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By Esih Efuru

During a recent trip back home, I strolled through the train station, admiring the vendors and the familiar wave of hasty pedestrians. As I entered the waiting room, a heaviness gripped me that I couldn’t shake. I blinked, and then paused to gather myself.  Then it hit me. I went back inside and stood in front of the huge schedule display. Before I knew it, my eyes became full with tears.

Almost twenty years earlier, in this same room on a rainy December Saturday evening, I sat, lonely, tired and depressed with nowhere to go. I’d recently earned a B.A. but was unemployed. I’d recently returned home but was homeless. I’d made a load of friends at Rutgers, but was now alone. I’d resorted to club hopping, riding empty trains at night, and resting in the waiting room in the daytime, where I could feel the constant motion of humanity and fight the urge to take my life.

Life hadn’t turned out the way I planned. I had it all figured out: I’d attend college, get amazing grades, and graduate with the dream job, with friends and love happily waiting for me. My plan failed. I had all of the potential in the world, so how did I end up with such a bad break?

I needed God’s help, and the next morning, I petitioned for it desperately. God answered, and that prayer was the start of a new life. I never looked or went back.

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