Roy Lo

I can’t recall the exact age when this happened, but it was around 5th grade. One day, my teacher introduced a game called “Bidding Your Life.”

The rules were simple: The teacher held about a dozen covered life stories. Each round, a story was revealed, and any student who wished to have that life experience could bid for it. Every student had $1M to spend. You could bid any amount and even win multiple life stories if you had enough money. The highest bid won the card. The game continued until you ran out of money. The total number of life story cards was slightly less than the number of students, meaning not everyone would win a card.

Then, the game began.

The first card read:

You have a very successful career but live alone without many friends and family.

Obviously, this wasn’t the dream life everyone wanted, so only a few of us placed bids.

$50,000!

$150,000!

As the game went on, we realized there were no perfect life cards. Every story had something good but also a noticeable flaw. Then, this card was revealed:

You once had a passionate and intense love story, but in the end, you didn’t make it together.

It caught many students’ attention.

$300,000!... $400,000!.....$500,000!!

Hey! Here! I bid $700,000!

One million!

A friend of mine shouted it out boldly. We all laughed—not just because he was willing to pay everything for love, but because of his courage to claim it out loud. That was the first time someone bid all their money for a single life story. And soon after, we realized that with so few cards left, we can actually only win a story by bidding a full million dollars. Many of us still had nothing in hand, and the tension in the room grew.

Then, the next card was revealed:

The life of an ordinary person—you’ve never done anything grand, but you’ve lived in peace.

The competition, the pressure, the fear of leaving empty-handed—it all pushed me to act fast. Seeing that this life story had no obvious downside, I quickly called out my million-dollar bid.

And just like that, I won.

That moment felt like I had intentionally chosen my fate. I didn’t realize the impact of this experience until years later, but I still remember the scene vividly. And more importantly, I remember the feeling.

The truth is: I hate it.

I don’t want a normal life. I want to be seen. I want to do something different. I don’t want to follow the life path my parents planned for me. Even today, I still feel angry about the moment I had to bid on a card I didn’t want. I never knew the real intention behind this game. But from that experience, I learned three things:

You have to choose your own life—intentionally.
You have to earn it by going all in.
When making life decisions, my desire to be unique and not follow a “normal” path has become my internal compass.

And maybe, that day in 5th grade, I unknowingly started bidding for the real life I want to live.