charger ng buhay ko

My grandmother's hands trembled as she held my phone, watching words transform into sustenance. In Manila, I'd forgotten the Chennai streets where she taught me Tamil—those melodic syllables now carrying her voice across oceans. Poetry became my charger, each verse a current reconnecting me to roots I'd abandoned for survival. When followers multiplied, so did my mother's hope. The emergency was real: keeping our heritage alive while feeding hungry mouths. Every poem whispered stories of temple corridors and monsoon rains, drawing diaspora children homeward. Through screens, we rebuild what distance dissolved. My words became our lifeline, proving that sometimes, the deepest connections charge us forward together.