Anya often wonders how she began.
Oh, she knows the silly, human and above all mortal story, which Joyce taught her patiently after one particularly embarrassing conversation with Xander.
(The girls, Buffy and Willow and Dawn, they don't think Anya capable of being embarrassed, but she most certainly is. Try as she might, she can't understand how or why or wherefore they would believe that she could, in any way, somehow enjoy being ignorant as a small, purple-faced newborn in terms of "rules of society," or any science developed within the last millennium. Being reticent about simple human functions such as sexual intercourse, now, that's just silly.)
She knows how she began to be a demon, too. D'Hoffryn was very kind and understanding, and went over the procedure with her before carrying it out, like one of those nice dentists who give you a lollipop when they're done, only with greener skin. It involved several catalysts and ingredients which it wouldn't be easy for you to get your hands on nowadays, not even if you were as skilled at the art of Ebaying as Anya is.
(She described the ritual to Xander once. He had asked her once to tell him about "the most important thing that's ever happened to you," with a sincere expression on his face, and a look of concentration like he was trying to recall exact relationship advice that he had gotten from Willow, who was supposed to be good with girls, or maybe one of those girly magazines that Anya sometimes saw lying about the place, which she knew she hadn't bought. Two minutes and nineteen seconds into her narrative, and Xander had started making a face like that one time Buffy made Thanksgiving dinner, and shushed her with a gesture as if he were addressing a small dog of questionable intelligence. She hadn't enjoyed that, but she'd gone along with it, and called it a learning experience.)
Anya knows that she must have had a mother at some point, someone like Joyce, although, considering the village she grew up in, probably with less stylish hair. She knows it, but she can't remember, what with all the excitement that followed after. She envies Buffy and Dawn sometimes; wishes, sometimes, that she had someone like Joyce now, which is irrational and absurd because even Buffy and Dawn don't have Joyce now.
(Anya envies them, all the same.)
Anya often wonders how – and when – she began to be Anya. It wasn't mere decades after she was born, with Olaf, because she was Aud, then, and a completely different hu- person besides. It might have been when she was accepted into the Vengeance fold as Anyanka, but sometimes Anya tries to reacquaint herself with her more treasured memories from Back Then, and she feels like… well, like that one time Buffy made Thanksgiving dinner.
Frat boys. Grimslaw demon. Case in point.
It's ironic – Anya thinks that this is irony, but isn't sure – that she first called herself Anya because it sounded peppy, and cool, and she needed to get in with Harmony and Cordelia and other peppy and cool people. "Her name is Anya," is what Xander said to D'Hoffryn, all romantic and angry on her behalf, and he doesn't have a clue how or when or why she chose that name. Yes, Anya's more or less sure that's irony.
Maybe she began to be Anya when…
But Anya's realising, bit by bit but mostly right now, watching Xander walk away from her, making Xander walk away from her – she's realising that maybe beginnings don't matter. Maybe it's becomings. As in, I was Anyanka, and then I became Anya. I was Anya, and now I've become more Anya.
Probably humans have a word for this, too. Anya's going to try her best to learn it.