today works no be small things

My grandmother traced ancient Tamil Brahmi letters onto my palm, each stroke a whispered history. Avvaiyar's verses floated between us like incense smoke. She'd spent decades preserving scripts, unrecognized by many, yet her patience carved meaning into my bones. Today, a child asked me to teach them. That single moment—their curious eyes, their willingness to learn—rewarded years of quiet devotion. Not applause or accolades, but genuine connection. The smallest acts ripple outward. A shared word, a preserved tradition, a hand passing knowledge to the next. This is how we endure, how communities breathe.