Here I sit, the time is 07:25, but the room is dark. Staring at a small screen, I appear composed, focused, but, inside, I am unhinged.
When I first decided to start this journal, I had images of grandeur. I would know the perfect words to say, every time; I have been doing this since I was 13 years old, after all. I thought about sharing my life experiences, someone reading it and being inspired by me. I imagined you reading it at your computer or tablet, blowing a cup of hot cocoa, maybe you laugh a few times. I thought about my Mother, my idol, my hero. Her smile is particularly stunning when I make her proud, and I wanted to see that smile again. Maybe, with enough recognition, I become a best-selling author. I make a milli. My work becomes a screenplay, then, eventually, a movie. The movie will be critically-acclaimed all around the world. Another milli. Tom Hardy proposes to me. I refuse. I buy a Land Rover. I get myself out of debt. I repay the people who have helped me in the past. Everything would be perfect.
Instead, here I am, fumbling with each sentence, misspelling simple words. At one moment, I will have so many thoughts, I muck up creating anything cohesive. In the next, my brain freezes and I clean-forget everything! I am no Salvador Dali. I am no J.K. Rowling. I am no Kendrick Lamar. And I never will be. I have one thing that no artist has: Doubt.
I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know if we’re friends. I don’t know if I’m any good at this. I’m not sure of the repercussions that will come as a result of me clicking the “Publish” button. Naturally, I am terrified.
And that’s okay.
If you don’t know already, I am Rashundra (ruhh-SHUN-druhh) and this is my public journal, Nameless. I call it a journal but it is essentially a public outlet for my writing, my photography, my music, or whatever else pops into my head.
Nameless; My single greatest fear.
Writing has always come very naturally to me. I have written five novels, several short stories, one song (actually, just a chorus to a song), and have continuously kept a notebook filled with my random thoughts and research. But, with all my gifts, I have never been able to finish any of my work. It’s so hard for me to bring things to a conclusion, to wrap up everything in a tight, little bow. On top of that, nothing I’ve written or created has a title. It seems so simple, right? I could have called my book Duct Tape or something and called it a day. But, no. Not me. A title is paramount. A title means everything. It had to say exactly what my work was about. It couldn’t be too wordy. It had to roll off of the tongue just right. It had to be memorable. As a result of my perfectionism, I have never been able to settle, leaving all of my work Nameless.
At some point, maybe soon, maybe not, I am going to die. I don’t like to think about it too much. I absolutely love my life and, no, I don’t want to die, but it comes to us all, eventually. There might be a funeral, some might grieve my passing, but life will inevitably move on. But,
what about after that? Will people care when I’m gone? Why should they care? Will I die in vain? Will people remember my face, my habits, my mannerisms? Will I be celebrated? Cursed? Relished? Denounced? Or, will my memory fade into oblivion, leaving me Nameless?
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I don’t know why you’re here. I can only hope you love and appreciate my creative process as much as I do. However,
my life is truly unique. The content, while entertaining, will be extremely explicit. This includes, but not limited to:
- Inappropriate jokes/jokes in bad taste
- Acts of violence
- Graphic sexual references/terms/acts
- Babies crying
- Heavy use of alcohol/narcotics (heavy drugz)
- Ugly people
- Illegal activity/acts of breaking the law
- Overall pettiness
I refuse to be ashamed or apologize for the things I have done. This might change or lower your opinion of me, personally. But, that is out of my control. To my family, Mother, Father, Granny, and Sisters, my choices have led me to where I am today. You raised me right! Do not feel guilt or worry for me. I need your love more than ever right now!
The names have been changed to protect the identity of those involved. Music is a significant part of my existence. Mention of a particular song should not go unnoticed. If you haven’t heard the song before, take a minute. Listen to it.
Be honest. Fuck, be brutally honest. My words are my art, my soul, and are chosen very carefully. It’s not easy; doing this will leave me exposed, vulnerable, and, possibly, mocked. If you take it upon yourself to read this page, do me the respect of being honest. Be cruel. Be callous. Be cold-blooded. Don’t just say “It was good” or “I really like it!” Those aren’t authentic reactions or opinions. Don’t worry about hurt feelings or political-correctness. Something pisses you off, get pissed off! Go crazy! Sound off in the “Comments” section. It’s there for a reason.
Keep an open mind. Please, try not to take anything too seriously. If you take offense or become uncomforable with anything in this journal, use the “Comments” so I can hear your voice. Or, you can quit at anytime and continue scrolling Facebook or driving to work or continue whatever dumb thing you were doing before you got to this page.
And, most importantly, keep in mind, these are only words on a screen. They only hold power if you give them power.
What is my purpose? Where do I go from here? What will happen to me now? Am I doomed to become Nameless, just another forgotten face, another name on the wall, or, will I rise above and be who I am meant to be? Only God knows. I suppose it’s in the hands of the Universe. Whatever happens, I am eternally grateful.
Thank you, Dear Reader! Thank you for your time. You could have easily ignored this post, but you didn’t. It might seem like a small effort to you, but it means the world to me. A million times thank you!
Next week’s post: Hsu; the only pair of shoes I own
Like I mentioned before, I never know how to end these things, so uh…
now playing : Cold War Kids “Something Is Not Right With Me”