The sun beats down on my face, clinging to me with it’s familiar embrace. Suddenly, a noise thunders through the forest I lay in. It is my name, rolling off my mother’s tongue like it has so many times before. My time here is done, for now.

The leaves under my feet crunch with delight. I am running, the cool air burning my young lungs. The sun is still present, watching thoughtfully as I totter around. Yet again, I hear the sound of my name calling for me. I am too young to appreciate this sound.

A snowflake falls slowly upon my tongue, its’ beauty instantly deleted as it’s enveloped by warmth. The air smells like cold, the light burning sensation filling up my senses. My name is unique like the very snowflake that landed upon my tongue. I am getting older now, my mother doesn’t need to call me back in. My name has become my own. Something to be proud of, something I now appreciate. I am who I am, but who am I without a name?

My gift is my name: Pilar. It blossoms like a flower, opening up and inviting those to come look. My name is strong, but smooth like butter. My name is what I stand for, strength in one’s self. My power comes from my mind and my way with words. I have no issue intellectually jousting with those who feel I am inferior simply because I am a woman. With my name I am able to shake Man’s hand and confidently say who I am. When my name rolls off my mother’s tongue, it’s thoughtful and warm. When it rolls off my tongue it’s determined, hungry for more. I am who I am, but with my name I am more.