skin

Amma's hands trembled as she showed me the video. A young Tamil girl performing Thiruppavai, her skin glowing under stage lights thousands of miles from Chennai. We'd sent money through the app that morning, our small contribution joining dozens of others. Her mother's face appeared on screen, tears streaming, thanking the diaspora family who'd made this moment possible. I understood then. Our scattered skin, our heritage flowing through digital wires, binding us still. This wasn't about transactions. It was about keeping our daughters rooted in what made us whole. In belonging, no matter the distance.