Before talking with the chef who hired me despite my illegal situation, I wrote these words to myself back in 2023. Although I addressed the letter to him, it was really more of an engagement to myself—a way to hold myself accountable and analyze my life up to that point. The chef was simply the person I trusted to help me keep my commitments in check.

Now, as I reflect on those words, they still resonate deeply with me. I can clearly see how much I’ve changed since writing that letter. I’m sharing it here exactly as it was written, in all its raw honesty.

It’s been three years of relentless effort to resolve my visa situation, and although things aren’t completely sorted out yet, I’ve come to a profound realization: I no longer want to be a chef. Getting my visa will likely open up more opportunities for me—even if, for now, it might mean I can only work in the restaurant industry. Having a legal status is a huge step toward my desire to learn and grow, and it represents a critical turning point in my journey.

These reflections are not just about a career in the culinary world; they are about my evolution, my commitment to self-improvement, and the constant pursuit of freedom to learn and explore new horizons.

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Engagement Letter

Hello Chef,

I wondered why I was even considering doing something like this. But this is something important—at least in my eyes. I can already hear you saying, “Take it easy, buddy, everything will be fine.” I know, but I always tend to keep a little bit of skepticism.

This letter is both a note to myself and a commitment—a way for me to analyze my life up to now and see where I currently stand.

One thing is undeniable for me: working in the restaurant truly fulfills me. In your words, it gives me a complete life, a life full of meaning—exactly what I seek above all else.

It is important for both us, but especially for me, to take stock and understand my current situation.

Do you remember that a few weeks after I started working with you, I told you that something was incredibly important to me? It was proving that I could master a skill when I left this establishment. I wanted to show that I really wanted it—not just talk about it or make empty promises.

Given that I’m about 75% sure everything will be resolved, I cannot ignore the 25% chance that it might not happen. I think especially of the risk I take by staying here, and the risk you take by working with me. Two things frighten me about this situation: returning to Cameroon personally is not necessarily a bad thing; the worst for me would be coming back without having learned anything. In that case, I could truly say that all the risks taken to be here were a complete loss—a huge investment wasted. On the other hand, having learned something—even knowing that I have very few chances and opportunities—makes staying here without papers not such a huge problem for me. Honestly, it’s a choice I made, and I believe my life has far more “meaning” this way. However, another thing terrifies me even more: knowing that the person I work with might risk receiving a penalty (a fine) by working with me. That’s why it is very important to me that you understand the risks this involves—not only for me, but also for you. Truthfully, I would be especially sorry if you let me work with you out of pity, rather than because you believe in what I can truly contribute to the establishment. I would prefer to be a helpful asset than a burden who simply lingers around.

I have always maintained that little skeptical side—a side that refuses to give a definite “yes” or “no.” As you may have noticed, every time you ask me a question, I rarely give a fixed, clear, and straightforward answer. After your questions, I always hesitate to respond quickly—not because I am full of doubt, but mainly because my mind always leaves room for the possibility that what I intend to do might not happen. After what you announced to me, I felt both joy and a certain pressure. Joy, for an obvious reason—I felt a sense of accomplishment and wanted even more. And pressure, because I know that things can change overnight and also because I must give even more, which is not a huge problem—I will always do my best and give everything I have.

But now, we arrive at the core of my letter. Now that we both understand the magnitude of the gamble we are taking, I would like to get to the heart of my message. I want things to remain unchanged until I have proven myself. In fact, I invite you to be honest with me when needed. If firmness is required, please apply it so that I hear what I need to hear to improve. Like you, I have too much to lose to be complacent. I truly would like to be part of the kitchen team by September, but more importantly, I want to earn my place. If I falter, please tell me clearly and loudly: “Thierry, you’re slacking.”

I make this commitment now so that you understand I am not doing this just for a piece of paper or a monthly paycheck, but above all because it is a way of life—a motive for living. And if, after giving my all, you believe that I do not have what it takes to excel in this field, or even to be part of the team, I invite you to tell me plainly. Honestly, I would rather hear a painful truth that makes me better than a lie that harms me in the long term.

Becoming a chef is one of the most important decisions of my life. And I do not want to approach it halfway, but fully—because I deserve it. Not only because it is the only thing life has offered me, but because I truly deserve it. This isn’t a plan I casually devised, but since it is the only opportunity that has presented itself, I am taking it as if it were the last—giving me even more reason to earn it. Some people do certain things for love, others out of obligation, and others out of survival. This might sound cliché, but for me, it is a matter of survival—that’s why I want to give everything until my very last effort, until my final breath. And I want to earn it, truly earn it.

I don’t want you to see these words merely as words, but as a way for me to put my skin in the game. If one day I go back on my word to become good in this field, you can show me this letter, and on that day I will know that I have failed—just another talker on this earth.