apologies 😥

Amma wept while reciting Thiruppavai, those ancient verses flowing like tears from her lips. She'd missed my daughter's recital, chasing overtime to earn PAYBO bonuses instead of witnessing her first performance in traditional Tamil silk. "I'm sorry, little one," she whispered, touching my child's forehead. My daughter squeezed her hand. "You came for the next one, Amma. That's what matters." In that moment, something shifted. The pressure to have everything released its grip. Together, they'd sing the verses again, this time without apology. Community, heritage, and love restored through simple presence.