found this and decided to write.
Here's the 411 (what the heck does that mean? 411? It makes no sense.) in English, we had to write about our names, how we got our names, what they mean to us, etc. And I was really proud of mine. But, I really really hate sharing my work in front of the class, because everyone else in there is like Shakespeare. Their words are so much more beautiful than mine, and I am so jealous of all of their writing abilities. Seriously. Whenever they share something, I just want to cry from the beauty of it all. Their words hold so much meaning and loveliness. It blows my mind. It's totally crazy how these sophomores can write such beautiful things. I gotta stop ranting about this, but I wish you could just read their pieces of writing. Then you'd understand.
So in class I basically feel like a cavewoman compared to Einstein. And that is why I never share anything in class. But I have been forcing myself too. I need to get over that uncomfortable-ness that I feel when I share what I write. It's not the actual sharing, it's the content.
Here's an example: I write, "I walked to the red door."
They write: "Completely breathless, I ran to the red door. The red reminded me of warmth, and love that I once had known, but was lost now."
So I refrained from sharing my name memoir to the class, although I was really really proud of it. So I'm sharing it here, where I'm not compared to anyone, where no one is forced to listen to me, and where I am completely comfortable and in my element. Here we go.
Emmari. It's a fancy name, meant for someone sophisticated. I, am not sophisticated. My name feels too big for me, like a a hand me down sweater.
My mom once told me that Emmari mean "wonderful." But to teachers, classmates and random people on the street, it means "name that I can't pronounce."
Emmie seems a little more comfortable, smaller shoes to fill. Emmie is my every day name, one that everyone knows me by. It's the name on the top of my assignments, on the roll call, or doodled all over my notebook.
I love my name. On the first day of school, I'm always the one the teachers remember.
I didn't always like my name. When I was little, I would beg my parents to change it. I would try to get them to call me a different name. Like Jules. Yes, out of any name I chose Jules. One night, I was crying because I hated my name so much, and my mom came up with the nickname Mia. Emmari, Mia. It kinda made sense. But it lasted a whole two seconds before she called me Emmie again.
A lot of people call me something different. My little sister calls me Ommie. My old orthodontist called me Mari. (I still have no idea how she got that out of Emmie. Maybe EmMARI? I don't know)
I basically have three different names. On my learner's permit and other documents, I'm Emmeri. On my church records, and when I'm in trouble, I'm called Emmari (my mom decided to change the spelling of my name right after she wrote it on my birth certificate. Now I have to go through all these stupid steps to replace the e with an a. ugh). And my every day name is Emmie. The one that people know me by.
Maybe one day I'll become sophisticated and fill the big shoes of Emmari, but for now, Emmie is just fine.
So in class I basically feel like a cavewoman compared to Einstein. And that is why I never share anything in class. But I have been forcing myself too. I need to get over that uncomfortable-ness that I feel when I share what I write. It's not the actual sharing, it's the content.
Here's an example: I write, "I walked to the red door."
They write: "Completely breathless, I ran to the red door. The red reminded me of warmth, and love that I once had known, but was lost now."
So I refrained from sharing my name memoir to the class, although I was really really proud of it. So I'm sharing it here, where I'm not compared to anyone, where no one is forced to listen to me, and where I am completely comfortable and in my element. Here we go.
Emmari. It's a fancy name, meant for someone sophisticated. I, am not sophisticated. My name feels too big for me, like a a hand me down sweater.
My mom once told me that Emmari mean "wonderful." But to teachers, classmates and random people on the street, it means "name that I can't pronounce."
Emmie seems a little more comfortable, smaller shoes to fill. Emmie is my every day name, one that everyone knows me by. It's the name on the top of my assignments, on the roll call, or doodled all over my notebook.
I love my name. On the first day of school, I'm always the one the teachers remember.
I didn't always like my name. When I was little, I would beg my parents to change it. I would try to get them to call me a different name. Like Jules. Yes, out of any name I chose Jules. One night, I was crying because I hated my name so much, and my mom came up with the nickname Mia. Emmari, Mia. It kinda made sense. But it lasted a whole two seconds before she called me Emmie again.
A lot of people call me something different. My little sister calls me Ommie. My old orthodontist called me Mari. (I still have no idea how she got that out of Emmie. Maybe EmMARI? I don't know)
I basically have three different names. On my learner's permit and other documents, I'm Emmeri. On my church records, and when I'm in trouble, I'm called Emmari (my mom decided to change the spelling of my name right after she wrote it on my birth certificate. Now I have to go through all these stupid steps to replace the e with an a. ugh). And my every day name is Emmie. The one that people know me by.
Maybe one day I'll become sophisticated and fill the big shoes of Emmari, but for now, Emmie is just fine.
No comments:
Post a Comment