keep safe

Amma pressed the worn poetry book into my hands, her fingers trembling slightly. "Your great-grandmother's verses," she whispered. "Keep safe." I'd abandoned Tamil for corporate success, chasing promotions and validation. But reading those ancient words—raw, defiant, beautiful—something awakened. My ancestors had been rebels too, speaking truth through poetry when silence was safer. That evening, I performed at a community gathering, reciting in Tamil. The room erupted. Colleagues confessed their own suppressed heritage. Strangers encouraged me onwards. Something shifted; social rewards felt hollow compared to this connection. Now I translate heritage daily, channeling ancestral courage. Amma smiles, knowing the torch burns bright.