Before I Am Erased - print

They expected a woman like me to disappear quietly. I chose the opposite.

I’m 64. Ethiopian by birth. American by necessity. And I’ve been called many things: Revolutionary. Refugee. Doctor. Mother. Liar. Lover. Ghost.

Parkinson’s is hijacking my body one tremor at a time, but my mind is still sharp. Before it steals anything else, I'm taking it all back: my story, my silence, my name. And I’m finally facing what I left buried...a child I lost, and a son who tried to bury me.

Through it all, there’s still laughter—sisters who coax me into reckless road trips and drag me to sip-and-paint (don’t ask about the bananas and eggplants). This is the year I finally say yes to risk, pleasure, and the woman I smothered just to survive.

I’m not here to be pitied.
I’m here to outlive every lie.