That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet

Current Mood: Bored

I should really be revising. Meh. I’ll do it… later.

However, I thought I’d post something that I’ve been musing upon for the past… well, few minutes really. Kinda copied from my comment someone else’s blog, but I feel like saying it here too.

The What-If Machine

I’m starting to slowly become disconnected with bernard (newcommers, click here for an explanation). This is probably in part due to having someone live right opposite me with that name. Every time I see him, the name becomes more associated with him in my mind and less with me. But then, it’s right there all the time. I can’t escape from it. I wonder what things would be like if Bernard did not live on my corridor. When I went home for Easter and people called me Bernard, for a short while it confused me; I’d gone so long without people calling me by that name that for a brief second each time it didn’t register that they were talking to me. I wonder if that would have been the case if he didn’t live on my corridor.

Hmm. Where’s the What-If Machine when you need it?

It’s no secret that I don’t want anyone to know what the name was, hence my use of “bernard” throughout this blog and in real life. But I’ve been trying to figure out exactly why I’ve been keeping it secret. Obviously I don’t want anyone to call me by that name, so that’s bound to be some part of it. But no, there are a lot of people who I really don’t mind if they know what it was. And yet, if they asked I’d refuse to tell them.

For ages, this confused me. If I didn’t mind them knowing, why would I not tell them? I knew why, I think, I just couldn’t quite explain it in words to anyone, or even to myself. And then I read someone’s blog today, and they explained it perfectly. My name is Lucy. That is it. People don’t need to know what bernard was. Telling them would be attaching unneccessary significance to the name. Yes, I don’t want people to use the name, and that is an important part of not mentioning it. But more than that, I don’t want people to even think the name in connection with me.

Do I hate the name? No. I’d have asked to move to a different room away from Bernard if that were the case. It’s just a label. But it’s a label that chafes against the back of my metaphorical neck and as such must be removed and replaced with a newer, softer label that is more me.

So thank you blogger, who shall until further notice remain anonymous, thank you for helping explain things about myself that I couldn’t figure out myself.

Mmm. Metaphor. Om nom nom.