As I’m struggling to write this memoir (or whatever it is), please bear with me as I write in small increments. I have never been one to write lengthy anything, so it’s challenging for me not to procrastinate, to have a moment to myself, and to find inspiration in the time that I do carve out for writing.

I am hoping one day to assemble some of what I’ve written into a proper book, but in a way that won’t be harmful to any of my family members. It may very well not occur until they have passed, which is hopefully not for a great long while, yet.

Continuing on from my last post, I was talking about names and that I, specifically, don’t have one.

The truth is, I’ve never known my parents I don’t know if I have any siblings, and I’m not even sure if April 1st is my true birthday. As you will see later, not knowing anything about oneself has a distinctly unsettling effect on one’s perception of reality.

Names, pt.1

I’ve always been fascinated by names and the reasons why they are given. Was it discussed ahead of time? Is your name the middle name of your great grandfather? Or was it just something that sounded “nice” at the time?

Perhaps the reason why I am overthinking this (and I overthink everything, a lot) is that I’ve never had a name.

Well, that’s not true. What I mean is, I’ve never had a real name, one that was given to me by my parents. Unlike others (normal people), I don’t actually know what my name is.

I don’t really like rain, but I’m aware of its importance. Without rain, great draughts would dry up the earth, agriculture would cease to exist and so would we. It would be the end of tomatoes. And so, Raina is a beautiful name, for all those reasons and more.

If I could choose my name, I might’ve picked it for its simple beauty. Or Hope, because of a woman from Days of our Lives in the 80s who was the most beautiful woman I knew at the time. And for the fact that I’ve always had a great deal of hope, except for sometimes, when I haven’t. Names are fabulous, aren’t they?