I told a loved one I was letting go of my name.
Not for them to let go of my name but for me. I was letting go of it, for certain instances at least. A blank will do. I expected a reaction or feedback, of around 2 or 3 on a scale of 10. However, I was ready for a 1 or even a 0 too.
I was met with silence, the kind that haunts. I could see the gears behind their eyes churning. I could see the light dimming and then flickering. I could smell the ash from a fragment of their heart, hear a tiny crack of another fragment somewhere in that vicinity. It wasn't bad news... nuh uh... it wasn't news...not even ne... Why then?
They asked me the same question after a pause which extended beyond the 10 seconds that had actually passed, "Why do you think of that?" They took a sip of the black tea, perhaps to soothe themselves, or was it the air around?
I knew the answer but how do I give it out straight now, especially after what I had just witnessed. I started off with oblique and invalid reasons, easing it up to generic reasons, and maybe then I could slip in the reason somewhere in between, to mitigate the impact of the apparent blow.
"You do not use my name to call me or address me," I started off with a smile, intended in the best way possible, but it seemed cruel after the smile actually materialized on my lips. I realized it instantly, dropped it, and continued, "you have so many pet names for me that you will never need it." That was stupid - I know; I knew before I even uttered it but still decided to say it.
"First and foremost," how do I make this more palatable? State something obvious. Numbers might help, they always do. I was perhaps trying to stop a flood with straws, but anything seemed like a good idea for a cover-up then. Armed with those straws, which I thought of as a fully functional shield then, I began... again.
"Many women authors use their initials and surnames especially while writing technical papers, or even books... you know... to avoid being disregarded or taken lightly in technical fields, or the literary field, or any field for that matter. Things might have progressed a bit in the public eye but it's nowhere near where it should be. Maybe it has rotted back in recent years based on what I have witnessed."
I paused for barely two seconds but I knew they couldn't find any words to counter it. There was a nod in their thoughts. Maybe they too were aware of the bias. Maybe I was making sense after the rupturing mishap. They took another sip of the tea, eyes still searching something inside.
"Sometimes, people nearer to you, people who claim to know you do not actually see any of your work for what it actually is. Those who are kind will always like it, even go to the extent of convincing themselves that they like it, even if they don't."
They picked up the pin they usually fiddled with, but with an energy clearly distinct from the other times. I should have stopped or paused. It was too late for that.
I continued, "Some others might say it is good despite feeling that the work is of no importance or bad, even if the piece is good. Some unknown animosity spreading internally makes them feel bad about themselves for feeling so... nevertheless they choose to feel that way and have to put up a front. Sometimes you can't differentiate who belongs to the former and who to the latter. There's a completely falsified assessment which does more harm than good."
The expression from before didn't change much. Maybe I had managed to salvage some of the damage that a single line, shrouded in an emotionless announcement, had done.
"Moreover, I think there's a taboo associated with my name. Despite the fact that I love my name, especially the story behind it, I cannot ignore how things associated with it are perceived. There might be a good work but it will not be picked just because it has my name on it. I have seen same work, my work, receive much better applause... striking applause when presented with someone else's name."
My hands that had no job until that time started searching for a scarf to mess with. Failing to find one, they let me go on, "The applause dies down immediately when the truth gets revealed. Unfortunately, it is not a one-off happenstance. It has happened more frequently than I, or anybody else for that matter, would care to accept."
An acquaintance once opened my page, not willingly of course, and they were surprised. They exclaimed, "oh! you actually have good content. I never expected you to have this good content or posts this fun." Despite acknowledging that, the response didn't take a better turn in the days that came later. It's like the work is shunned just because it has my name pasted on it.
Anyway, I didn't mention this. The incident might not have inflicted much on me, because I have been exposed to it so often, but their skin might not take this as casually.
"People make their opinion based on their perception of my name rather than the actual work. It's not some delusion, I have tested it multiple times and have ample amount of proof ¹. I don't think my work needs my name. What it needs is the absence of it. A blank would do a better job at helping."
Not 'might', 'would'. If I could go back just a couple of words and change the 'would' to 'might'; 'might' would be the agreeable choice, even if 'would' was the right one.
They were listening, eyes fixed on the crevice of a floor tile. "But why would anyone pickup something written by an Anonymous? Wouldn't something with an identity, any identity, be better any day?"
Their question made sense but when has anything sensible made sense to the general public? It might be blatant saying this but observations and history support the motion.
"I have seen fragments of my mediocre work, posted anonymously, receive more understanding and acknowledgement than any of my better works with my name on it. That's why I thought of letting it go. What do you think?"
I had tried my best to strip off any emotion that could have been attached to that statement. Whether I succeeded or not, I didn't have the full disclosure. Or was I trying to not read the reception in an attempt to show off my mask of emotion-stripped persona which seems to work (very much) in front of others. This was a different scenario. That mask seemed to unravel... which was scary.
The lights dimmed further. The summer blackout was so obvious there. The load becomes too heavy sometimes to necessitate a blackout.
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