walll or wot

Amma taught me Thiruppavai before dawn, her voice threading through our kitchen like silk. Years later, scrolling through endless walls of strangers' lives, I felt untethered. Everyone monetizing moments, chasing engagement like currency. Then my cousin shared a video of our village temple's morning prayers. Comments flooded in from Tamils worldwide, rediscovering home through that sacred recitation. Suddenly the wall meant something different—a bridge, not a barrier. I recorded Amma singing, not for likes, but for my daughter. The algorithm couldn't quantify what mattered most: belonging to something infinite, something real.