My Name

      In Spanish my name means happy, but it’s not that happy to me. To me my name has too many memories for its years. It has pain, death, injury, but love, and sometimes even hope. I make it happy; or rather the people I’m with make it happy. It represents my mood, joyous and sometimes painful. Pretty, that’s what people say my name is, but Felicia, I don’t think it’s that great. It’s not original or unique, it’s used and old. Boring is what I hear. It’s like perfectly good ice-cream that’s been dropped on a sandy beach. It comes from a woman who represents something fake. A TV star that’s who I’m named after, someone who knows drama, someone who is drama. Is that what I’m to be? My mom says it’s a name to be proud of gorgeous and boastful, but what’s so great about Felicia? I thought it was original, when I was younger and naïve. I assumed I was the only one with a name like that, but doesn’t everyone want to think that? I met a girl named Felicia a few years later, and realized I wasn’t the only one. It’s odd meeting someone with your name, you can’t call them or say there name it just tastes rough and odd in your mouth to call another by your own. But I have learned to accept that my name may not be unique but that doesn’t matter. My name can be tough, and it represents something even tougher. Felicia, it’s like durable rubber, you can do anything you like to it but it will still bounce back.  You can’t fool without fooling yourself, and it is pretty, only as pretty as I let it. My name is joy to some people and joy to me. It is like a nice sunny spring day in the middle of what seems like a never ending snowstorm. It shows me why I keep going, and helps me up when I am down. My name is a joy to my ears, the pain it brings and all.