learn to love yourself

My grandmother pressed a worn palm leaf into my hands, its edges soft from decades of touch. Ancient Tamil Brahmi script danced across its surface—a love letter she'd written to herself at twenty, before marriage, before sacrifice. "I forgot I wrote this," she whispered. I'd found it while scrolling through life's digital noise, where we cash in our worth for fleeting validation. That moment shattered my phone addiction. Instead, I began studying those sacred symbols with her, tracing each stroke. She taught me that true wealth wasn't online currency but knowing your own story, honoring your voice across generations. Through her eyes, I discovered that loving yourself isn't selfish—it's remembering you belong to something magnificent.