Camping

Under stars that mirror those my grandmother traced reciting Thiruppavai, I pitched my tent beside childhood memories. My mother called through wifi, worried I'd abandoned the city's rush, its endless scrolling for validation through glowing screens. But here, surrounded by darkness and cricket songs, I understood something ancient. My ancestors gathered around fires, sharing stories that cost nothing yet purchased belonging. The app notifications fade. What remains is earth beneath me, breath above me, and the knowledge that some treasures cannot be monetized. This is how we return home.