I’ve picked a rotten day to start on my daily prompts. Trademark? Really? And what am I supposed to do with that? I could write a novel on “cacophony”, which was the yesterday’s one. Trademark, eh? Fine… I’ll see what I can find inside the old head.
When I was a little brat, back in Poland, I came up with a nickname for myself. “Kfiatuszek” – means “tiny flower” in Polish but with an intentional spelling mistake, a “fwowew” essentially… I was so pleased with myself for coming up with that, you’ve no idea. And yes, to answer your question, I am cringing right now, but hey, we have all been dumb kids once upon a time, right? Right?? Anyway, I used it to sign all my letters, emails, poems and whatnot. The reason why I felt I needed to come up with a nickname in the first place was of course that I really didn’t like the ones I’d been given by the kids nearby (the kindest of which were “Giraffe”, “Emu” and “Roadrunner” – these I am actually quite fond of now, though not at the time, the others… not so much). Surprisingly enough, I managed to push that manufactured nickname onto people. My friends (when I found them) started referring to me by my self-prescribed nom de plume and for once in my life I got to feel a bit like a delicate little fwowew, ahem, I mean flower.
This was my attempt at creating reality in which I wanted to live. That stupid nickname, my trademark back then, was my way of magicking myself away from the gangly, uncoordinated, awkward teenage giant, and into a dainty, cutesy, Disney-y kind of a creature.
These days, in my mid-thirties, I’m not so gangly anymore, but will most likely forever remain awkward and clumsy. The thought of fwowews makes me want to puke marshmallows and M&Ms. I don’t have time for creating false selves, managing the real ones is pain enough. I’ve embraced my inner giraffes, roadrunners, emus and the whole menagerie. My trademark today? The constant confused bemusement I feel when I look at the world.