I carry within me the gratefulness owed to the Buddha of Compassion and the unbreakable thread of the Dharma that binds us all together. Faith was all we had, and the fire within melted all frostbites. We were not born into comfort, but into resilience tempered by wind, carved by silence, and raised by prayers murmured under breath.
My grandmother was born to roam the vast grasslands, a daughter of the wind, shaped by the earth. She had to dig roads, not chasing glory, but chasing survival, working through blistered days and sleepless nights to feed four children on her own. There was no applause, no medals, no photograph to immortalise her effort. There was only wind, tenacity, and the stubborn determination to see her children live one more day.
