Twenty years ago, I was in a situation that I could never forget.
It happened in Chinatown on Chinese New Years. There were crowds of people, vendors and entertainers celebrating the New Year. As we were walking, one of my friends got into a situation that led into a fist fight. After I was watching on the sidelines, I jumped in and threw a punch that escalated the situation. A fight amongst singular individuals became a war between groups. We were the underdogs. They had more man power and we were a small scrappy few that was suddenly fighting for our lives.
I remembered one of the punches and it stung badly but I didn't care, I just kept going. Minutes seemed like hours, but eventually the cops got wind of our fight. We scattered in different directions with the cops in hot pursuit. As I was running, I took a moment to wipe off the sweat dripping down my face. The sweat turned out to be red in color and my white shirt was now crimson. I realized that I was completely covered in blood and it was my own. I was stabbed and cut multiple times.
The next thing I remember was being in a hospital bed and with one collasped lung in the process. A night of fun almost ended my life.