Writing

Homonyms

The story behind my name is frustratingly simple.

My mom always said that she wanted a little girl named Ann. I asked her why and she simply said that she thought the name was pretty and that one of her favorite characters I’m a book had a similar name. That was when I was seven. I didn’t think much of it.

It wasn’t until I was ten and I started questioning the definition of “pretty” and how it applied to my name, that her answer confused me. The name Ann didn’t seem pretty to me. It seemed average. Boring.

Ann is okay, but other girls are coming to school with cool unique names like “Kiana” and “Facienne.”

But me? In almost every school I’ve been in there had been at least ten other “Ann’s”

For the longest time I felt offended. Sure, playing the same name game is fun when you’re in elementary school. But in highschool, when you’re trying to find your own individuality and you’re surrounded by hundreds of teenagers trying to do the exact same thing, being referred to as Ann number 2 totally wrecks the self esteem. It got to the point where I considered using the nickname Bumblebee given to me by a childhood friend.

I told my mom this once and as always, she had an answer.

She told me that every name is different, even if they are exactly the same. She said that while my name may be similar in pronunciation and spelling to the 10+ girls at school, none of our names have the same origin, culture or meanings. They may sound the same, but they weren’t imagined the same. Our mother’s didn’t meet up one day and decide to name their children the same name for the same reason.

My mom said she thought the name was pretty. Someone else could think the name meant luck. Some people could have been inspired by a a baby book or an inside joke or a loved one. The possibilities are endless.

The point is is that what Ann meant to them isn’t what Ann meant to her.

And that in itself makes all of our names different.

You may not believe this about me but one thing I like to do is study words, names, phrases, and all the secret meanings they carry in between. From hard words like cruciverbalism to the simple ones like Ann, I strive to know them all.

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i do what i want

PSA: If you keep old friends in your pocket so you can fuck with them whenever you feel bad about yourself, go fuck yourself you useless piece of shit. I, nor does anyone else, have time for bullshit. If you’re having a bad day, go talk to a fucking counselor, don’t call up a friend you never text back and play with them like a fucking toy.

Domestic Life with Roy Harper and Kaldur'ahm

Irritated

 

Roy can tell by the way Kaldur’s crossing his arms, tapping his foot, and pursing his lips that the other man is not happy.

“I can explain?” Roy suggests.

Kaldur huffs a laugh which is more annoyed than amused. “I do not believe any explanation can justify why your apartment is hoarding hundreds of dogs.”

Roy looks around, careful not to step on any paws or tails, at all the dogs running around the room, jumping on furniture, and playing on the carpet. “I’d hardly say hundreds.”

“A hyperbole.” Kaldur takes a step back when a small Pomeranian, Roy calls her Doodle, presses her snout into the back of his leg. “Why are they here?”

“They had to relocate dogs from the shelter down the street after the place flooded. I volunteered.” The dogs panted and growled and barked around him, whining to be pet. Kaldur’s intimidating stance by the door vanishes when a black and white pitbull, Roy calls him Memphis, walks up to him. “It’s only temporary.”

Kaldur presses himself into the door. “That does not explain why they are in your house. And not in cages.”

“They were in cages, but they looked so sad.” Roy steps over and maneuvers himself so he’s standing next to Kal, holding Memphis back with one hand. “It’s only for tonight. And besides, I love dogs.”

“I do not.”

“It’s just for tonight babe. See, Memphis likes you.” Memphis gets close, standing on his hind legs to sniff Kaldur’s face.

Kaldur makes a sound, ducking and hiding behind Roy’s shoulder. “I am afraid of dogs.”

“I know.” He bends over, scooping Doodle up and cuddling her. “But they aren’t that bad.”

Kaldur eyes Doodle and he takes a sharp breath. His hand grabs the door knob. “I am leaving.”

“What? No, come on Kal. I’ll-” he puts Doodle on the ground. “I’ll put them away.”

“And when they are gone, I will return.”

“Ugh. Fine, get Chinese while you’re out.” The door opens and Roy holds a few dogs back so they don’t escape. “And dog food!”