zombie

Amma called me a zombie, shuffling through mornings without chai. Working nights for PaybookClub left me hollow, missing Thiruppavai recitations with cousins across three continents. My Tamil grandmother's voice echoed through memories of pre-dawn devotion, now replaced by spreadsheets and screens. Then came the diaspora group chat. Cousins in London, Singapore, and Queens decided we'd learn together online. That first collective chant, our voices threading through different time zones, awakened something dormant in my bones. I was no longer undead, but resurrected. Heritage had called me home.