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Born and raised in Malaysia to a typical Chindian Muslim family, I was entrusted to be the change my parents could not. Be resilient with your challenges and be the first to be fluent in English, first in the family to study abroad, first child (only child even). First everything!

The first time my dad done a cap was through me at my Law school graduation from a UK Top 25 University on scholarship. Something he never had a chance to as the 4th out of 14 children living from one blue collar job into another.

But being first is not always better, I believe that I am my parents second chance at life. You might have seen or read it on social media the "it is your parents first life too" trend but what about the life after being given a second chance.

By being second, you show grit and resilience to continue on your legacy with heart and love for your heritage and culture. Without them I will not be where I am today.

To be first is to have two behind you. 2 is the new first and I will have it no other way.

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When I think about resilience, I think about growing up with different cultures. With a Chinese Filipino Mum and a British Dad, my childhood in Hong Kong was a vibrant mix of languages, traditions, food, and values. At times I felt like I belonged everywhere. But there were also moments where I felt like I didn’t quite fully belong.

Resilience, for me, was learning how to carry both sides of myself with pride, particularly in encounters when I was asked where I'm 'really' from. Hong Kong, as a true melting pot of race and culture, reflected that duality back. A place where East meets West, just like my own family. Together, my parents showed me that resilience can be about building bridges between cultures, between people, and even within myself.

For me, resilience doesn’t look like one defining moment of survival or defiance. It looks like the quiet everyday balance, learning to be at home in more than one culture. Drawing strength from differences and finding belonging by embracing all parts of who I am.

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Shortly after moving to the UK from Singapore as a child, my mum took me to Selfridges for the first time. Walking through the food court, I remember being struck by how different everything felt compared to home. Then, out of nowhere, another woman punched my mum in the stomach. When my mum confronted her, the woman snarled, “Go back to where you came from.” Nobody around us said a word. As the woman walked away, I wanted to shout after her, but my mum stopped me. “It’s not worth it. Let her go.”

It took me years to understand why she responded that way. At that time, we would have had little support from the crowd, and no real way of finding justice. Looking back now, I see her quiet strength in that moment as an act of resilience.

At school, I faced racist jokes so often that I sometimes joined in, just to make life easier. But with the worst culprits, I always tried to channel my mum’s energy: refusing to give them the reaction they were looking for.

During the COVID lockdown, I was forced to process many of these suppressed emotions. With conversations about race and ethnicity brought to the forefront after George Floyd’s murder, I realised that my form of resilience is different from my mum’s. I would rather confront these situations head-on than suffer them in silence.

And yet, my mum still has this extraordinary ability to shrug off prejudice in her everyday life. I don’t know how she does it. Even though I now respond differently, I know I’ve inherited many of her traits — the ability to let go of what I cannot control. I will always be grateful to her for showing me that strength can take many forms.

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My mother left school in Guangzhou when she was 13, and by the age of 22 she migrated over to Britain, not speaking a word of English in hopes of building a better life for herself and her future children. From juggling two jobs, two children, and learning English to eventually owning her own takeaway, her life as an immigrant single mother has defined my meaning of resilience.

Through her stories, I have learnt to appreciate the journey life has to offer (and its many tribulations) and believe that I can overcome whatever challenges come my way, no matter how difficult.

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When I think of resilience, I think of my parents. I think of my dad arriving in Britain in the 1960s, armed only with courage, wit and hope. I think of my mum leaving her home country to train in nursing, and of the chance that brought them together. I remember my dad taking extra jobs at weekends, my mun building her own business while working long shifts as a nurse. I think of the transformation — from our financial hardships of the 70s and 80s to a later life of relative security, born of their wisdom and perseverance. From them I have inherited the values that anchor me: diligence, empathy, care for others, patience and balance, and I am forever grateful to them for these.