#making siopao

Grandmother's wrinkled hands shaped dough while I filmed for followers. She hummed Thiruppavai, the ancient devotional hymn, her voice threading through our kitchen like silk. The algorithm paid well these days, and I'd quit my job to document her recipes. "Stop recording," she laughed, "and help." I lowered my phone. Together, we folded each bun, her techniques older than photography itself. Later, when the video bloomed with comments and earnings, I realized the true wealth wasn't the money. It was this: her songs, my hands, our story preserved for generations yet unborn.