The Journey of my Life
When my mother gave me my name, she took it from the Swahili origin where my name means marvelous and wonderful gift. In Hebrew it is an expression of crimson or scarlet. In French, it is taken from the boy name Shawn. In Native American it means sensitive and romantic and strong soul. My name is like a song that has multiple meanings and sounds but possesses one clear rhythm from which the sounds and words flow together.
The name I was given by my mother represents what I am, a
wonderful gift from God. She felt that I was a gift basket filled with strength,
soul, love, and fighting surprises. She felt ecstatic as an explorer taking a
life journey to a new world that will be filled with fighting, victory, failure,
and good and bad surprises. My name is like history, you have to
look into its past to get the main picture of why its there.
A wonderful and marvelous gift like a surprise always popping up when you never expect it to. My voyage to life was like when you relentlessly cook a soufflé and it keeps falling. You nearly surrender to your disappointments, but strive one more time with all the precise components. You watch the soufflé ascend within the oven with an astounded gaze on your face. The obstacles prior to my birth are like the number three-constantly trying and finally receiving what you want on the third try. The history of my name has taught me to always strive for what I want. It has also helped me to grasp the meaning of the phrase “If you fall down than get back up again”.
My name is like pearl in the Atlantic Ocean being very hard to find. My name is original and all my own. My name is never common where I journey like Lunchables at a pre-school always is getting mixed up because they are all the same.
My name is always being said throughout the day. Many people tell me I have a appealing or à la mode name. Every time I meet someone new, my name suddenly gets longer as if the person added two extra e’s or a y on it. I can almost see the extra letters being added on my name because they are being said so disgustingly irritating. What’s left of my real name swiftly enters my ear and the extra letters are like bullets racing to my ear, shattering sounds slowly. Or they are a mosquito with a cold making a squeaky high-pitched buzzing in my ear. The meeting processes on the opening days of school are like a repeating nightmare, taking a couple of days to sort out. In the end, it is worth being agitated, because following that opening week; people find it irresistible to go without saying my name when we acknowledge each other during the day. My name floats like the top of a redwood tree on a cloud, strong and important way up high. If I could ever change my name, I would only change the meaning to strong and powerful gift