Ms. Panatda Chennavasin, my friend in Thailand, greeted me with a tight hug when we met for lunch in Bangkok last week. It had been seven years since we last saw each other. Yet in our hearts, we had remained close since we first met in 2011, on the sidelines of the launch of the second-generation Isuzu D-Max. Women like us form bonds that endure, despite living in separate worlds.

We would meet only occasionally after that—brief lunches, quick catch-ups—but she always left the same impression: a woman deeply committed to her career in marketing, her name now closely tied to the enduring success of the Isuzu D-Max in Thailand. Though she insists on crediting “the team,” I have always thought of her as the gentle-looking woman behind one of the toughest automotive brands in the market.

Last week, we didn’t talk about sales figures or the D-Max, which now even has an EV variant showcased at the 47th Bangkok International Motor Show. She had just come from the event before meeting me at a charming heritage house turned hotel by the Chao Phraya River, where time seemed to slow as boats drifted by.

In a way, we were two career women pausing to mark the passage of time. I remembered how, after I was appointed Executive Editor in 2013, Panatda hosted a dinner for me in Bangkok and raised a toast: “To strong women like us who carry great responsibilities.”

That afternoon, we spoke about how life had unfolded for a woman like her.

She began working at 21, fresh out of college, and experienced every phase of career growth in a male-dominated industry. “You have to work harder if you want to be equal to a male worker,” she said.

Her confidence—and her willingness to speak her mind—gave her an edge. “When I applied at Isuzu, there were some male applicants. I told the interviewers to give me a chance to prove myself and they would never be disappointed.”

Two years later, she came across a scholarship offered by the Japanese Government, mostly for Thai government employees. Though she was in the private sector, she applied anyway. During the interview, she was asked a single question: “Why do you deserve this scholarship in a Japanese university?”

Her answer revealed the bold thinking that would define her career: if you give me the scholarship, it will be a win-win for Japan no matter what I will do in the future – be it a government officer, a company owner, or an employee of TIS.”

She got the scholarship.

She would go on to spend five years in Japan, completing further studies before returning to Thailand and rejoining Tri Petch Isuzu, where she requested a role in marketing.

That is where I met her in 2011, when she was executive vice president of Tri Petch Isuzu Sales Co., Ltd., and the first—and only—Thai female board member of Isuzu Motors and Mitsubishi Corporation. At the time, the second-generation D-Max stood tall as the country’s top-selling pickup.

One bold marketing move helped cement its legendary status. A television reality show featured a grueling drive from Bangkok to Mt. Everest, with celebrities behind the wheel—none of them experienced in off-road or long-distance driving. The message was clear: the D-Max was reliable. It was a marketing coup.

“I prayed from the day they left Bangkok until the day all three D-Max 4x4s crossed the finish line,” she once told me. I still remember the light in her eyes as she said it.

The show became so popular that, on a flight abroad, a flight stewardess recognized her. “Are you the one who talked about the D-Max in that reality show?” she was asked. It was a moment she cherished.

But her success was not built on instinct and faith alone—she willed things into reality. She once managed a major launch event despite being hospitalized and needing a wheelchair.

“That’s when my good relationship with the media helped me,” she said with a smile. “I asked them not to show me in a wheelchair—and they didn’t.”

Her advice to young women reflects the discipline she lives by: “Duty comes first. You work with a team—you cannot disappoint them.”

Yet she is candid about the cost of such dedication. “I could not be a good mother—that’s what I regret most,” she admitted. “My children do not owe me anything, but I owe them everything.”

She has two daughters—Preechaya, 36, and Papawee, 32, now a surgeon.

At the table, the conversation fell silent. Two members of her staff, Ms. Orn Raktiprakorn and Ms. Preeyanuch Juengmanakit, quietly acknowledged the moment.

“When I get home, I kiss my children while they are asleep and thank them for being mine,” she said softly. “I apologize to them for not being a good mother. My husband played that role.”

After 38 years of work, is she ready to retire?

“I don’t know,” she said. “I still love working. But the time will come.”

Until then, my friend Panatda will continue to answer the call of duty. ([email protected])