My name is Perm.

When I was younger, I worked many odd jobs—construction, hauling, gardening—just about anything to make a living. But the thing I’m most proud of in my life isn’t any of those jobs. It’s the small grocery store my wife and I built together in front of our house.

It all began with an old wooden table and a few essential items—soft drinks, snacks for kids, and household goods. In the early days, business was slow. We barely made a few baht a day. But we didn’t give up. We lived simply, saved what little we could, and slowly added more shelves, a fridge, and more products as time went on.

Back then, our children were still young. Every morning, they would sit at the store with their mother before school. I taught them how to give change, how to talk to customers, and how to save even just a few coins. I believed then—and still do—that life teaches the most valuable lessons.

There was one year when a flood devastated our area. Most of the goods in our store were ruined. My wife and I looked at each other in silence, sighed, but never gave up. I borrowed money to restock our shelves, and she borrowed a freezer from a relative. It took months to recover, but we got back on our feet—because we still believed that “if we don’t give up, things will get better.”

Our little shop may not look like much to others, but to me, it’s a school of life. It taught us patience, honesty, and the true meaning of living within our means.

Today, our children are all grown up with stable careers and families of their own. They often tell me that the lessons they learned from our small shop were the foundation that shaped who they are.

To the younger generation, I want to say this:

Success doesn’t always have to be big. If you do things with heart, with love, and with perseverance, your life will always have meaning—in your own beautiful way.

By Grandma Somporn, Age 69

People often ask me why I don’t seem stressed, even though I have so many things to worry about—expenses, health problems, and the uncertainties of aging.
The truth is, I used to be quite anxious. I was afraid of the future. I worried I might become a burden to my children.

Then one day, I started volunteering at the village temple—washing dishes, organizing supplies, sweeping the floor. Those small acts gave me a sense of peace I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Later, I began growing vegetables at home and raising chickens for eggs—some for sale, some to share. Life slowly started to feel more meaningful.

Here’s what I’ve learned from living simply:

1. Don’t wait for everything to be perfect before allowing yourself to be happy. That day may never come.

2. Don’t fear change. Every stage of life comes with its own challenges, but if you open your heart, you’ll find a way through.

3. Find joy in small things. Sometimes, making your own cup of coffee in the morning or chatting with your grandchildren is more than enough.

I want the younger generation to know:
True happiness doesn’t always come from screens or expensive things.
It comes from within—when your heart feels full, and when you choose to see life from a gentler perspective.

These days, I may not have much money, but I have friends, family, a vegetable garden behind my house, and a heart that’s still eager to learn.
And to me, that’s more than enough for a life well lived.

My name is Uncle Thongbai.

When I was young, I worked as a laborer in a wooden furniture factory. I started with simple tasks—carrying planks, sanding wood—and never imagined I would one day become a skilled craftsman.

One day, a senior woodworker suddenly fell ill, and the manager asked me to fill in temporarily. I was terrified. I had never held a chisel, never built a full-sized table. But I had no choice—I had to learn as I went.

Some days I carved the wood wrong and ruined the whole piece. I was scolded. I’d go home frustrated and anxious. But I never walked away from the opportunity. I kept learning, step by step—watching, practicing, and writing down everything I could.

Years passed, and I eventually became one of the lead craftsmen at the factory. Others would ask for my opinion, and when a difficult project came up, they would turn to me. I took great pride in the tables, cabinets, and beds I built—pieces that have lasted in people’s homes to this day.

As I neared sixty, I returned to my hometown and opened a small woodworking shop. I repair old furniture and teach local children how to work with their hands. Some of my grandchildren come to help during school breaks, and I teach them the same way an elder once taught me.

Here’s what I want to tell the younger generation:

1. Opportunities don’t always come when you feel ready—sometimes, they come with fear. But if you don’t try, you’ll never know what you’re capable of.

2. Work done with your hands and heart will always have value, no matter how small it seems.

3. Don’t look down on yourself just because you started with nothing. Everyone begins with no experience.

Today, my hands aren’t as strong as they used to be. But every time I touch a piece of wood, I still feel proud. Because with these two hands, I’ve spent a lifetime creating something meaningful for others.

My name is Aunt Pranom, and I’m seventy years old.

When I was young, I loved writing letters. Back then, we didn’t have mobile phones, so whenever I missed someone or had something to share, I would write it down, slip it into an envelope, and send it by post. Sometimes, it would take a whole week for the letter to reach its destination.

There was one letter I wrote to my parents and siblings after I moved to work in another province for the first time. In it, I wrote how much I missed home, how tired I was, and how I hoped they would be proud of me for stepping out to make my own living. But in the end, I never sent that letter—because I was too ashamed to admit how vulnerable I felt.

Decades have passed, and that letter still sits in an old drawer. Every time I read it, I feel a deep regret for not sending it while my parents were still alive. That letter taught me something important:
Never let fear or pride stop you from expressing love or saying sorry. The people we love deserve to know how much they mean to us—before it’s too late.

I’ve learned that admitting our weakness is not a sign of failure, but a quiet strength—a way of being honest with our own hearts. Every relationship needs truth and tenderness, no matter how far apart we may be.

Today, the world is different. We can reach each other instantly with just a phone call or a message. But still, I continue writing letters to my children and grandchildren.
Some letters I send.
Others I keep—for myself—as gentle reminders:

Don’t wait for a special day to say “I love you” or “I miss you.”
Every day is a chance to make our relationships stronger and more beautiful.