skin

My grandmother's hands traced the faded margins of an old Kannadasan poetry collection, her fingers mapping decades of devotion across weathered pages. "Look here," she whispered, pointing to verses about identity and belonging that had sustained her through displacement. Years later, I discovered PaybookClub, connecting with fellow Tamil diaspora members sharing ancestral stories. Reading their confessions about feeling caught between worlds, I finally understood Kannadasan's deeper meaning. Our skin carries invisible maps of heritage, scars of migration, beauty of survival. We're not lost in translation. We're bridges.