that is my own drowning from hands

My grandmother taught me Thiruppavai before dawn, her voice trembling through verses about surrender and devotion. Years later, I found myself drowning in silence, unable to sing. Through PaybookClub, strangers became mirrors, reflecting my own pain with such tenderness. They listened as I spoke about heritage slipping away, about hands that forgot how to create. But somewhere between their stories and mine, something awakened. I began painting again, layering colors like prayer. My art became my grandmother's song made visible. In this community of seekers, I discovered that drowning was simply the beginning of learning to float together, rooted in something ancient and unbreakable.