Lyanny Ruby. In any language Lyanny has no translation. In its own language Lyanny means many things. Lyanny is blooming white roses to the whispers of heavy guitar music seeping through. The strong, sweet scent of cinnamon to the smack of freshly applied red lipstick. A look that may stare you down, yet friendly and inviting.

Lyanny is fluent and euphoric. Long live Lizette and Daniel. More like, Lyzette and Danny. Oh, the sweet teenage bliss of the 90’s. My name wasn’t meant for anyone besides me. The love my parents have paved way for Lyanny. Being young and in love lead to many things. For my parents, a daughter. For months no one knew who I would be. One day the ticking timer went off. With an unnamed baby on the way. Lyanny was crystal clear. From two names became one. Twenty two years and counting Lyanny has been alive.

I wonder, does Lyanny look funny? Some make her out to seem bad. The villain of my story. Coming out like rotten cheese. I can smell it from across the room. When Lyanny is said correctly the first time, a weight is lifted. From me and you. Constantly correcting is tiresome. Lyanny is effortless  like the dress of a tango dancer. Light and flowy. Not capoeira with its uniform kicks. I never understood the difficulty. Why do people make Lyanny sound ugly? Like gum stuck under your shoe, not a dollar you found on the ground.

Ruby is an island man I’ve never met. My great grandfather, Rubino Martinez. Growing up I was only told stories of his vibrant life. Living it up in the tropics of Puerto Rico. Where the sun danced on his skin and the beaches were neverending. I feel as if he lives on. Being told stories, I never knew his name. Never bothered to know. The day I found out it all made sense. Now I wish to know more.

Lyanny is the gradation of the deep blue sky to the magenta and amber of the sunrise. The warmth of the sun through the windows as waking up in the morning doesn’t seem so terrible after all. Although, I could go by Ruby. Or Lee. Or completely different. Something easy: Elizabeth, Rose, even Karen. Everyone has those names. But no one has Lyanny Ruby. So, I’ll keep my name. Through all the choppy waters, thorns, and swords. I’ll keep fighting for Lyanny. And she will fight for me.