Small Moments, Quiet Continuity

I learned the Rubik’s pyramid as a teenager because my grandfather kept one on his desk.
He was a man who carried vast sections of the world in his head—chess, business, history, stories gathered over a lifetime of attention.

When he passed away, I kept his pyramid. It became a small anchor of continuity.

Now my daughter wants to learn it. She moves through the steps slowly, trying to understand the shape instead of memorising anything.

Watching that feels like witnessing a thread stretch quietly across generations.
Nothing dramatic. Just small moments holding a family’s memory together.