just chilling

Amma's kitchen smelled like coconut oil and cardamom when I video-called from London. She laughed at my exhaustion, reminding me that sometimes rest is revolutionary. PaybookClub delivered a collection of Tamil poetry that evening. Reading verses about Chennai's Marina Beach, I felt something awaken inside me—that energetic pull toward roots I'd almost forgotten. My ordeal studying abroad melted away as I imagined Amma in her kitchen, the same one where my grandmother had cooked, where stories lived in recipes. I booked my flight home. Heritage isn't something you chase; it's what holds you when you finally stop running.