M i k h a i l e s
m. h. *[ m e e / K A I / l e s s ]
This was my name in a day and age when names were important, and each man's identity was as true and unique as though it was the sole fiber of the universe. I didn't create my own name, in fact. It was - with its own merits - a name sorted for me, just out of sound and form, and I heard it spoken long after I'd learned to speak and read. Because most men are born with names with which they can live, which they had known since they could see the world from infant eyes, it made my name somewhat uncommon. The process, that is.
Juliet once asked "What's in a name?" But what's
not in a name? Living in a country ruled by men not of your kind, overseen by those who feel too diplomatic to interfere with the plight of your people - this is a country where your name marks every atom of your being: and if you're not a part of them, you're a part of nothing. No job, no organization, no entitlements, no help. Just nothing. Which still reminds me of the words of my great uncle who had once told me that he'd disown the boy who was raised and wasted.
Now this name had been donned on me in my early teens - its culture not of my own, but given with the intent to carry me through an unforgiving world during an unforgiving time. The population of these people who had inherited all of the material possessions of the world found stigmatizing blame in the existence of my people. If I was braver, and any degree above average, I would've called out, shouted, done something, to reclaim the rights of my own personal, ethnic, religious convictions. But I wasn't brave, and without being too timorous, I was the perfect follower for the perfect leader. It was inevitable, in my father's eyes, that I would be put to blame eventually, for any reason, for being what, or who, I was. So I was given a new name, so that I can meld in the society of the privileged people. With this particular name -
Mikhailes - all would be forgiven, my father said.
All would be forgiven. Save my conscience. Save what Yahweh will ultimately think in me, think of me. The price of freedom requires that you pay dearly. And nothing is free in the world. Not the air you breathe, the water you drink, or the ground you walk upon. Because nothing comes free.
Return Someday
To a Brighter Future
