The universal longing that binds people across nations

All my life, I had pictured Riyadh as a desert city of unrelenting heat.

Instead, January greeted me with a surprising chill. It was a modern, cosmopolitan metropolis that felt more like a cool, sophisticated and well-planned city than an arid land. Amid that cold, I encountered an unexpected human warmth – stories that laid bare the shared longings of people everywhere and reshaped the way I see the world.

There I met Azharul Bin Karim, a Saudi national and Arabic teacher who, after three decades in the classroom, now drives for Uber. Beneath the desert sky, he serenaded us with Arabic songs and, in broken English, spoke of his daughters. "I took up this driving job to see my daughters smile – now and in the future," he said, his voice threaded with tenderness. His choice was not driven by ambition for its own sake, but by sacrifice born of love.

Salim Chowdhury, a Bangladeshi corporate executive working for a multinational company in downtown Riyadh, has lived and worked in cities around the world. Yet he placed his daughter's education above every other consideration. Today, she studies at a renowned university in Toronto. "When I retire, I plan to settle in Canada and spend my days with family," he told me softly. "My daughter makes me proud. With every success of hers, my life feels fulfilled," said the proud father.

In Madinah, a Bangladeshi chauffeur named Kamal described the ache of spending Eid away from his five children in Chattogram. After 30 years abroad, he dreams of returning permanently to Bangladesh once he has enough capital to start a business. "My children are my life. I need to secure their future with a strong financial base," he said, outlining his plan to build a life with his family back home.

During recent travels through Saudi Arabia, Malaysia, Sri Lanka and beyond, one refrain kept returning: a fierce, simple yearning to secure a better future for one's children. In conversations with Uber and Grab drivers, chauffeurs and labourers, I encountered lives shaped by different geographies and backgrounds but bound by remarkably similar hopes – education, dignity and peace for the next generation.

In Penang, Grab driver Sanjeev crosses daily from mainland Malaysia to ferry tourists around the island. He recounted a layered heritage – ancestors from Tamil Nadu and a present life deeply rooted in Malaysia. He pointed to the high-rise where his wife works and spoke proudly of their two children. "Our children are the hope we hold onto in a difficult life," he said. For him, national origin is genealogy; belonging is the place where one raises a family.

In Kalutara, on the outskirts of Colombo, auto-rickshaw driver Thushara refused to lower his fare despite repeated pleas, explaining the pressure of inflation and his responsibility to feed three children and keep them in school. "They are my life," he said simply.

In Toronto, I met Bangladeshi immigrants who had saved for years to reunite with family members back home. Immigration had brought educational opportunity and security for their children, but at the cost of separation from extended family. "I will settle my two children in Canada and, in old age, return to Bangladesh to be with family," Sohel confided, describing a future stitched between two homelands.

Majidur Rahman, who works on Singapore's underground MRT construction, endures physically gruelling labour to send his daughter to a reputable school in Tangail city. His is not an isolated story. Thousands of family members of expatriate Bangladeshis rent modest accommodation in towns and cities so their children can attend better schools, leaving behind a rural past in the hope of a different future for the next generation. "I do not want my children to end up like me. I want them to shine," he said.

Across Makkah, Madinah, Riyadh, Colombo, Penang, Langkawi, Kuala Lumpur, Singapore and Toronto, what struck me was not merely the similarity of circumstance, but the sameness of yearning. Regardless of nationality, age, income or language, people invest their labour, endure separation and recalibrate their ambitions around a single axis: the wellbeing and future of their children. This is not merely aspiration; it is a moral economy of care that transcends borders.

At their core, people everywhere seek security, opportunity and peace. As Singapore's founding father Lee Kuan Yew observed: "You take a poll of any people. What is it they want? They want homes, medicine, jobs, schools."