My name, the two names my parents got to choose, Rose Alena.
My parents wanted a family name, the family name list included Wilhelmina, Frankie,Ozell,Laverne,Honey,Ida,Rose,Irene,Esthner,Winnedel, and Ima. Rose was the least old fashioned and “early 1900’s” like , so it stuck.. It is a common middle name so it makes me more special than just being a flower. In english it means “a prickly bush or shrub that typically bears red, pink, yellow, or white fragrant flowers” I like to say I am not a prickly bush, nor am I red, pink, yellow, or white.By the way, hearing the valentines day jokes do get old, just so you know.
Alena ,my middle name. It's my grandpa's name, Alen, with an “A” on the end, simple as that. They wanted me named after him because he passed away soon after my mom found out she was pregnant. So Rose Alen wasn't quite right, they added the “A” to “girl it up”. So Alena it was and Alena it stayed.
Names are who you are, whatever your parents give you, you are that thing forever. I am proud to be a flower and a dead grandpa, it's who I am and I would not have it any other way. Yes the jokes are annoying but even if it was up to me to change it, I would never change it in a million years.
Flood of Colors and Iron on Patches
Starting in bright blue, then to dark brown, then emerald green, then beige. So many interesting colors then beige. Once you hit middle and high school you go from fun to beige. For your last 6 years, yes 6 ,you are stuck to beige beige and more beige.
Earning batches went from going to a museum to creating a plan to promote world peace. It stopped being fun girly stuff, now it's real work. I am not just cookies and giggles anymore. I am a planner and innovator with some cookies on the side.
Blue to brown to green to beige. Fun to fun to fun to fun work. I would never stop I love the work, superficial things like uniform colors do not matter once you know what it can do for you. How many doors it has opened, opportunities it has established, and skills it has taught the I would never in a million years pass up.
Blob Shaped Like a Question Mark
Years of bullying and low self esteem bring me to whatever I am now. An awkward semi social blob of a teenage girl who barely ever knows what she really is doing. I had become so scared of opinions and what others thought of me that's all i showed, what they wanted to see.I hide from the world in this armor of steel that I swear can take down anything while inside that armor is a giant question mark. I still have no idea who I am, only what I have decided to tell the world that I am.
Is that really me? Or will I be a giant question mark hiding in this armor who is everywhere and nowhere all at the same time. I know bits and pieces of who I really am but will I ever know the rest? My whole life could be defined into millions of question marks I stack and stack on top of myself. Will Rose Poldson die a question mark or will I slowly regain myself that I lost so long ago to people I let break down my walls over and over again.