By Tia
One lives their life with a name they are christened with at birth—by family, by religion, by community.
As the years pass, that name becomes a lasting identification. An identification card for a whole set of flesh, bones, and a beating heart—a person.
This name takes various forms and shapes each time it is uttered. A culmination of letters becomes a whole world on its own. Or maybe, two clashing worlds. One world given from the outside of the person, and one from within.
They often clash, at least for this writer.
A few letters strung together, battling over what meaning to take and what meaning to make.
The outside world is governed by the providence of religion, society, honour, and family, while the inside world exists in the chaos of continuing personhood.
Personhood. Individuality. Conscience. The Voice.
What is my name, then?
What should be my name?
Because one name does not suffice for the enormous existence of my being. My being, that is not limited by flesh and bones, not limited by biology, but transcending the expanses of time.
What should I call her?
What should I call me?
A name is not enough to bear the weight of the wars I have fought, for the love I have received, and for the love I continue to give. A string of letters is not enough to describe the magnanimity of this state.
For all the lives I have lived and rebirths I have taken, for all the fallacies I have committed and all the redemptions I am making—one name is not enough.
One meaning is not enough, nor a singular interpretation of it.
I desire my name to hold the depths of this whole universe.
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