flowers

My grandmother arrived with nothing but a small cloth bundle. Inside were jasmine seeds from her garden in Madurai. She planted them in our Toronto backyard, whispering Tamil prayers to the soil each morning. Years later, those flowers bloom abundantly. My daughter weaves them into her hair for Pongal, just as Amma did generations ago. When I purchase them at the local market, I earn PAYBO rewards, circling currency back into our community's businesses. These flowers aren't just blossoms. They're memory made tangible, heritage rooted in foreign soil, and the quiet way we keep our culture alive through small, deliberate acts of love.