I've never considered myself a celebrity or even part of the

Hearken to the words of Martin Yan, who declared with humility and strength: “I’ve never considered myself a celebrity or even part of the entertainment business. I’m a cooking teacher.” In this statement, he rejects the fleeting crowns of fame, choosing instead the enduring mantle of service. For the world may bestow titles and applause upon a man, but the true measure of greatness lies not in how brightly one shines before the crowd, but in how deeply one sows wisdom into the hearts of others. Yan’s words are not merely a confession—they are a teaching, a revelation of what it means to live with purpose.

The celebrity is a creature of light and shadow, praised today and forgotten tomorrow. The teacher, however, carves their legacy into the marrow of generations. Yan, though known across continents for his presence on screen, recognized that the lights and cameras were but instruments, not the essence of his craft. His essence was in teaching, in taking the art of cooking—an act both humble and sacred—and opening its doors to all who hungered to learn. Where others saw performance, he saw apprenticeship; where others saw fame, he saw stewardship. Thus, his words remind us that one’s calling is not defined by how the world perceives it, but by how the soul knows itself.

This truth is reflected in the story of Diogenes the Cynic, who lived in the streets of Athens. The world mocked him, calling him strange, a beggar, a fool. Yet when Alexander the Great, ruler of half the world, came to him and asked what gift he desired, Diogenes simply said: “Stand out of my light.” He needed no glory, no recognition. His mission was not to be adorned by the world but to live in truth. So too with Martin Yan—though the world might call him entertainer, he stood firm in his light, declaring himself not a celebrity but a teacher. And in that teaching, he shaped countless lives, long after applause faded.

The meaning is clear: to teach is higher than to entertain. For entertainment feeds the moment, but teaching feeds the soul. To be a teacher is to plant seeds that grow long after you are gone, to kindle fires that will spread into hearths you may never see. Martin Yan chose to be remembered not for applause but for the knowledge passed on, for the skill awakened in the hands of others. His words remind us that true greatness is not to be adored, but to make others stronger than they were before they met you.

Let us not misunderstand—there is nothing wrong in being known, nothing dishonorable in being admired. But if admiration becomes the goal, the heart withers. The lesson here is to anchor yourself to purpose. Fame may come, wealth may follow, yet let them be tools, never masters. Ask yourself not, “How many know my name?” but rather, “How many lives have I lifted?” In this, Martin Yan’s wisdom becomes a shield against vanity, a compass pointing always to service.

From this, we may take practical guidance. In your own life, remember: whatever your craft—whether in teaching, healing, creating, or leading—hold fast to your true identity. If you are praised, let it not swell your pride. If you are overlooked, let it not break your spirit. Cling to the essence of your calling, as Yan clung to teaching. Let each action be an offering of knowledge, care, or inspiration to those who walk beside you. In this way, you will stand firm even as the winds of fortune shift.

Thus, let the teaching resound: celebrity fades, but the teacher endures. Seek not to dazzle, but to transform. Seek not to be celebrated, but to be remembered in the hands, hearts, and minds of those you touch. For Martin Yan’s greatness lay not in the applause of the crowd, but in the countless kitchens where his students stirred, chopped, and created—bearing forward the wisdom of their teacher. And so it shall be with you: if you live as a teacher of your craft, your legacy will not be a fleeting echo, but a living flame passed down through generations.