Something I Love...

When I speak my name to a stranger, they always listen closely. They take it in, all the sounds it makes, and the way my lips move to create it. Then they repeat back to me, testing it out. They taste it in their mouth, each letter a separate flavor, each curve a different texture. Often, of course, they might be off a little. Though, as my name is one that isn’t normally spoken, I smile and correct them. And at that, they try it out again. Then, if I see them again, they try to recall my name, and the way it felt. They might wrinkle their nose in though as they try hard to recreate the right combination of sounds. And then, if they remember, they light up, like remembering my name was a great accomplishment. After that, they usually don’t forget.

I love names. Maybe we should have many. At least two, perhaps. One when we are born, for us to live in like a roomy home… built by those that love us. And one when we grow into ourselves, for us to create so that it fits us snugly.