when someone walks away.

You never realize when you're making a memory. A moment happens, seemingly small, and yet it stays with you, shaping your future in ways you never expected. It might be a conversation, a passing comment, a quiet disappointment—but its echo lingers.

I remember a girl from my high school. She was part of the first cohort of H.E.R., back when it was just an idea, something fragile and untested. I was excited to have her on board. We were young, ambitious, and full of the kind of energy that makes you believe you can change the world in an instant. I thought we were friends. I thought we were in this together.

Then, just a week later, she came up to me during our first fundraiser and said, "I don't think I can do H.E.R. anymore."

I already had a gut feeling she wanted to tell me she was stepping away, even before she said the words. I had thought we could run the fundraiser together, and hearing her say those words stung. I was crushed. She had been so enthusiastic, and I had relied on her energy, her support. I wondered if I had asked for too much, if I had expected more from her than was fair. But I also felt something deeper stir inside me—the feeling of never again.

That was my moment. The moment I decided, this organization will grow beyond what anyone imagines. One day, you will look back and see what it became, and know that you walked away too soon.

In that moment, I understood something deeper about leadership. Not everyone will stay. Not everyone will see what you see, or believe as deeply as you do. And that’s okay. People will walk away, and it will hurt. But their leaving does not determine your staying power.

I kept going. I built H.E.R. into something real, something that mattered. And now, years later, I understand that those early rejections, those moments of doubt, were gifts. They sharpened my vision. They taught me that passion is not about how many people say they’ll stand with you; it’s about how strongly you stand even when they don’t.

So, to the girl who walked away: I understand. Maybe I was asking for too much. Maybe the timing wasn’t right for you. But I am grateful, because your leaving taught me how to stay.

H.E.R. (Health, Education, Respect.) was the first venture I founded at 15, back when I was still in high school in Thailand. It was created to upcycle agricultural waste into affordable, organic menstrual pads for underserved communities. This experience shaped my perspective on resilience, leadership, and the value of persistence—lessons that continue to inspire my work at Manyasiri. In beauty, as in life, we must create what we believe in, even when others walk away.

We have 106 days left to hit 10k on Instagram, or I'm on a plane back home to Thailand for an internship I don't want. Follow @manyasiribeauty to build this dream with us.

Lots of love,

Pear