My Name is Caroline
by me

My name is Caroline.
It always has been.
It always will be.
But for some reason, I don’t associate myself with it.
No—reason isn’t the right word.
It just doesn’t feel right.

Caroline was always too much.
Too long.
Too hard to spell.
And don’t get me started on the endings:
Carolin, Carolina, Carol, Caro, Carolinchen.
I’ve been called many names—
But never the right one on the first try.

I used to resent my parents for that.
They said, Caroline, because you’re special.
You’re not common like the other Carolins and Carolinas out there.
They wanted me to be different.
And they succeeded.
But maybe I took it the wrong way.

Because with every introduction came a “but,”
And with every Caroline,
came a “You can just call me Caro—
or, in Portuguese, Carol.”
And don’t forget: it’s spelled with a C.
Because I’m special, right?

But what should have been special
Started to feel like a necessity.
The nickname—normally meant for friends,
Or intimate family—became my name.

Because of course it’s shorter,
Easier to spell.
You don’t have to worry about the ending either.
Just four simple letters.

And it isn’t even that bad if you mess up the first one.
Because I’ve spent my whole life
Correcting teachers,
Explaining:
I’m not Carolina.
I’m not Carolin.
I’m not Carol.

I’m just me.
But I lost myself—
And my name—
In the effort of making life easier for everyone else. on others.