My name is Maria, meaning ‘sea of bitterness’ or ‘sea of sorrow.’ Although I can’t disagree and say those meanings are untrue, I would like to say that I wish they were not. I’m not necessarily bitter but sadness taints my edges like the frost creeping on a window pane. I wish I had another name, one that didn’t sound like chalk squeaking on a blackboard, or an awkward silence in a crowded room. To me, my name is a glob of peanut butter, stuck to the rood of your mouth and splatting onto the ground once you finally get it out.

I wish for a sweeter name, one that mirrors my candy core and not my sour exterior. Alice, Olivia, or Jacey with a sweet nickname like Ali, Olive, or Jace. Alexis, Rachel, or Marielle to Lexi, Rach, or Marie. Simple enough to roll off the tips of anyone’s tongue, but sugary enough to melt and let the taste linger.

‘Maria’ remind me of a girl with eyes and eyebrows that take over her features. Too passive and not at all fierce like the women she idolizes. A girl who waits in the shadows and listen to the problems surrounding her instead of taking the spotlight where she could be heard. ‘Maria’ resembles memories of harsh syllables spat in anger and sobs that dripped and melted off of it’s letters. ‘Maria’ is a name that has no wiggle room, no nickname to hide behind or to help ease the past.

I can’t help but wonder if someone else thinks of my name in an opposite way. As a gentle symphony of sopranos and altos, or if someday could think of it that way. I struggle to accept what I cannot change, to love and adore the chalk board squeaks and sticky globs. Welcoming the saucer eyes and thick eyebrows splattered with freckles between them that the syllables tend to remind me of. To someday think of it in a softer tone; a lovely breeze that carries dandelion seeds, or the sound of waves caressing the shore.