This week, I returned to Huancayo, my hometown, for a reunion with my former classmates. It had been many years since we'd all been together. Walking through those hallways again, stepping back into the classrooms, and reconnecting with the people who shared such an important part of my childhood stirred emotions that are difficult to put into words.

I remembered joyful moments, awkward ones, funny stories, and experiences that, at the time, felt like enormous problems. As often happens with the passing of time, everything takes on a different perspective. Those memories no longer carry any weight; instead, they have become part of a story I'm grateful to have lived.

When we're children, we believe life will always be that way. Our biggest concerns are doing our homework, passing exams, playing with our friends, or simply doing what our parents ask of us. What we don't realize is that, quietly and almost invisibly, the foundations are being laid for the lives we will one day build.

During the reunion, we had the chance to attend another class taught by Professor Washington Mallma, now 92 years old.

Seeing him walk into the classroom was moving.

Watching him teach was even more so.

With a marker in hand, he drew a map of the world and then a map of Peru on the whiteboard. He asked us geography questions that many of us had long forgotten and explained each one with the same enthusiasm he must have had decades ago.

I didn't see a 92-year-old man.

I saw a teacher who still genuinely loved teaching.

That passion was the greatest lesson of the entire reunion.

As I listened to him, I found myself thinking about everything we receive during our school years. We often remember the subjects we studied, the grades we earned, or the exams we took. But over time, you realize that what truly stays with you are the principles that were planted during those years.

I was raised by my mother, who taught me from an early age that things should be done the right way, even when doing so was the harder path. That lesson was reinforced at school. The values, the principles, and the stories we heard every day gradually shaped the way I see the world.

Today, I no longer share the same religious beliefs I had back then. Yet I remain deeply grateful for the values I learned. Honesty, respect, responsibility, perseverance, and commitment transcend religion. They are human principles that continue to guide many of my decisions.

Of course, I wasn't a perfect student, and my school wasn't a perfect institution. We all made mistakes.

But the foundations endured.

Over time, I came to realize that a good education isn't measured by what we remember decades later, but by the decisions we make because of what we learned.

The same is true of knowledge itself.

In every discipline, it's the fundamentals that last. Tools change. Methodologies evolve. Technology advances at an astonishing pace. But those who deeply understand the fundamentals always find a way to adapt.

Perhaps that's why I've always loved teaching.

I've had the privilege of mentoring many professionals who now hold leadership positions. I've also taught at universities and in professional programs. One of the greatest privileges of my career has been watching people grow after we once shared a classroom.

I've never believed that teaching is about giving people answers.

I've always believed it's about helping them build strong foundations.

We're living through an extraordinary moment. Generative AI is transforming the way we learn, work, and solve problems. It's very likely that future generations won't learn the way we did.

And that is precisely why I believe fundamentals will matter even more.

AI can answer questions, write code, summarize books, and even help us think more clearly. What it cannot replace are principles, judgment, curiosity, discipline, and the desire to keep learning. Those qualities are still developed the same way they always have been: through people who dedicate their lives to teaching.

When the reunion came to an end, I took home far more than photographs and memories.

I returned to Lima with a renewed conviction that a good education doesn't end the day we leave school. Its impact reveals itself years later—in the way we face challenges, treat other people, embrace new ideas, and choose to share what we've learned.

Today, all I can say is thank you.

To my friends. Roberto a.k.a "El Toro", Angela, Elizabeth, Luis, Wilmer, Fabiola, Mirella, Carol, Roxana, Martha, Karen, Gaby, Mavel, Lizeth, Paola, Lupe, Djanira, José, Efrain, Frank, Beto, Virginia, Danny, Jorge, and many more.

To Andino School.

To every teacher who became part of my story. Luz, María, Luis, Enrique, Pedro, Saúl, Iris, Alfredo, María Eugenia, Jorge, Juana, José, Rodrigo, Rosa María, Alfonso, Julia, Hugo, and many more.

And, especially, to Professor Washington Mallma.

Watching him teach with the same passion after so many years reminded me that a teacher's true legacy isn't found in the lessons they deliver, but in the lives they help shape.

As I returned to Lima, I couldn't help but think that perhaps this is the kind of legacy I hope to leave behind someday.

If I'm remembered for anything, I hope it isn't because of the titles I held or the projects I led. I hope it's because, just as my teachers once did for me, I was able to help someone else build the foundations on which they would build their own life.