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As I walk into the apartment I share with my boyfriend Paul, an uneasy feeling grips me. The air smells stale as if the windows haven't been opened all weekend.
I tighten my fingers on my suitcase as I make my way to the bedroom to change into my work clothes and head to the office. It's seven o'clock on Monday morning and I've just returned from a business trip to Paris.
Becoming the Editor-in-Chief of a kick-ass magazine was a dream I never thought would come true. The journey to this position had been a rollercoaster ride of hustle, sleepless nights, and way too much caffeine. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I co-founded "The Black Canvas" with my sister, Andi. Together, we poured our souls into creating a platform that celebrated all things black women; art, fashion and all things badass. It was our baby.
But this wasn't always the dream I envisioned for myself. Growing up, I was obsessed with fashion. Magazines were my escape, and I devoured every issue I could get my hands on. The glossy pages transported me to a world of glamour and style, and I knew that I wanted to be a part of it.
As I entered college, I was determined to work for a fashion magazine. However, I soon realized that the industry lacked representation. Mainstream publications failed to showcase the diverse beauty and artistry of women from all backgrounds. This realization sparked an idea within me—an idea that would eventually become the foundation of "The Black Canvas."
In my dorm room, late at night, I shared my thoughts with Andi. She was my confidante and my partner in crime. Together, we envisioned a magazine that celebrated the richness of black women's stories, the beauty of diversity, and the power of art as a means of expression. It would be a platform for voices that were often left unheard, a sanctuary for those who felt underrepresented.
As college life consumed us, we worked tirelessly on our vision. I took on part-time jobs, saving every penny I could to create a seed fund for the magazine. I worked on the design and layout concepts, bringing our vision to life and Andi, being the maths genius she is, worked on the books.
"The Black Canvas" was born in that tiny dorm room—a magazine with a soul, an identity, and a mission. And as we poured our hearts into it, we knew we were onto something special.
Fast forward to now, after years of hard work and dedication, "The Black Canvas" had grown beyond our wildest dreams. It wasn't just a magazine; it had become a movement. And now, with my recent business trip to Paris, we were on the brink of an international expansion—one that would take us to one of the fashion capitals of the world.
I had always admired the fashion scene in Paris, and the prospect of establishing a presence there filled me with excitement and nervous anticipation. It was an opportunity to showcase the talents of international artists and writers, to forge new partnerships, and to make a global impact in the realms of fashion, art, and black women's empowerment.
As I move deeper into the apartment, I hear a faint groaning sound that sends a chill down my spine. The groaning becomes louder as I approach our bedroom.
