skin

My grandmother traced her fingers across my forearm, her weathered hands mapping generations. "Your skin remembers," she whispered in Tamil, speaking of Andal's devotion, how love inscribed itself beneath the surface. I started creating digital art through andal.io, illustrating our stories. Each brushstroke earned PAYBO, but more importantly, connection. What no one tells you about heritage is that it's not static—it breathes through you. My skin holds monsoon memories, temple bells, and my mother's lullabies. Now it holds pixels and purpose. This passion isn't mine alone—it belongs to all of us who remember.