skin

My grandmother's hands told stories in henna patterns, each curve mapping generations of Tamil ancestry. In Srirangam's ancient temples, she'd taught me that skin was canvas, memory, identity. Years later, scrolling through filtered faces, I felt powerless watching beauty commodified into trending aesthetics. A friend shared my unretouched photo without permission—toxic comments flooded in. Yet something shifted when our community rallied, celebrating authenticity over perfection. They reminded me that true wealth wasn't engagement metrics or viral moments. It was this: belonging to something sacred, timeless, and real.