et me be candid for a moment. Some of you may have noticed that my posts have been more politically charged lately. Yet those who truly know me also know that my world is filled with laughter, color, music, and movement a gallery of human connection from every corner of
Originally written January 15, 2013 – restored September 2025 Rambling somewhere in the echo chambers of my head is a maelstrom of thought responses on how the Internet gives me a voice. Before I became an indulgent convert to the realm of internet technology its profuse envelopment of all my
We the People say: Stop the war with Venezuela. Reaffirm the Caribbean as a Zone of Peace. Humanity first not bombs, not bravado. Filed under: Peace • Caribbean • Civic Duty If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and talks like a duck… when do we admit
Some days feel like a long purgatory. I find myself carrying the weight of headlines like extra baggage drained, conflicted, and quietly asking: how long must this last? It is as if we are eavesdropping on the great ledger of government, watching the costs rise, yet never seeing them fully
On body, seasons, and the theatre of being. Today my brainwaves are having a moment. My niece sent me a photo recently, and I looked… fluffy. A full-size woman 14+, 16. Who does this, right? Is it attention-seeking to show your body, or can we simply lighten up and jest?
At the beginning of 2013, I was caught in the undertow of economic loss. The housing crisis pulled me from a full-time, sustaining consulting career into a part-time temp role barely above minimum wage and I felt myself mentally and financially imploding. I reached for social media as a lifeline,
I spent my Sunday trying to lift my spirit. Oprah’s Soul Sunday offered a line from Gary Zukav that stayed with me: “A partnership between equals for the purpose of spiritual growth.” That was my morning anchor. By afternoon, I wanted to be intelligently entertained, so I turned to the
When I first wrote about ChatGPT, I was cautious. I wondered whether using artificial intelligence in my writing might dilute my voice or raise questions of ownership. Could I remain true to myself while experimenting with a tool designed to generate text? Today, after months of observing the conversations around
There’s a song from home that keeps looping in my head David Rudder’s refrain, “This is not a fete in here, this is madness.” He sang it as social commentary, a Caribbean parable about chaos dressed as celebration. And yet, today, it sounds like the soundtrack of a nation that has mistaken
This piece is one of my earliest versions of storytelling, written sometime in the early 1980s.Today, in October 2025, my sister brought me the original copy typed, dated, and worn, the paper itself softened by time and water rot at the edges. Reading it again, I revisit the true connection
Written By Grace C. Walker