My name is short, goes by before you notice it. It is zip lining on a crisp day. Zippy, fast. Too fast. It was derived from Hebrew. Meaning “life.” I carry life with me everywhere I go, everything I do. I carry the weight of life, but also the joys of it. I was named after a strong woman, an artistic but intuitive woman, a woman who was definitely able to carry the weight of life. And she did a good job doing it. At least that’s what I hear from the stories Mom tells me. She was funny. She used to put money in her brassiere. She liked poker. She crocheted more sweaters than I could count on two hands. Some of which live in the closet downstairs, collecting dust. Some are worn by my sister and me.  
  
My older sister got a nice name. It means “friend” which is fitting. She gets to have an easy time with friends, because of the meaning she carries with her. Ever since she was a baby, she had the most friends. Unlike me, who is more introverted. I have some friends, but those friends are the friends that can help me carry life. They don’t knock it down, like some in the past have. They carry it with me.   
  

My name sounds like the crackling of fire, like the crunch of dead leaves. It sounds like the zip of a race car. Sharp and zippy. It smells like vanilla and rain. Sweet. Sometimes people sound like they are spitting something gross out when they let out my name. But sometimes people make it zip, and crackle, and crunch. Then it sounds beautiful, like music to my ears. To me, my name tastes like a singular sprinkle. Almost like nothing, but almost sweet. Something I don’t spend much time thinking about, something that dissolves in my mouth just like my name.  
  
My name is a blur, it goes by too fast, just like the phenomenon of life I was named after. It’s so fast that people shrug it off when they mispronounce it. I am not like a bird. I am not iniquity. I am life. Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like, if my name were different. Would I still carry the weight and the joys of something else?    
  
More about my great-grandmother: she had emerald eyes that could light a fire. She worked in a factory at age 16 to support her family. She made the best of the situation and two years later, found herself in a higher position at the factory. She liked to sew, knit and crochet, but no matter what her hands were always moving. Even at meals, she would knit. She was kind but sharp and her thoughts moved fast. Mom tells me she gave the best hugs in the whole world. They were tight and held raw love. They were the same hugs Mom gives me, and they are the same hugs I give back to the world.   
  

My name is me, whether I choose to attach myself to it or not. My name is quick, sweet, and zippy. Alike to my great-grandmother, it is kind but sharp. My name represents me. My name tells people who I am before they even meet me, it gives them a window into who I am, and what I carry with me. My name is life.