For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be known for something good in life.

Not fame. Not titles. Not applause from the world.
Just… to matter.

For a long time, I questioned whether anything I was doing truly made an impact. Professionally, personally, within the community. I kept asking myself: What am I really doing with my life? Am I making a difference at all?

The world may not know my name. But the Bangladeshi community in Boston does. And somehow, I still underestimated what that meant.

Until last week.

I was invited to an anniversary celebration and asked to host the program. I said no. Repeatedly. I tried to escape the responsibility right up until the last minute. But the aunties would not let me off the hook.

So I showed up.
I hosted.
Of course, it was unpaid. The aunty is my mother’s friend after all.

I did what I always do. I showed up, spoke from the heart, kept the flow going, made people feel comfortable, connected. Nothing extraordinary in my mind. Just my job.

But what followed changed something in me.

One by one, people came up to me. Thanking me. Appreciating me. Sharing how meaningful the evening felt. The aunty whose anniversary it was kept saying that without me, the celebration would not have been the same. Others told me something even deeper.

They spoke about the work I do with children and teens as part of my community service. About how teaching them culture, language, and roots through the form of dance while living far from our motherland has made a difference in their lives. They kept thanking me for how these efforts help them raise confident children who stay connected to who they are while growing up in a global world.

They called me an all rounder. Someone who gives selflessly. Someone who has made a real impact in the Boston Bangladeshi community.

I stood there listening, realizing something uncomfortable yet beautiful.

I had been thinking too small about myself.

This was not the first time people had said these things to me. It had happened many times before. But I was too focused on what I did not have. Too busy chasing what I thought I lacked. I failed to appreciate what I already carried and what I was already giving.

Bangladeshis are deeply family oriented, with a rich and meaningful culture. According to me, living in the United States while staying connected to our roots is not about choosing one over the other. We value the lives we have built here and the opportunities this country provides. At the same time, learning and embracing both cultures only makes us better human beings. More grounded. More understanding. More whole.

That night reminded me that impact does not always look loud. Sometimes it looks like showing up. Like teaching children where they come from. Like holding space for a community. Like being present.

As I step into 2026, I want to shift my focus.

I want to honor the good in my life.
I want to acknowledge the difference I am already making.
And most importantly, I want to lead by example.

Because now, I am a mother.

My daughter is just over six months old. One day, I want her to grow up knowing how to appreciate herself. To recognize her worth even when the world is quiet. To understand that making a difference does not require permission or recognition.

The world may not know me.
But someone does.
And that is enough.

This is just one of many stories. And finally, I am learning to see them for what they are.