Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

My Name

Custom User Avatar
More by this author
Maya. In Japanese, it means truth. In Sanskrit, it means illusion. The two syllables that are so familiar, yet when I say them aloud, mah yah, they stick out like marching soldiers. Rolling off of the tongue of a friend, though, my name means so much more than any baby name site could ever tell. It’s the smell of fresh rain on pine trees, the taste of a salty kiss from a black dog. It’s the well-placed hit of a volleyball, the whistle blown, the game won. Those two syllables, they represent a person, one person. Me. I feel like I’ve been cheated when four other Mayas raise their hand at the call of a teacher. How can there be four other Mayas when Maya belongs to me? I remind myself, then, that there’s more to my name than four letters.
Eileen. I love the sound of it, all the vowels hugging the lonely l and n. It whispers to the quarter of my being that belongs to Ireland. I have to go there someday, to find the piece of myself that’s maybe missing and I just don’t know it. This name, the middle, it’s the Irish grandmother that I never met. The only bit of her I know is in a silver frame, dressed like an old movie star. I look at her faded, black and white face and sometimes I see me.
When I grow up and write stories, I’ll use these names. Maya Eileen, it will say in dancing teacup letters. Rain, kisses, Ireland, grandmother. It will tell its own story.



Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!




Site Feedback