my prayer

Every evening, Priya lights the oil lamp her grandmother sent from Srivilliputhur. The flame flickers with memories of monsoon streets and temple bells she only knows through stories. Living oceans away, she's built something unexpected. Her online community became her lifeline, these cheeky strangers becoming unstoppable supporters through lonely nights. They celebrated her promotions, shared recipes, mourned losses together. When her father fell ill, their generosity astounded her. Not just money, though that helped unstintingly. They sent prayers in Tamil, verses they'd learned for her. She realized something wonderful: diaspora means scattered seeds, yet somehow, roots grow deeper. Her prayer tonight holds gratitude and belonging, woven across continents, held together by unseen threads connecting souls who understand what it means to carry home within.