Short little snippit about my name. Based on Sandra Cisneros' "The House on Mango Street". Done for Honors English, 9th grade.
My Name
In Irish my name means dream. In Russian it means lucky. It means eager, it means running. It is like the number seven. A mysterious colour. It is the screenplay of a budding romance gone tragic, like sunny days gone gray.
It was my aunt's name and now it is mine. She was born the inanimate too, born like me as a Libra, as stubborn as I am and floating on a hard cloud most of her life.
My auntie. I wish I could've met her. She was the daughter that made the family proud. She married at the right age, had good kids. Her mouth stayed shut and never spoke of dreams. That's sad because she had so many.
She spent so much of her life trying to balance herself. To stay in the smack dab middle of her simple life. Keep her mind on the kids, but don't forget about the husband. Attend all comity meetings, stitch a quilt to keep her happy. She tried to be so balanced that it ended up killing her. Adriana. I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her obsessive ways.
At school they say my name different ways. Sometimes I'll get A-dree-anne-ah kind of way. Other times it's A-dree-ah-na. I don't particularly care. At least it's not my middle name--Wilhelmine-- which is long and no one but my family ever gets. But I'm always Adriana.
I didn't use to like my name. I wanted something more common, more simple and like me. Adriana as Nicole or Kate or Penelope. Yes, something like Penelope will do.