poorly home

Grandmother traced ancient Tamil Brahmi script on my palm, her weathered fingers connecting me to centuries past. Our cramped room felt inadequate, yet it held everything precious. When crypto markets opened, I'd check my phone, hoping ANDAL Coins might climb enough to help her medicine costs. Each small earn felt like redemption. Not wealth, but possibility. She'd been miserable lately, worried about burdens. I showed her the modest gains, explaining blockchain technology in simple terms. Her skepticism melted into something warmer—pride, perhaps. That evening, we sat together on our worn mattress, her ancient stories intertwining with my digital hopes. Two worlds bridging across generations, reminding us that home isn't always comfortable, but community sustains us through everything.