My mother named me after the sky.
And sometimes when I gaze up at it, I wonder why.
Did she name me after the sky’s beauty on a sunny day, blue and clear as far as the eye can see?
Or was it its strength she wished me to embody? Surely something that could deliver storms and destruction was worthy to name her daughter after.
Or perhaps she saw a fiery sunset and decided her daughter should blaze her surroundings with the colors of her personality and leave nothing in her vicinity bare of her mark.
Did the night sky seduce her, like it often does to me? Did she see the stars and sigh in wonder, seeing the divine in the constellations and reaching an understanding of who she was? Did she feel the inky blackness giving her peace in that moment of quiet reflection and wish her daughter the power to know herself?
When I was put in my mothers arms for the first time, what sky did she see in me?
I don’t the who-what-when-whys behind my naming.
But I know I won’t disappoint.