The Day Everything Became Real
For months, CISSP was something I was preparing for.
That morning, it became real.
The exam centre was around 50 kilometres away, so I took the train nearly three hours before the exam. I wanted to reach early, settle down and avoid any unnecessary rush.
During the journey, I went through Mike Chapple’s last-minute review one final time.
Not because I was trying to learn something new.
I just wanted to bring everything together and, more importantly, keep my mind calm.
Even what I ate was deliberate. I chose something light and crunchy instead of a heavy meal. I knew I had to sit through a long exam, and I wanted to feel comfortable and alert.
I reached the centre, completed the initial check-in and then took another 5–10 minutes for myself.
No more studying.
No more questions.
Just deep, long breaths.
I sat there, composed myself and kept telling myself:
“You will do it.”
“You only can do it.”
“There is no second chance.”
Then I entered the exam room.
The exam started.
And the first 30 questions hit me hard.
They didn’t feel like the questions I had been practising.
I had worked through nearly 6,000 questions, built my confidence and walked into the centre believing I was ready.
Suddenly, I felt underprepared again.
Those first 30 questions took me around 50 minutes.
For a moment, my confidence took a serious hit.
But I couldn’t allow those first 30 questions to determine what happened next.
I had to settle down.
Read the question.
Understand what it was really asking.
Look at the options.
Think.
Choose.
Move on.
Gradually, I found my rhythm.
I stopped expecting the real exam to look like my practice questions.
I stopped searching for familiarity.
I focused on the question that was actually in front of me.
And something changed.
The next 70 questions took around 60 minutes.
I was moving again.
More importantly, I was thinking clearly again.
Then came question 100.
I answered it.
And the exam stopped.
Just like that.
After months of preparation, there was nothing more I could do.
The emotions were mixed.
Relief.
Exhaustion.
Uncertainty.
But somewhere deep inside, I had a feeling that I had done it.
I completed the formalities and waited.
Then the invigilator walked towards me.
He smiled.
Handed me the result.
And said:
“Congratulations.”
One word.
That’s all it took.
I smiled.
From the outside, I probably looked calm.
But inside, my heart and mind were screaming.
I wanted to shout.
I wanted to celebrate.
Somewhere deep inside, there was this incredible sense of achievement.
I had slayed the beast.
All those five-minute sessions.
The ten-minute sessions.
The train journeys.
The queues.
The waiting.
The late nights.
The 2 AM and 3 AM wake-ups.
The nearly 6,000 questions.
The doubts.
And those first 30 questions that almost broke my confidence.
Everything came rushing back.
I walked out quietly.
But inside, I was celebrating like crazy.
I had done it.
Looking back, the most memorable part wasn’t that the exam was difficult.
It was that the exam didn’t behave the way I expected it to.
I entered with confidence.
The first 30 questions took that confidence away.
Then I had to find it again.
And perhaps that’s what all those months of preparation had really given me.
Not the ability to know every answer.
Not the ability to recognise every question.
But the ability to stay composed, think and keep moving when things don’t go as expected.
After months of preparation, thousands of questions and countless small moments dedicated to CISSP, there was finally an answer.
The invigilator had said just one word:
“Congratulations.”
And somewhere deep inside, I knew it.
I had slayed the beast.
