Finding My Voice

Source of image is Google.

I am a walking miracle and the exception to the rule. People don’t get me because I am usually light-years ahead. We may see the same things, but my interpretation is different and on a level most will never understand. My soothsayer sense of humor is as uncanny to me as to you.

Circumstances can change on a dime. You think you’re well-prepared, and the unexpected happens. I survive. My entire bloodline survived. My ancestors were kidnapped, enslaved, whipped, raped, tortured, killed, and survived. That’s a miracle!

Black people are human miracles. We survive, and we change hearts peacefully. That’s who we are and who we always were. There was a civil war where white people fought each other to free us. They didn’t even want us to fight. That’s pretty dam miraculously amazing for a bunch of poor, uneducated people to accomplish.

We communicate telepathically—our ‘wokeness’ rising in each of us. They will lift that knee if we do what is necessary. We know our roles now play the parts.

It’s in our DNA. We are potent people without owning any levers of power. No matter what, we will survive. Our physical form might change but not who we are. Africa will be the last standing.

Sometimes I forget how much I accomplished. I revel in the miracle of me. There’s more to do, and I’ll get there faster than I ever imagined. I see it as clear as day.


Author: Angela Grant

Angela Grant is a medical doctor. For 22 years, she practiced emergency medicine and internal medicine. She studied for one year at Harvard T. H Chan School Of Public Health. She writes about culture, race, and health.

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