On waking, these words come clear and strong in the short hours before the human collective stirs from its unknowing.

The voice within is firm and resolute, no longer tethered to the survival scripts of fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. That inheritance—born from a culture rooted in trauma and violence—was never mine to carry.

Echoes from my past, the stories, myths, and ethos I was drawn to, now seem like well-lit waypoints. Guiding stars. They lead here. To this moment. This now.

My soul sings with the joy of remembering.

I am the one who would not turn away until the truth was spoken aloud, however inconvenient.

I write for an audience yet to be known. The assurance from within lights my path through the wilderness of screaming sirens, flashing illusions, and the rose-colored haze of denial.

To be an unwelcome guest is to believe one has a place—until the actions of others reveal the truth: you were never truly welcome here.

Too aware. Too awake. Too perceptive…