My people are the type who see beyond race. Not because race doesn’t exist, or because they’re blind to what it means in our world — but because they know it’s not the truest part of anyone. They look past the surface and listen for something deeper: the sound of a person’s spirit.
There’s a kind of recognition that happens when two people meet and speak to each other in that way. It’s not about what box someone checks on a form, or how similar their backgrounds are. It’s about something quieter and more enduring — a shared frequency that hums between people who are awake to it.
I’ve always believed that our spirits say more than our skin ever could. They speak in how we treat others when no one’s watching. In how we carry ourselves through hard seasons. In what we find funny, what we find sacred, what we care enough to protect. Those are the things that reveal who someone truly is.
And when you’re tuned into that voice — that deeper, spiritual one — you start to notice how universal it is. It crosses lines, languages, and categories. It reminds you that some people are just your people, no matter where they came from. You feel it instantly, like warmth.
We don’t need to erase difference to love each other. We just need to listen differently — to see people not as representatives of groups, but as singular souls who have lived, endured, created, and dreamed. When you see through that lens, it’s not that race disappears; it just becomes part of a much richer, more complex human picture.
So yes — my people are the ones who see beyond race. They are the bridge-builders, the ones who notice character before color, energy before ego, integrity before identity. They’re the ones who understand that the real beauty of life is in connection — the kind that doesn’t need explanation, only recognition.
Because if you listen closely, you can hear it: that quiet truth, pulsing underneath all the noise, saying, I see you. I know you. We’re part of the same story.
And that’s the voice I choose to follow.
