My name is the color of a soft, gray pink. Kindness. It’s poetically written—but butchered when spoken. It’s a bouquet of roses. Like a painting with distinct colors or a lullaby with a sultry sweetness to it.  

My name is sweet as sugar but hollow at the center. Trying to find something to fill the void. Caffeine pouring into it like a never ending waterfall.

My name at school marches like our band. Learns about psychology. Helps others with love and compassion. 

My name comes from Poland, embodying the elysian things of that wonderful place. The rolling green fields. Beautiful farm houses with paint peeling ever so slightly. The captivation of the language. Delicacies like babka or perogies. My family heritage.

It represents my Grandmothers. Kathy, their shared name. But also their kindness. Their energy. Their patience. I remember all the times I frustrated them as a child. Yet, they hugged me and moved on. Their extraordinary ability to bring our family together with cooking and laughter. I can only hope to represent their virtues just as well as my name does.

But—I also want my individuality. The happy life of my own I’ve been working so hard for. I want my name to represent so much more than sugar and caffeine or a soft lullaby.

I want it to represent stability. My Psychology degree. A leader who built their own family, their own life. My own impact on the world. 

Still pink, but with a fiery red exterior. Still kind, but strong. Still a bouquet of roses, but now with sharp, protective thorns. 

Now a painting with brilliant colors and a theatrical song being belted out. Wonderfully individual as my name sounds. 

My name is Kasia.