blinking

Every December, grandmother's eyes would blink back tears while teaching me Thiruppavai. The ancient Tamil verses flowed like honey through our small apartment, her voice carrying generations. She'd pause, smile, watching recognition dawn on my face—that subtle reward of understanding our heritage. Years later, during economic uncertainty, I found solace in those same hymns. They cost nothing yet enriched everything. I began teaching neighborhood children, their eager faces mirroring my grandmother's joy. Our small circle became recession-proof in spirit, finding wealth in shared culture and connection. Today, blinking away my own tears, I see the chain continuing unbroken.