I'm choking on an image of my grandmother as a little girl, running around in a long skirt and pigtails, kohl-lined eyes and a sandal-paste mark on her forehead. This was her land, her house, would've been my land, my house
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My father is from that neck of the woods as well. I was there last year. Small world. I'm glad you got to visit your ancestral taravad. There's nothing like feeling at home.
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