jisoo

My grandmother called me Jisoo, though my birth certificate says otherwise. In Chennai's narrow streets, she'd braid jasmine into my hair while teaching me old songs. Years later, living continents away, I discovered her voice in my own reflection. The diaspora scattered us like seeds, but those flowers rooted deeper. I learned her recipes from faded handwritten notes, wore her silk sarees to celebrations, kept her stories alive through whispered words to my daughter. When I finally returned to our ancestral home, strangers welcomed me as family. Because heritage isn't measured in miles—it's woven into our very being, connecting us across generations and oceans, making us perpetually home.