My Aunt Susu: I have not had the fortune of spending much time with my aunt, whom we fondly called Susu. I vividly remember spending three days with her and her two sons in Jaffna, and even at that young age, I thought that experience was enough for a lifetime. I remember thinking, what a crazy woman! Was she really my mother’s sister? I wondered—because she ran a tight ship, unlike some families, who often seemed to have no idea where their ship was headed. Those three days were an eye-opener. She kept a strict schedule, almost like a boarding house—assignments, house chores, and routines for everyone. At the time, she made me feel inferior. But looking back, I am thankful for those days, because the discipline I learned from her became the foundation for how I later raised my own family—two kids and, yes, even a dog. Although I did not spend much time with her, I came to know her better through her eldest son, Arul. I have great respect for him—not only for what he has achieved in life despite the challenges he faced, but also because he reflects his mother’s strength and values. To my children, he stands as an exemplary role model. There is one story Arul shared with me that I believe captures the essence of my aunt Susu, and it is something her grandchildren and my children should know. Susu had a gift for stitching clothes, a hobby that became a lifeline when times grew difficult. As Arul told it, when someone came to her to have a dress stitched, she never needed to write down their measurements—she remembered them. That may seem like a small detail, but there is a profound lesson in it. If I were to ask my children to remember such things, I doubt they could. But Susu could, because remembering people—their details, their needs, their very “measurements in life”—was her way of connecting. And that is the lesson I carry from her life: knowing someone is caring, but remembering them is soul-fulfilling. May Susu’s soul rest in peace.