Something infuriating is going on in Neopia, right under our noses. We're so busy
going about making money, playing games, and helping ourselves with such activities
that we have not paid attention, but the time has come that the issue should be
Have you ever strolled along somewhere in Neopia, hands in your pockets and
enjoying the weather, when you come upon a lone vendor on the side of the road?
With nothing to do and nowhere else along the road to go, you buy a few knickknacks
and hoozie-wutzits. Leaning on the counter of this poorly made booth, you gaze
out the wonderful world and try to start a conversation with this helpful Neopian.
"How's business?" you ask, or "How is life treating you?"
The vendor responds with a smile and gives you a few statistics and comments
to answer you. Together you talk for a few minutes until the conversation runs
thin, and looking at your watch, you realize it's time to go home and make dinner.
You ask his name so you may return one day when you're bored again, or just
need a friendly face to talk to. But instead of grinning again and satisfying
your inquiry, the poor vendor only frowns and shrugs. He doesn't have a name!
There are several poor, lost Neopians in the world who have been passed up
by the name-giver. Many are people we talk to and do business with every day,
pets who give more help than they receive. Day after day, week after week they
continue with what they are doing, never complaining and never growing bored
with what life has dealt them. But do they even have a single word to call their
own? No sirree!
Take the pink Uni at the pound for example. She assists thousands of Neopians
a day in finding caring and loving homes, but through all those days she remains
without an identity. I mean, really, Mr. Chipper in Happy Valley has a name,
and does anyone ACTUALLY ever have an ice cream coupon?
I'm sure everyone has met this pink Uni with glinting blue eyes and a pleasant
pearl white smile. Unlike her partner, Dr. Death (who, may I add, has things
named after him like plushies and cards and other fripperies that come with
having fame and a name), she has no identity to go by. I'll bet she's even a
ton nicer than him.
When you're visiting the pound and you run your pointer over Dr. Death, he
frowns at you for even thinking about abandoning your pride and joys into the
cold unknown. But the pink Uni frowns not because you wish to adopt. No, the
slight chance of you even considering to possibly take a shivering Neopet who
was so cruelly and carelessly tossed aside into your warm and loving home is
the best thing that could ever happen to her. Uh-uh. She frowns because in all
the world, she only wishes that there was a name she could supply you with to
better help you in your time at the pound. It frustrates people when they look
at you and see no "Hello, My Name Is..." tag, and having any unhappy customer
sends shivers down her spine and steals the shimmer from her coat.
Or take the busy little Flotsam constantly laboring over a hot fire and stove
to cook a meal for the great Mumbo Pango every five minutes. Wouldn't it be
nice if he was able to complete his bleach white outfit with a neat little "Chef
*Name Here*" embroidered across his chest? He cooked for years for the royal
family of Maraqua, and is pushed every single day to produce hundreds of fancy
dishes with no pay. And he isn't even rewarded with a name!
I'm sure you've been kind enough to stop by his little kitchen at least once
or twice. And if you have done that, then you know how he humbly asks for an
itsy bitsy little bit of help with his work, and how he rewards you graciously
each time you bring by the ingredients he needs. His quests are famous throughout
Neopia, but he is only known as the Kitchen Quest Flotsam. In the Marketplace,
shop owners put up posters for help with Light Faerie quests, the Brain Tree
Quest, and... the Kitchen Quest. Boring! I don't know about you, but personally,
I would hate to have that name shouted to me by a friend from across the street
with the chance that other people might hear it. I would cringe in embarrassment
and run home crying. This noble Flotsam is too strong for that, but how do we
know if possibly every night before going to bed, he gazes out his window and
wishes upon a star for something as simple as a decent name?
We might even go as far as to mention the Space Faerie, the Soup Faerie, and
the Water Faerie at the Healing Springs. Fyora, Illusen, Jhudora, and Taelia
the Snow Faerie all have names, and none of them so tirelessly and graciously
help poor little Neopets every day like the nameless ones do, may it be guarding
the Space Station from certain destruction and doom, cooking an endless cauldron
of soup for pets unable to buy their own without leaving any for herself, or
using all her magic to cure thousands of pets of illness and injury every half
an hour. Now, don't you feel ashamed of yourself? There are plushies and stories
and even holidays for the named faeries, but the nameless ones remain in the
shadows, forgotten by the textbooks. Go ahead and argue with me about this,
but I don't see why Jhuidah the Island Faerie on Mystery Island should have
a name, while the Space Faerie, Soup Faerie, and Healing Springs Faerie don't.
I don't know about all you people out there reading this article right now,
but every now and then I take a few seconds out of my day to sit and appreciate
these hard-working, nameless workers of Neopia, hoping that some day they may
wake up in the morning and suddenly know who they are. After all, without a
name, how can you possibly fare well in life? Maybe if everyone had something
to be called by, the world would be a nicer, less confusing place, loving and
welcoming every person and creature into it with equality and kindness.
Or maybe it would stay the same, but it's a good thought to end this article