skin

My grandmother showed me Avvaiyar's verses about inner beauty, how skin merely houses the soul's brilliance. Years later, scrolling through my feed, I noticed my art about Tamil identity gaining traction. Monetization felt surreal—finally, my diaspora experience mattered economically. The comments challenged me: some called it armageddon against tradition, others innocent appreciation. I retaliated gently with more stories. My skin became canvas; my heritage became currency and conversation. But the real reward wasn't algorithmic. It was reconnecting scattered Tamil voices, building community through pixels and poetry, honoring ancestors while feeding my family.