After Seven Failed Interviews, He Found Mentors at Google Who Changed Everything.

By the time Cenk failed his seventh interview, he had started to wonder if the problem was him. A computer science student, the first in his family to go to college in New York, he had no blueprint for how to turn classes into careers. Applications vanished into silence, and the usual advice he received—“get more experience”—felt like a wall he couldn’t get past.

At Kingsborough Community College, where he started in 2019, Cenk buried himself in coursework. Passing classes felt like enough of a mountain. Networking, the kind of casual coffee chats or résumé reviews that might open doors, seemed like a world built for other people. “I didn’t feel like I belonged in those spaces,” he said.

During COVID, he joined a workforce training program that offered résumé workshops, professional development, and his first internship. But he wasn’t ready. Missteps with a manager, compounded by the strangeness of remote work, left him overwhelmed. When the internship ended, so did his access. “That door just closed,” he said.

Still, one thing Cenk did know was that he needed people, a network, advocates who could see what he couldn’t and help him move forward. That instinct, more than anything, drove him to keep searching.

And in 2021, almost by accident, an email from The City Tutors gave him that chance.

The Mentors Who Changed His Course

Through City Tutors, Cenk first met Amar, a fin-tech engineer who had studied at Stanford. For a first-generation student still carrying the sting of rejection, the encounter felt almost unreal. “I was awestruck,” Cenk said. “Someone like that, a Stanford graduate, taking the time to talk to me? I never thought I’d get access to people like him.”

By then, Cenk was at John Jay College, steeped in computer science theory but still shaky on writing actual code. Amar told him to slow down, to sketch solutions with pen and paper before touching a keyboard.

“It sounds small,” Cenk said, “but it gave me confidence that maybe I wasn’t failing because I didn’t belong, but because I just needed a different approach.”

But it was Stephen LeMarbre whose advice stuck out most. Working at Google in cloud sales, he underscored how central artificial intelligence had become to the industry and urged Cenk to bring it forward on his résumé.

At John Jay, Cenk had completed courses in machine learning, probability and statistics, and R, but he hadn’t thought of those classes as résumé material. After Stephen’s guidance, he revisited a stock-market prediction project, polished it up, and listed concrete techniques like linear and logistic regression.

He doesn’t think he would have secured his current role at Fortune Society as a database developer without that shift. “Stephen gave me direction I could use,” he said.

And then there was Sam Wu. Also at Google, Sam began as a mentor but soon became something more: a guide, a confidant, a friend. They still talk constantly. They work out together. They trade advice about routines, stress, and life as much as about tech. “Sam’s become someone I really rely on,” Cenk said. “Not just a mentor, but a friend.”

For Cenk, the awe of access has never faded. “It’s surreal,” he said. “Amar went to Stanford. Sam and Stephen work at Google. And they’re talking to me. That access makes you feel like you actually belong.”

Finding a Room to Breathe

City Tutors gave Cenk two kinds of spaces he had never had before. The first were the mentorship events, structured sessions where he sat across from professionals at places like Citi or in healthcare. At Citi, he spoke with analysts and project managers who admitted their own careers hadn’t been linear. At a healthcare event, he bonded with a doctor over neuroscience podcasts and glucose monitoring technology, realizing his tech background could intersect with medicine.

Then there were the social events, the hikes, the casual nights out, the gatherings in bars, where the stakes were lower but the lessons just as lasting. For a first-gen student who had once avoided these rooms, they became practice runs in belonging. “You meet people from everywhere,” he said. “Some in tech, some in finance, some in school still. You realize, okay, I’m not the only one figuring it out.”

Those moments weren’t just networking. They were rehearsal, in introducing himself, asking questions, and learning to belong in spaces that once intimidated him. The mentorship events gave him industry insights; the social events gave him community. Together, they built the confidence he carries now.

From Rejection to Belonging

Four years on, Cenk ties his growth directly to the mentors who stayed in his corner. Amar’s grounding advice. LeMarbre’s industry-shaping push toward AI. Wu’s ongoing presence, part mentor, part friend, part anchor.

“It’s motivating to hear you’re not alone,” he said. “That this path is hard for everyone. It keeps you in the race.”

Today, Cenk is a database developer at a nonprofit that supports reentry and social services. The work leans directly on the skills LeMarbre urged him to sharpen. The confidence, and the community, come from mentors like Wu who remind him he doesn’t have to do it alone.

For Cenk, the lesson is simple: when you’re first-gen, you don’t know what you don’t know. But you do know you need people, the kind who will share their insights, widen your world, and stay in your corner until you can see a path forward.