My great-grandmother
The omelet my great-grandmother made sat in front of me on a green floral plate. The hot steam curled upward, carrying the smell of slightly burnt eggs that filled the room with warmth. I’ve always heard she was a remarkable chef, capable of making almost anything taste amazing. That’s all I ever heard about her: her drool-worthy cooking and that she lived in a distant village by herself after her children moved to the city. But was that all she was, a great chef?
Now, living on a different continent, I often wonder — did she have other talents we’ll never know about? Maybe she excelled at mathematics, loved to paint or had a voice that could stop time. These possibilities will remain unknown because she never had the platform or opportunity to discover them before she passed away.
My grandmother
After raising six children in a joint family of five brothers who lived together, my grandmother’s world rarely extended beyond her wooden, two-story home. Her days were spent tending to her children, cooking, cleaning and managing household chores. She never learned English beyond spelling her name. Yet, within those walls, she nurtured a creative spark. She loved movies and could weave stories that left you spellbound. She could predict the ending of almost any film and expressed her artistic soul through the traditional cakes she baked, her craft honed with care and precision. But her world, too, was one that offered little room for her to show the depth of who she was.
Today, I sit typing on my laptop in a language my grandmother barely knew, yet the cadence of her stories echoes in the words I write. Every sentence I compose, every new idea I absorb in my studies, is a testament to the opportunities they never had.
My parents
My parents, shaped by the women who came before them, instilled in me the importance of education from the very beginning. I never knew a life where learning wasn’t an expectation or ambition. But it often makes me wonder — how much of this privilege is the result of the silent sacrifices of the women in my life?
My great-grandmother ensured my grandmother completed high school before her marriage — a small but profound rebellion against the norms of her time. My grandmother, in turn, taught my father the value of education, planting the seeds of progress that continue to bloom in me today. Now, I find myself with opportunities neither of them could have dreamed of, standing on the shoulders of their unspoken strength.
A grateful daughter
My life is an ode to the women who came before me. I am who I am because of them. Their lives lived within the confines of duty, laying the foundation for the freedom I now navigate. Every recipe passed down, every story whispered by candlelight, became part of the map that guides me.
They never asked for gratitude, yet I owe them everything — the dreams I chase, the voice I use, the freedom I cherish. In their world, a woman’s worth was measured by her ability to nurture and serve. In mine, I am free to define my worth by my dreams and ambitions. Thanks to the women who made me.
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