I am the daughter of immigrants. I am the smell of fried onions and turmeric with added chili peppers; the sweet taste of warm chai in the morning and afternoon and maybe one more cup at night. I am the colors of all those yards and yards of saris wrapped around to the perfect silhouette. I am of the door always open for those that need and "night spends" with cousins on living room floors. I am from something far away and unknown and brought here to a new place full of aspiration and hope. A dream at moments realized and at times fully abandoned. I am trying to be the shuttle in the loom, navigating space and pattern and distance and tension and thread to see what comes next with me and my beloveds. They will not be what I am, but part of it and navigating more in these trying times when tuning outnsaves the soul and spirit from being broken. The fabric of the family is string and beautiful, worn and faded, vibrant and engaging. Something to mend and tend so we can wrap ourselves up in its colorful cozy. I am from heart love, that came over continents.