Emma. The name of a listener. Observes but doesn’t interject. I am whole or universal. I don’t know if that is a compliment. My mom says I’m egotistical, but I think she’s wrong. She looks at me too closely, I think.

My parents couldn’t agree on Emma or Grace, so they named me Emma Grace. Emma Grace. More beautiful, more inspired. Emma Grace consumes the beauty around her. But I am not called Emma Grace. I am simply called Emma. There are so many personalities with Emma. Kind. Beautiful. Scarred. Childish. Any form my name wants to take, it fits into.

My dad says my name like it tastes like a hot pepper. He can’t get it out of his mouth fast enough. Sometimes I think he associates my name with bad times. I wonder what could be so bad about it. My mom makes my name sound like a memory, but a good one. Why are their views of me so different? I’m not sure.

Some people say Emma sounds formal. I see myself as tall, light brown hair, green eyes. I think this is typical to most Emma’s. I think I’m emotional, but demanding. Other people think Emma is ugly or inelegant because it is overused. I think that something used often has its own type of beauty.  Sometimes the most used things show the most independence.

Elegant, extreme, embraced, exquisite. Say the name and what comes to your mind? Is it too simple? Or does that make it individually sophisticated. There is an appeal to it. I think I’m my own person, despite the overwhelming number of Emma’s. Take a second and think about the feeling of it. It’s beauty might surprise you. There is a reason it is so common, I would like to believe.