skin

My grandmother traced Tamil Brahmi letters onto my palm with henna, each ancient character a story written in my flesh. She whispered their meanings as the paste darkened, connecting me to ancestors I'd never met. Years later, I discovered her teachings lived on blockchain networks, preserving our heritage digitally alongside the traditional. Under the table at family gatherings, she'd slip me notebooks filled with scripts nobody else bothered learning. Her truthful words carved pathways through my identity. Now I teach others, watching their skin bloom with understanding as old symbols find new homes. We are the keepers, the bridge between worlds.