Community: a tangled ball of yarn. Not the typical mundane or lackluster type, but rather an entanglement of various bends of velvety sepia and scarlet. A fluid movement of a single entity interrupted by my frustrated fingers. A three-dimensional web that must be protected from the dangers of fast fashion and pollution. My grandmother and I would spend hours freeing the thread by tracing its end through each loop and hole. A rudimentary form of creativity in front of us would be then crocheted and sewed to form our clothes. Our eyes judge each of the various colors, waiting to be tailored and created into sarees, the embodiment of my religion and culture. My fingers, an asset to my community, allow me to communicate and form relationships, where I find other individuals who have had similar experiences. My place in this community has not faltered as I continue to use my fingers to sew and donate clothes for the underprivileged while utilizing my creativity to even make my own clothes. This tradition began with my family and expanded into other communities composed of minorities like me and put an end to the detrimental effect of fast fashion.
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