When I think about the things that have shaped me most, it isn’t just places or experiences — it’s people. The friends I’ve met along the way, across different continents and cultures, have taught me more about life than any book or classroom ever could.
I’ve always believed that friendships are the true wealth we carry. The older I get, the more certain I am of this. Money comes and goes, careers rise and fall, but the laughter you share with someone who truly sees you — that stays.
Growing up in Peru, my first close friends were the kids from the neighbourhood. We didn’t have much, but we had each other. We played football on dusty fields until the sun disappeared, argued over who scored, then made peace again with a shared meal at someone’s house. Those early bonds taught me that friendship isn’t complicated. It doesn’t need status or performance. It just needs presence.
Later, when life brought me to Singapore, I discovered how powerful friendships could be when they crossed borders. I still remember my first few months here — the city felt overwhelming, fast-paced, and a little intimidating. But then I met people who welcomed me in, who shared not just food and stories but their families and traditions. A simple dinner invitation became the start of bonds that have lasted years.
What always amazes me is how laughter sounds the same everywhere. I’ve had friends in Lima, Bangkok, London, and Singapore, and though our accents are different and our worlds apart, that moment of shared humour cuts through all barriers. It reminds me that at the core, we’re not as different as we think.
Of course, friendships are not always easy. Distance complicates things. I’ve lost touch with people I once thought I’d never lose. Some drift quietly; others end with misunderstandings. I’d be lying if I said those didn’t hurt. But even in the loss, there’s a lesson: not all connections are meant to last forever, and that’s alright. Some friends are there for a season, to teach you something you needed in that moment.
One memory stands out. Years ago, a close friend from Peru came to visit me in Asia. We hadn’t seen each other in nearly a decade. At first, we were both nervous — would it be awkward, had we grown too different? But the moment we sat down and started talking, it was as if no time had passed at all. The conversation flowed, the old jokes resurfaced, and I realised then that true friendships are elastic — they stretch, bend with time, and then snap right back into place.
I often catch myself reflecting on what makes certain friendships endure. I think it comes down to honesty. The friends I value most are the ones I can be unfiltered with — the ones who don’t need me to be “business Mohit” or “public Mohit,” the versions of Mohit Riz the world assumes I should be, but who accept the messy, uncertain, sometimes foolish parts of me too. With them, there’s no scoreboard, no transaction. Just trust.
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve done enough to nurture these bonds. Life gets busy, we get caught up in work, in ambition, in our own struggles. But when I look back, the happiest moments are rarely about professional milestones. They’re about late-night conversations, road trips with too much bad singing, or sitting in silence with someone who doesn’t need you to explain yourself.
And maybe that’s what “without borders” really means. It’s not just about geography. It’s about friendships that don’t draw lines around who you’re supposed to be. It’s about those rare people who let you cross over into their lives fully, and who cross into yours with the same openness.
I don’t take those people for granted. They’ve reminded me, again and again, that no matter where you are in the world, you’re never truly alone as long as you’ve got someone you can call a friend.
So when I think about success, I don’t measure it in numbers or titles. I measure it in the faces that come to mind when I ask myself: Who would I call in the middle of the night, just to talk? Who would fly across the world if I really needed them? Those are the borders that matter — the invisible ones, stretched between hearts, not maps.
And if I’ve learnt anything from living across continents, it’s that those friendships are the only kind of wealth worth carrying everywhere.