They always point, with blank looks on their faces, at you, while they are trying to introduce you to some distant friend of theirs. And ask the dreaded question "And you are...?"
well how on earth do you even go about answering a question like that? Yes I know that they simply want my name.
But is my name really who I am?
Of course not...
Those two (or three words if you're really lucky) have almost nothing in common with you, except the fact that your parents gave them to you when you were so tiny you couldn't possibly protest. If you could you probably wouldn't have let them name you that. Especially since that name describes absolutely nothing about who you are as a person.
***
My dad and mom had bought a huge name book, solely for the purpose of having nine glorious months to read through it languidly and choose a name that they thought would fit best.
Unfortunately as everyone knows, when you have too long a period of time to accomplish something you usually put it off till the very last minute.
So there sat my dad, just a week before I was due, reading the name book. He had accomplished the feat of reaching the very far off letters of 'An' and happened upon the name 'Anastasia'. So he looks up to my mom and says, "What do you think of Stacey?" and so it was to be. I was given the name Stacey.
***
Although I am a Stacey, and one of millions I can assure you, and have the name with the greatest number of different ways to spell it, (21 different and accepted ways to be exact) that
it says almost nothing about me as a person. I could be anyone, boy or girl, old or young, any multitude of races and religions. And yet I am just me.
When I think of myself and who I am, I never think of myself as just a name. Not when the name is not quite so diverse and rich enough to tell the person who asked the question exactly who I am.
But I will still answer their question with the same reply everytime; "Stacey", and let them find out for themselves who I really am.
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