A moment when a man understands that life has already chosen for him.

The diagnosis

Every time I recount a live story, I first smile and then wonder how I survived it. The situation was irrational, almost surreal. However, it shaped my life, and therefore I feel compelled to tell it.

January 2007. I am outside a clinical laboratory waiting for the results of the surgery. Seven carcinoids had been removed from my small intestine after two operations only thirty days apart.

A cleaning woman I recognized by sight approached me quietly.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I heard… malignant tumors. You should see the oncologist.”

At that moment death appeared as the most immediate possibility. However, reason quickly intervened.

I thought about my disabled daughter. Escape was no longer an option. Therefore, I had to remain alive, build her present and protect her future.

Soon after, the oncologist confirmed everything: neuroendocrine tumors, approximately thirty days of life expectancy.

With those words in mind, I walked along a deserted beach. Meanwhile the wind hit my face, and the waves whispered something I could not yet understand.

The Decision

January 28.

I drove to Naples searching for old friends and former clients. I needed money and a new beginning. However, nobody invested a single euro.

Instead, they simply offered restaurant dinners.

A few days later, on February 6, I found myself in Naples with only 275 euros and no credit card. According to the diagnosis, fifteen or twenty days remained.

At the highway exit I had to choose south or north.

Then my wife called.

“Come home.”

She believed she was speaking to depression. However, she could not see what the hormone storm inside my body was doing.

So, I chose the north.

Romania

Two days later I arrived in Brasov, Romania — Dracula’s county.

The trip was not about a woman. Instead, it was pure instinct.

Twenty euros remained in my pocket. Enough to die. Certainly not enough to rebuild.

Nevertheless, I decided to rebuild.

At a bar I ordered cappuccino and cornetto. Romanian women, I noticed immediately, possessed a rare beauty. However, the local men often lacked gallantry.

The waitress realized I had no change. Instead of sending me away, she listened. We spoke for three hours.

Eventually she cried and even offered me money.

I refused.

Instead, I asked one question:

“Where is the casino?”

She pointed down the street, confused.

I entered with twenty euros. By five in the morning, I left with four hundred fifty.

Rebuilding

Soon after I rented a fourth-floor apartment for 280 euros. The waitress guaranteed the payment.

In the afternoon I met several girls working in the metro stations. Meanwhile I began building friendships.

A grocery trip followed. One hundred and fifty euros of food appeared on the counter. However, I paid only twelve. Tuna was half free, and the butcher gifted me the meat.

The casino became my nightly bank. Meanwhile my apartment slowly turned into a meeting place.

Calabrian flavors rotated on the table. Stories circulated. And life quietly restarted.

A Return That Never Happened

December 2007.

Death had forgotten about me.

My wife called again.

“Come home urgently.”

I had twelve euros left. However, an airline voucher allowed me to leave Bucharest.

The flight to Reggio Calabria failed midair. Instead, we were diverted to Zurich.

At the airport I improvised again. In the British lounge I grabbed the microphone queue post and began singing.

The hostesses laughed.

Soon after they gave me a flight to London — plus one hundred pounds.

London, Paris, Rome, Naples.

Each step requires invention. Each moment required nerve.

Eventually I arrived home seven days later.

The Aftermath

My wife was furious.

“Where were you? With your girls?”

I smiled.

“Good thing they exist,” I said. “Otherwise, I would still be stuck in Zurich.”

Soon after I began new work: a temporary agency, construction, and security services. Six employees started the project. Every month profits were reinvested.

However, few people believed in it.

The Collapse

In 2008 I returned to Romania.

The agency grew to 258 European employees. Construction collaborated with an Italian multinational. Meanwhile security operated in atomic welding.

I learned Romanian, read it, wrote it, and spoke it. Stories and jokes opened every door.

Then, in December, I gave everything away and left.

The women protested.

“Nothing will survive without you.”

Three months later everything collapsed.

Why?

Because hunger cannot be delegated. Experience cannot be transferred. And work ethic cannot be gifted.

The Real Lesson

The Italian without money, supported by Romanian women, may sound like a dream.

However, reality teaches something harsher.

True hunger applauds only those who carry it inside.

Final Note

When I was born, they gave me a surname like mine — FREGA — a name often associated with thieves and swindlers.

For sixty-one years I have tried to prove the opposite.

Because names do not define us.

Instead, brands do.

And a brand is built only through actions.

Nando