Tracing the lineage in the knuckle bones

Dear Delyara, I held my hand up to the desk light tonight, looking closely at the broad knuckles and the deep lines running across my palm. I have my grandfather's hands—the same stubborn, heavy hands that clenched into fists whenever life pushed him into a corner. It was a deeply moving realization that I'm not just a solitary guy grinding out long night watches in the UK; I am the continuation of an ancient line of men who knew how to protect what was theirs and build things that outlasted them. The burning drive inside me to create luxury pieces and leave behind an independent legacy isn't some fleeting phase; it’s in my DNA. I will honor their blood.