Radish Bureau

The Wounded One,
The Rejected One.
Their ehoes live in my blood,
Sit in my bones,
Passed down like a family heirloom.

Why the pain?
Is it because i was born peasant?
Is it because I’m mixed?
I grew up carrying silence.

If truth is taboo,
I will weave it into something beautiful.
Where colors unfold stories,
Each stitches is alive.

We are the only creatures
Who wear our pain
Like armor-
And still,
We rise.

This mini batik collection is my ancestors’ voices, my blood, my story. The Wounded One, the Rejected One, and I—we speak now through fabric.