sábado, 6 de maio de 2006

My name is Freedom

wiriting in English is like enter in someone else's house and try to tidy up things that don't belong to you. However, today I received a post and Clough has showed me that there is one language that is more like a house of everyone who can pass the door. The result was a small piece of something I cannot lable yet, which I would like to share:

My name is Freedom. You may think that it is a nickname, but it is not. Freedom is my real name. But when I was born, for a reason that is unknown by me until now, my parents decided to give me a nickname and tell everyone that it was my real name.
For a long time I forgot my name. I was too used to be called by the nickname Rose that I almost lost Freedom.
If you ask me why or how I found my real name I cannot give you a rational nor logical answer. I only can say that it came to me saying “here I am”. The name told me those words as I had called it back. That “here I am” was a response to a request which I cannot remember me doing.
Regardless of all the bizarreness of the situation I am trying to describe here and now, it was the clear beginning of my determined journey to find myself. Not a mere “myself” but the deep meaningful sense of being who I am wherever I go, stay or leave.
Being Freedom after years acting and thinking like Rose made up a third person, which is an intersection between the two women without being one or other. The intersectional person is a kind of amorphous living being. Since I met Freedom again, I am slowly undressing Rose’s clothes. She is still here, but just packing her things while Freedom walks all over the place, deciding where to put her books, her music, her poetry, her art and where herself will lye down at night to talk to the stars.

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