What's in a name?

It's more of a story/poem. it's in story form, but has a flow sort of like a poem.

 

I am a warrior, a defender of life. The Irish explanation of a name. My name. Like an unexpected rose, an additional E, while others sprout daisy dotted I’s or single florets of Y’s. The name of the bright shield or shining sword. Tales of the battle triumphant, the brass horns blowing, and the last ring of war: still standing. I am a warrior.

I fight alone; stand alone, like my name in my family. We’re all separate beings, separate people, our names representing truth. I share no past through my name, the Irish tradition of originality. But with sisters, names like Erin and Meghan, the Irish heritage seeps strongly. Lazy tongues mispronounce: “Ear-in” not “Air-in”. And shared misspelling troubles with Meghan, the silent H invisible.

A name of past memories, a future of hope, a soul and a body. You don’t have a soul, you are a soul. And if you repeat a word over and over, letting your lips memorize the feel of that word, your ears fall victim to the sound of it, eventually that word will stop sounding average, and it will become unique. Like the name of my soul, Kelley, repeated throughout my life.

But if I were different, if I had another name, could I live up to it? My name is me, I am my name, so could I be a new person, a new name or would I slip back into the shadows? Laraine, with a short nickname of Raine, has always been my alter ego. She’d be perfect, beautiful, and wonderful. She could never be me. I could never be her. Or my darker side, Ember, who glows like the wick of a candle, but dwindles, never fully giving a bright flame. But my hopeful side, Skylar, like Sky, with blue clouds and dreams, dwells deep within, begging to be shown.

My name: it's like a pet peeve, something annoying and buzzing around my head. It’s rustic, like me, hackneyed and bothersome. Nails scratching on chalkboards, overused towels withering with holes in them; my name. And if I am my name, then I must be worn out as well. I must be tired and sick, used too much and wearing thin. Would a new name restart the process or terminate it? Maybe if I look to the sky, I’ll stop staring at the dying embers in the candle and I’ll instead taste the sweet grace of rain.

 

Reviews

[M.E.Lyle]

So, what really is in a name. Shakespear tells us a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Anne Shirley disagrees entirely. "How could a rose," she says, "smell as sweet if it went by a name like...say skunk weed." And what of all those lovely ladies whose name is Rose. Suddenly they are now Skunk Weed. How romantic is that? Hmmm, it troubles me when I think about it. My name, like yours, when used in it's abrreviated form, sounds much like yours; a pair of fingernails etching hidiously down the chalk board. When used in it's proper form, however, the way my mother intended, it sounds quite angelic. I think I'll just stick with it, it's all I have at the moment. It's seen me through this far, I suppose it will have to get me through the remainder of my life. Great story. It really makes you ponder.

[Eagle Cruagh]

O`Cruadwlaoich. Well this was about names.
That is mine. It means a hard nut (warior) who
sits on a cliff over the lake.
Names are fun, so is the Heraldry. No Knights
in my family, so we have a coat of arms with
some Boars on it and some crosses.
Thanks for the neat story.
---- John Crowley

[zappy]

nice really great .