Jessica

“What is in a name? That which we call a rose would still smell as sweet.”

Sure, a rose does not know the difference between its name and any other, but the rose still appreciates it’s name.

Essentially, you’re saying, “Why do we use names and words? Why do we allow these names to dictate our lives?”

I understand your point, Juliet.

I grew up with two names. One of them was mine, and the other was my sister’s.

Her name rang full of perfections of every kind, and mine was like an echo, imperfect and hollow.

I felt cold, I felt less than instead of equal to. I felt like I was not whole.

She could make her body move the way music sounds; her presence was always first and foremost.

I would never dance that beautifully, and it seemed that my presence was always second best.

I answered to my sister’s name when called by my parents, teachers, and even friends.

I knew myself as Katie’s sister; I did not have the courage to use my own name for myself.

When I finally grew up, when I reached an age to care, I had already grown up under the assumption that she was better than me.

I felt like her perfection made me look broken. She was some gift from God and I was just average.

I hated the wrong person, because I hated myself instead of the world around me for what I was going through.

I wondered why I was cursed with myself, and why I could never be her.

It took so long for me to open my eyes to see that she had nothing to do with me.

I was not less, not equal, just different, and when I finally realized I couldn’t ask for anything more.

I went out into the world on my own, doing things that she had never thought of.

I turned my name into something great, something defining.

My name is mine.

My name is a prayer.

My name says, “Sweetheart you are good enough.”

My name says, “You can be anything.”

My name says, “I do not define you.”

Dear Juliet;

A rose by any other name would not be quite the same.

A rose is a rose, because it has created that name for itself.

Every rose has upheld its reputation, every rose is beautiful and perfect, no matter how different.

Just like us. Just like me.

My dear, Juliet, names do not define us; we define our names.

I have made my name, my name has not made me.

I am a gift from God, I am kind, I am smart, I am different.

I have hand crafted this name; it is something sacred to me.

By any other name, I don’t know who I would be.

My name is Jessica, and my name is my gift to you.