i don’t understand why my mother gave me a second name if there isn’t an occasion to use it. no one ever says my middle name. or asks for it. i wish they did, though. i love my middle name. i think of a warrior who rides on a black stallion while lifting her bejeweled sword in the air, ready for battle. she’s ready to fight for her people, her thought, and her heart. she’s ready to fight for herself. in my second name, i hear her battle cry.
alexandra. it sounds like water crashing into boulders at the bottom of a waterfall. it sounds strong. fierce.
unlike my second name, my first name is much smoother, like the fur of a fluffy rabbit. it sounds light and cute. sort of like the name of a bubblegum-pink lipstick. the kind of lipstick that makes your lips look soft, pouty, and shiny. it even smells like that pale pink cotton candy they sell at carnivals. sweet and delicious.
a street vendor blows a stream bubbles with his plastic bubble gun on the paths of parents walking with their children. the bubbles, whose direction is steered by the breeze, remind me of my first name. julie.
note: i felt inspired to write what i thought about my names when i read Sandra Cisneros’ book, The House on Mango Street. in the book, there is a chapter where the protagonist describes her name using images, tastes, and scents—and i thought it would be interesting for me to do the same. what image does your name paint for you? i’m interested to know. 🙂