Naming

Before nature, names don’t matter – (My Photo – Somewhere in Europe)

Blabla

We are someone’s friend. Someone’s mother. Someone’s wife. Someone’s someone.

We get called so many things.

So if I was going to be called so many things anyway —

why did my father give me only one name?

Over the past 3 months,

my body and my mind told me the same thing:

‘There is no lower to go, Nina.’

And I’m still here.

Even when I’m called “Mom,” I can barely hold it.

When I’m called “daughter.”

Even in the lightest of friendships —

I often can’t say the simplest thing:

“I’m not okay.”

So what is my real name?

Every time I asked questions like this as a child,

my grandmother — who has lived since the 1940s, and now sits in a nursing home somewhere in Korea — would answer me.

“Everyone goes through this, you know. And look — your halmoni (In English, Grandma) is right here.”

I still haven’t forgotten that moment.

I don’t think I ever will.

I’ve lived on American soil for quite a long time now.

And somehow, the memories from childhood keep growing sharper.

So I’ve decided to call myself something new.

A Person called Blabla.

What do you think?

I’m rather pleased with it,

personally.

— — From Nina