a rose by any other name

I was thinking last night (though it would more accurately be termed "far too early this morning") about my name. I came to the conclusion that I am tired of my name. I'm tired of what (who) it stands for, and for the history associated with it. I'm tired of being me, of being judged and perceived by my name alone.

This applies only to the "English version" of my name, I suppose. I hate seeing Mei, because it's not mine, it's not me: it is word used by others when they talk about me. It is a label, of what I've said, what I've done, and who I am.

I can see and hear 齐眉 without feeling the same resentment or oppression, because that is still mine; I have limited the access to who gets to call me that, and the memories and emotions associated with that name are, thus far, good. Imperfect, certainly, but still mine. It is still me; I am still 齐眉, your 女儿，姐姐，朋友，小公主. (想我妈？)

J asked me if I was angry when he was driving me home at 5 in the morning. No, I told him, I'm just tired.

It's true. I'm not angry. I'm just tired...of being who I am under this name Mei, of being judged for who I am and what I've done. I'm tired of not being able to see people because of who I am, not being able to care the way I used to because of what I've done, not being able to live true to myself because of what someone else expects to see. I'm tired of feeling ugly, inside and out, and for feeling like a failure without a direction.

But these are things we cannot change, aren't they?

I am still me, even if I am tired of being me. Such is life, unfair, and we just have to make the best of it. Maybe, in time, I can redefine "Mei". Maybe, in time, it can be mine again, something (someone) I am proud to be.

In brighter news, however, it is gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous outside, all yellow leaves against brown-black bark, sunlight filtering through the branches right outside my apartment. Look up.