so I’m put on a strict surveillance schedule for five years. If it were to pop back up, I’m headed to chemo. But for now, I’m chilling.
But damn, man. 2024 came in swinging. For the first time ever, literally nothing else mattered.
Anyways, I don’t want this to be some sort of sob story. Yeah, this sucked, and continues to suck sometimes. But this period gave me so much clarity, strength, and conviction.
And so I flew back to NYC 2 months later, with a new idea of “normal.”
It’s an interesting spot to be in. Every two months, I fly back home for CT scans and blood tests. The air thick with the weight of ‘what if.’ A 30% chance I have remnants of this shit growing somewhere else in my body. Even during the height of the summer, I packed beanies and hoodies for my trip back — just in case this is the trip that I lose my hair.
30%. That number lingers in the background, like an annoying, subtle hum that never quite goes away. It doesn’t paralyze me as much as it used to, but it does make every choice feel heavier.
Coming off my time at home, I came in with pretty strict goals for myself. Drink a lot less, quit vaping, hop on a Mediterranean diet, go to the gym regularly, read.
Yeah, I quickly realized that I was in fact not him. All of that went out the window pretty quickly.
It’s a strange limbo — I’ve been trying my best to live fully while always bracing for news that could puncture my world again. Sometimes I beat myself up about my habits. Stop drinking so much, idiot. Stop hitting a vape when you drink. Stop eating out. Skip that hangout — go to the gym. Ugh.
Other times, I think about how I don’t want this to control my life either. As Shivam constantly reminds me: be kind to yourself. My goals are legit, and I should be trying my best to stay on the track I laid out for myself. But also, it’s okay. It’s a balance I haven’t quite struck yet, but I’m hoping this next year I’ll get closer to it.
So between the scans and surveillance schedules, I’ve clung to the things that make me happy. Drinks and karaoke nights with my friends, cool new restaurants with Selina, soccer, FIFA, grilling, and even mundane workdays that remind me that life keeps moving.
In that limbo, I realized I needed something to ground me. I couldn’t control this disease, but I could focus on something else that gave purpose to what I’d been through. This experience was a wake-up call for me — it forced me to think about what really mattered to me and what I wanted to do with my life. And so I decided to dive headfirst into something I’d been thinking about for a while: business school.
Work is fine, and the people I work with make it a great time. But I’ve also always wanted to work at the intersection of healthcare and technology, and hopefully build something that helps patients and folks that aren’t as fortunate or privileged as us. So I figured — this would be a good break, path forward, and space to try things out. No point in waiting.
Between scanxiety, trying to do well at work, and late nights ignoring Selina to study for the GMAT or edit essays, the process felt like running a marathon on fumes. But in many ways, it became my lifeline. It gave me a way to channel everything I’d been through into something tangible.
There were countless moments where I questioned myself. When people would question my choice to apply, when getting a good GMAT score felt like an insurmountable hurdle, or when rejection emails rolled in. But I think that every setback/doubt gave me more clarity and reminded me that growth isn’t uniform or linear. It’s different for everyone, it’s messy, and sometimes it just sucks.
By mid-December, I had been straight-rejected by 4 out of the 5 schools I applied to. I put so much time into grinding my GMAT score, crafting my essays, and meticulously putting together my application — so these rejections stung. But the optimist in me tried to see it as a sign; the universe nudging me onto the “right” track. Not every door needs to open for the journey to be worth it.
I was ending the year with a three week vacation to Dhaka. On my final day of work of the year, I said my farewells, closed my work laptop, and made my way over to JFK. I knew MIT was releasing decisions during my layover, so the moment I landed in Doha for my 18 hours layover, I checked my phone.
Punctuated.
Life works in funny ways. There are few moments I remember as vividly as standing in the middle of that terminal in Doha, freaking out. I texted the same people I did 11 months ago, this time with good news. My family, Selina, and Shivam: “Holy shit. I got into MIT.”
Relief, happiness, shock, I don’t even know. More than anything, validation. Validation of myself, the nights I spent, the people I bothered, the ranting to everyone and anyone that would listen.
I don’t know what this will lead to in the future. Maybe it’ll turn out to be super worth it. Maybe it’ll end up being a waste. Likely something in the middle.
Regardless — I’m blessed, thankful, and so excited for what the future holds. It’s been a long time since I’ve looked forward to something as much as this.
And through it all, the people around me were my safety net.
Selina, who endured late nights and endless anxiety alongside me. From initial diagnosis, to flying back for my surgery, to hearing me freak out about any little pain I’ve had over the last year, to dealing with my rogue decision to apply to b-school. I flew back home less than a month after we moved in together and a day before our 2 year anniversary — and she held it down by herself. She’s been my rock through it all.
My family, who made every checkup feel less terrifying. Who would call every day and ask if there’s any changes in my body. Who moved mountains to get me seen by the best doctors as soon as possible. Who screamed at insurance when they weren’t clearing my scans. Who always made me feel loved.
My extended family, who provided the emotional strength we needed to get through the year. My aunts who brought us food every day and allowed my mom to focus on my care. My uncles who visited daily and ensured we never felt isolated, while connecting us with providers in the area. My cousins who flooded me with comfort, love, and annoying uni-ball jokes.
Shivam, who not only spent hours helping me with my applications, but also was my therapist the entire year. I genuinely bothered him every single day, this entire year. We’ve been close friends for 15 years, but this year was different. It’s funny the types of things that bring us closer together.
My friends who dealt with my constant rants - whether about my scans, work, GMAT, school results, etc. Who always humor me when I hit them with: “happy hour?” I’m honestly kind of a psycho and a broken record nowadays, but my friends continue to listen and provide a shoulder to lean on. It’s not lost on me how much of my BS you guys put up with :)
Growing up, I kept a lot of shit to myself, while maintaining a smile on the outside to pretend that everything was okay. To me, that’s was strength was — acting like everything was ok and carrying tf on!
But this year has taught me that resilience isn’t about handling shit on your own — real strength is finding solace in those around you and letting others carry some of the weight when you can’t. And then hopefully paying it forward in the future :)
The 30% shit isn’t quite gone yet, but I’ve learned to deal with it. Whatever happens, will happen, and I’ll deal with it when it comes. I know that with the people around me, we’ll power through and won’t let any curveball control me.
And so to everyone that dealt with my shit this year: I love you <3
If you made it this far, I’m so thankful for you. When I started writing, I had no idea where this was going to go. So I hope you enjoyed this trauma dump / reflection.
I don’t know if I’ll keep writing in the future. I want to. But let’s see. Time will tell :)
I’m stoked and excited for what this year has in store. Can’t fucking wait.
We’re going to grab 2025 by the ball.
