Success can be measured with the number of accomplishments, recognition, or even reaching your milestones. But somehow, the word “successful” will always remind me of those who surrounded me in my early years and who had the tools to venture into this world with curiosity and confidence. Among them are my primary teacher and my maternal grandmother.

My teacher was the first to unlock the magic of language for me. She didn’t just teach me to read and write; she opened doors to a world of endless possibilities. Through her patience and dedication, I learned that words hold power, books can transport us into other worlds, and knowledge may be one’s lifelong companion. Had it not been for her, maybe my love for and all further learning wouldn’t have taken flight in the way it did.

Then, there was my grandmother, whose stories formed the heartbeat of my childhood. Her tales had this manner of painting the world in colours books alone couldn’t provide. Through her stories, I learned about the joy of imagining, the value of oral tradition, and the deep connection with shared experiences. In her words, I find my first love for storytelling, the inspiration that keeps me going today.

When I think of success, it is not in terms of some list of accomplishments. It is about the gift of learning and imagination, a gift from two remarkable women who had stuffed my life with stories and possibilities. Success is not about what I have achieved; it is about the people who made me believe that I could achieve it.