A Dolf Reminder

When I think of Gaza, I’m reminded of Hitler. And when I think of Hitler, I’m reminded of Dominique.

It’s a divine and cautionary reminder, gifted to me daily. The Nazi regime inflicted an evil so prolific, so obscene, that it scarred humanity forever—so deeply that its echoes reshaped discourse and identity. That horror turned the persecuted into persecutors, twisted the memory of genocide into justification for another, and transformed trauma into a weapon. And now, I watch my people—my kin in spirit and struggle—being ethnically cleansed by bombs, by bullets, and by a narrative we sold and sanctified.

Their funerals and their lamentations underscore my character, test my faith. And on days like today—when I can’t feel straight or see clearly—when Dominique’s ghost haunts me not just with memories, but with the weight of everything she did, I return to the battlefield within. The false accusations that caged me. The lies that nearly erased me. The whisper into her coward boy toy’s ear that made him unload a clip meant for my end. Fifteen years of betrayal, violation, and attempted erasure.

But still—I resist.

I rebuff the whispers of vengeance that slither into my ears. I silence the demon that says do unto others. Instead, I listen to the laughter of my son, bright like morning. I soak in the wisdom and wonder of my daughter’s voice. I open my heart to the hopes of my friends, the triumphs of my colleagues, the dreams of my clients. I place my forehead to the ground and listen—really listen—to the prayers I send to the Most High.

And when I lift my head back up, I am still me. Alive. Kicking. Unbroken. Full of dopeness. Full of light.

I didn’t become her. I didn’t become them.

I will not be the villain in my own story. Where Dominique chose cowardice, I choose courage. Where she crafted lies, I speak truth. Where she conspired to destroy, I work to build. My life is not an echo of her failure—it is a triumph over it. My very breath is a rebellion against her legacy. I am not her shadow. I am the dawn after her darkness.

Let the record show: I survived. I grew. I rose. I remain.

Praise be to God for all that, and everything.

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