I like my name. It’s short and easy to say, but it wasn’t always like that. Not too long ago, my name was something different – something I had accepted, but not always wanted.
The first memory I had of my name was in first grade, first day of school. The class was going around the room, clapping out the syllables for everyone’s name. Er-in. Dave-id. Sam-my. Then it came time for my turn. Al-ex-and-ri-a. Everyone stopped and stared. That was the first time I realized how long my name actually was, and that was probably the first time I wished that my name could be shorter.

In eighth grade, I moved to Wisconsin. As I was introducing myself to people, telling them my name was Alexandria, they all asked, “Why Alexandria? Why not Alex?” I couldn’t even tell you why I had people call me Alexandria for as long as I did. Of course I’ve always liked the name, but it was always so long; a stretch limo in a world of cars. Then, one girl came up to me and said, “I don’t care what you say, I’m calling you Alex.” How do you respond to such boldness?

This girl, this loud, outspoken girl, told me what was on her mind and had me deal with what she had said. Sure, I try to tell people what I really think, but I hate hurting people’s feelings. This girl is loud and out there, while I am a bit quieter and more of a think-before-you-act kind of girl. You could say that right there, we were complete opposites.

After thinking about it for a few seconds, I decided that it was okay. In fact, it was okay for everyone to call me Alex. Why not? A new state meant a new beginning. Maybe you think that I’m a bit of a pushover, but so be it. I like to see it as I am open to change and I go with the flow. So even though now I am a small fish in a sea full of Alex’s, I don’t mind.