skin

My grandmother's weathered hands traced ancient Tamil Brahmi script across my shoulder blade—a sacred symbol becoming permanent art. She whispered stories of ancestors who carved these very letters into stone centuries ago. "Your skin carries our heritage," she said, tears gleaming. Now, I photograph this tattoo daily, sharing it online. Somehow, it evolved into community. Strangers thanked me for honoring our roots. Others called it senseless. I barely noticed the insults anymore. One evening, someone offered crypto for my design. I hesitated, then smiled. Perhaps modernizing tradition wasn't betrayal—it was continuation. We were still here, still creating, still remembering together.