What's your name again?

Unless you made a particularly great impact on our first meeting—something that I can associate your name with—I’d definitely forget that one word that will supposedly tell you apart from everyone else I already know.

To begin with, I never was the popular type. All my studying life I have only been surrounded by familiar people. I had never been good at shaking hands, let alone thinking up ice-breakers. I had lived in a quietly reserved country for 5 years. And when I got back, I was still in my own world, living by my own rules. Well, I was.

But don’t get me wrong; I’m not a bad conversationalist. I was merely trying to justify that one flaw you must’ve thought I should have eradicated but have not; and that is simply because—your name—is not that important.

This is not aimed to offend you, nor mock you. I have intentionally left the deficiency there for the reason that I would love to associate you more with the good things that you do, with the honest words that you say, or with the thoughtfulness of someone who genuinely appreciates and respects his fellow being; not the facade that you seem to be, but the true persona hiding beneath. So that on the second, the third, or the fourth meeting, I would have come up with an appropriately unique nickname just for you.

In line with that, I have also decided not to tell mine, for the hopes that you would in turn allow me to let myself be “named” on the same grounds. Being known yet unknown has never been more seducing, that I may have the luck of shouting in silence, of telling yet not talking, and of spelling words which are better read, not said.

And now, in my years when I have already developed a wit for ice-breakers, I would like to cage my body in exchange of freeing my mind; for even though the body is not free, at least, the soul is.