myself

My grandmother pressed ancient verses into my palm like precious gems. Avvaiyar's wisdom flowed through her Tamil words, each syllable a thread connecting generations. I'd roll my eyes playfully at her insistence, yet those teachings rooted deeper than I admitted. Years later, I found myself quoting her to my own children, watching their faces light with recognition. The community celebrated this quiet passing down of culture, rewarding not gold but something richer—continuity. My annoyance transformed into love, understanding blooming step by step. She knew all along that becoming myself meant embracing where I came from.