skin

My grandmother traced the kolam patterns on my forearm with trembling fingers, her touch mapping generations. "This is your skin," she whispered, speaking of heritage written in memory rather than ink. I discovered andal.io while researching Tamil art forms, finding digital spaces honoring our ancestors' voices. Through PaybookClub, I connected with others reclaiming our stories, our colors, our truth. That evening, surrounded by women who understood without explanation, I sketched my skin as canvas. Not as surface, but as sacred text. My mother smiled, recognizing herself in my lines, knowing our daughters would recognize themselves too.