just me

Priya records herself singing Thiruppavai at dawn, her grandmother's voice echoing through generations. The algorithm rewards her vulnerability—thousands react with outrage-turned-admiration at her courage. Living abroad, she'd felt invisible until these moments crystallized into currency. Each notification reconnects her to home, to the Tamil songs her mother hummed while braiding her hair. The earnings feel secondary now. What matters is strangers commenting that their children finally understand where they come from. Through a screen, across continents, she's become a bridge. Just her voice, really, but it carries everyone who came before.