One word, say it and you get attention. Everyday people say to me, my first name, Elliot. Say it to talk, ask, help, speak. Simple, effective communication. Use it, wear it out, it’s there for a reason. You don’t even have to think about it. Names are made to be used.
People make connections with names. They can shape who they are, what they do, what they feel about themselves. They take control of them. Creates peoples destiny.
Not me. My name was given to me like someone gives a label to a box, just not as descriptive. Middle name formed in a hospital located in a middle class white neighborhood from four different letters in the english alphabet, D, E, W, and, I. Letters assigned to me by chance, not by any meaning. No destiny in front of me, no history behind me. Truly free.
People say my last name, Hernandez, to me when they want to sound professional. They do it to make an impression to others. It’s the only purpose it serves. In the past I had thought that I should be proud of it, since it has been passed through generations of my family. However my family is not special, we’ve lived and died doing what we wanted. Living for the fuck of it.
My name is unimportant to me if you haven’t caught on. I could have been named anything, George, Bob, Jose, Cole, Tyrone. Like everyone else my name has been picked on, that’s normal, whatever. This, just like my name, has no bearing on who I am. Who I am is someone lives life like a kid in a sandbox — creation, destruction, excitement, lament. No name could show me to someone just by being mine.
Do I need to connect to my name? Well then my name has a secret meaning. It means freedom, or the struggle for it. No roots to hold me down from flying and doing my own thing. My freedom comes from the lack of connection I have to my name. However convoluted, my disconnection to my name creates my connection to my name.