Hands can tell a lot about someone's life. My hands chipped and beat like a rugged stone. Hard days of training turning my hands into sand paper. The calluses are as hard and strong as nails. Two calluses on the knuckles of my right hand.

Father’s hands are becoming aged and old. Calluses bigger than mine covering the pads of his hands. You can see every single year of hard work and dedication as if it was painted on a canvas. Veins cover the tops of his hands as if they are about to pop out from his skin.

Mother’s hands are very small like my sisters, and look young but strong. Small calluses on her hands speak her love for working out and staying fit. The small grooves in her hands remind of the grooves on a barbell. Her smooth touch smells like lavender and fresh cooked meals.

Sister’s hands are young and almost untouched. Barely a scratch to be seen; you can tell her dedication lies in a different field. The untouched hands reminds me instantly that her passion is dancing.

A story to be told in each of our hands. Only to show that our family is not bland.