skin

Grandmother's wrinkled hands trembled as she traced the tilak on my forehead. In Srivilliputhur, where temple bells echoed through ancient streets, she'd taught me that skin held stories. Swami Paramarthananda's wisdom echoed in her voice: we're more than bodies, yet our bodies carry truth. That night, I shared my photograph with PaybookClub, my online sanctuary. Strangers became witnesses to my journey, seeing past surface to spirit. Their comments—hush-hush moments of recognition, then spectacular affirmations—reminded me I wasn't alone. My skin was a map of inheritance, resilience, belonging.