Describe a risk you took that you do not regret.
I can still hear the quiet that followed the fire.
It wasn’t just the silence that comes after chaos—it was the silence inside me. The kind that wraps itself around your soul when everything you thought was solid turns into smoke and ash. I was 18 years old, lying in a hospital bed in Urmia, my body recovering, my mind racing through a thousand timelines that would never happen.
Before the fire, I was a prodigy of sorts. My father—a brilliant electrical engineer and a respected businessman—trusted me with more than most teenagers ever experience. At just 16, I was managing a million-dollar annual turnover in his electrical supplies business. I wasn’t just working—I was solving problems, closing deals, negotiating with suppliers. I was building.
Then it all burned.
The fire that consumed our home didn’t just scar my skin—it changed my path. My dreams of entering a top-tier university evaporated alongside the smoke. Friends moved on. I was left behind. Physically weakened, emotionally fractured, academically delayed.
But not broken.
I enrolled at Islamic Azad University in Khoy. It wasn’t my first choice—not even in the top ten—but it was the only door open. And I walked through it with the determination of someone who had already seen how fast life can collapse. While others saw limitation, I saw opportunity to rebuild.
And I didn’t just rebuild—I expanded. At 21, while my classmates were worrying about midterms, I was finalizing real estate deals. I co-founded a factory with my uncles. Every brick we laid was a reminder: I wasn’t just surviving—I was transforming.
That transformation brought me to Istanbul. Alone, ambitious, and hungry for growth, I joined Istanbul Technical University. I didn’t just pass—I thrived. I earned my degree with distinction, completed a cutting-edge thesis, and published two international research papers on structural reinforcement. I was accepted into a PhD program. I began working with one of Turkey’s most prestigious architectural and structural engineering firms, contributing to landmark projects.
On the surface, I had it all: credentials, position, prestige.
But inside, I was drifting.
Something didn’t sit right with me. Every morning I would wake up, put on the suit, walk into an office where I was respected—but not fulfilled. I wasn’t building my dream. I was executing someone else’s vision. The fire inside me—the one that pushed me through tragedy and toward triumph—was starting to flicker.
And then came the day I’ll never forget.
I stood in the hallway of that firm, holding a coffee cup I couldn’t even taste. My reflection in the glass door stared back at me: successful on paper, but restless in spirit. And for the first time in years, I did something irrational.
I walked away.
No safety net. No backup plan. Just a wild belief that I could build something from scratch.
In 2016, I founded my own internet retail company in Turkey. There was no fancy launch. No PR team. Just me, a laptop, and a vision. I worked from morning to midnight, packaging orders myself, talking to customers directly, learning everything from digital marketing to warehouse logistics on the go. The startup world didn’t care about my degrees or past accolades—it demanded resilience, creativity, and relentless energy.
There were nights I questioned everything. Days where nothing went right. Weeks without sleep. But I never gave up.
And then, something incredible happened.
Within a year, my company was named one of Turkey’s top 20 startups.
It was surreal—but it was also grounding. Because that recognition wasn’t just for the product or the platform. It was a validation of the risk I had taken. A message that stepping into the unknown with courage could lead to something meaningful.
But more importantly, it reignited that fire.
That startup experience changed how I viewed everything. I realized I wasn’t just a businessman. I was a builder—of companies, of cultures, of communities. I wasn’t chasing money or validation anymore—I was chasing impact.
After that, life took its turns. I was dismissed from my PhD program, re-enrolled again in earthquake engineering, and eventually returned to my roots in construction. In 2022, I launched a new retail company—this time with more clarity, more purpose.
Now, at 36, I’m still climbing. I haven’t yet built the international company I dream of. I haven’t yet reached the point where I can look back with full satisfaction. But I know I’m getting closer every day. Because I’ve learned that success isn’t a destination—it’s a direction.
And if I hadn’t taken that risk—if I hadn’t walked away from comfort, if I hadn’t believed in something greater—I wouldn’t be here today.
The fire taught me to rebuild.
The corporate job taught me structure.
The risk taught me freedom.
So no, I don’t regret it. Not for a second.
Because the greatest risk of all is staying somewhere that dims your light when you were born to burn bright.
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