The night I was eating instant noodles, my phone popped up a message: “GLMR is up 30% in an hour.”
I stared at the screen. My chopsticks hovered in midair, and the steam from the soup blurred my eyes. A month ago, at 00:00:84, I casually bought 2,000 yuan worth of GLMR, purely because someone in a group said this coin “has a story.” After I bought it, I forgot about it—I even uninstalled the exchange app.
2,000 yuan wasn’t much, and it wasn’t little. It was half a month of living expenses.
I reinstalled the app, my fingers trembling as I entered my password. The moment I logged in, I saw the number in my account. 0.0013—my GLMR was up 53%. 2,000 yuan became 3,100.
I should have sold.
But someone in the group said GLMR was going to surge to 0.002. Others said it was a massive boom in the Moonbeam ecosystem. Some said on-chain data showed there was still three times more room to go. I set my phone down, went back to eating my instant noodles—the noodles had already gone soggy.
The next morning, I woke up and GLMR had reached 0.00143. My account showed 3,400 yuan. The messages in the group exploded—rocket emojis filled the entire screen. Someone called for orders all the way to 0.005, and someone posted a screenshot of going all-in, no cash left.
My heart started racing. I began calculating: if it rose to 0.005, how much would my 3,400 become? The answer made me dizzy.
I didn’t sell.
On the third day, GLMR began to pull back. It dropped from 0.00143 to 0.0012. The group went quiet. The person who kept yelling about 0.005 deleted their post. I stared at the candlestick chart, watching it fall one candle at a time, like watching my money melt away.
0.0011. 0.00095. My principal was almost gone.
I closed my eyes and remembered the day I first bought GLMR. 2,000 yuan—I hadn’t thought it would rise, and I definitely hadn’t thought it would fall. Back then, I was happier than I am now.
In the end, I liquidated at 0.001. I lost 200 yuan, but I could sleep.
Later, someone asked me if I regretted not holding on to it. I said, “If the instant noodles turn to mush, they’re mush. Just re-cook another bowl.” In the crypto world, the most expensive thing isn’t tuition fees—it’s those nights when you can’t sleep because you keep staring at your screen.
Now every month I still spend 2,000 yuan buying coins, but I only buy what I’ve truly researched. When it goes up, I’m happy. When it goes down, I accept it. I don’t look at the rocket emojis in the group anymore, and I don’t fantasize about getting rich overnight.
That bowl of mushy instant noodles taught me the most important lesson in crypto.
#GLMR #加密货币故事 #Crypto Life
I stared at the screen. My chopsticks hovered in midair, and the steam from the soup blurred my eyes. A month ago, at 00:00:84, I casually bought 2,000 yuan worth of GLMR, purely because someone in a group said this coin “has a story.” After I bought it, I forgot about it—I even uninstalled the exchange app.
2,000 yuan wasn’t much, and it wasn’t little. It was half a month of living expenses.
I reinstalled the app, my fingers trembling as I entered my password. The moment I logged in, I saw the number in my account. 0.0013—my GLMR was up 53%. 2,000 yuan became 3,100.
I should have sold.
But someone in the group said GLMR was going to surge to 0.002. Others said it was a massive boom in the Moonbeam ecosystem. Some said on-chain data showed there was still three times more room to go. I set my phone down, went back to eating my instant noodles—the noodles had already gone soggy.
The next morning, I woke up and GLMR had reached 0.00143. My account showed 3,400 yuan. The messages in the group exploded—rocket emojis filled the entire screen. Someone called for orders all the way to 0.005, and someone posted a screenshot of going all-in, no cash left.
My heart started racing. I began calculating: if it rose to 0.005, how much would my 3,400 become? The answer made me dizzy.
I didn’t sell.
On the third day, GLMR began to pull back. It dropped from 0.00143 to 0.0012. The group went quiet. The person who kept yelling about 0.005 deleted their post. I stared at the candlestick chart, watching it fall one candle at a time, like watching my money melt away.
0.0011. 0.00095. My principal was almost gone.
I closed my eyes and remembered the day I first bought GLMR. 2,000 yuan—I hadn’t thought it would rise, and I definitely hadn’t thought it would fall. Back then, I was happier than I am now.
In the end, I liquidated at 0.001. I lost 200 yuan, but I could sleep.
Later, someone asked me if I regretted not holding on to it. I said, “If the instant noodles turn to mush, they’re mush. Just re-cook another bowl.” In the crypto world, the most expensive thing isn’t tuition fees—it’s those nights when you can’t sleep because you keep staring at your screen.
Now every month I still spend 2,000 yuan buying coins, but I only buy what I’ve truly researched. When it goes up, I’m happy. When it goes down, I accept it. I don’t look at the rocket emojis in the group anymore, and I don’t fantasize about getting rich overnight.
That bowl of mushy instant noodles taught me the most important lesson in crypto.
#GLMR #加密货币故事 #Crypto Life