Who I Am Vignettes by Sophia Coleman ’21

The Sound Of My Name

     Sophia Grace. What does this mean? Sophia means “woman of wisdom,” which I find ironic. Don’t ask why. Grace means “thankful spirit.” To me, it is the little mixed girl who is mixed about a lot of things. The little girl who people have mixed feelings about.The girl that grew up with a little piece of broken because no one knew that it was broken or how to fix it. The girl that speaks her mind because that is all she knows how to do. It’s all she can do to try and fix her broken. That is what Sophia Grace is to me.

     People always tell me I have a pretty name. But it’s just a name. That’s all names are. Just names. A sound that defines us forever. How can this sound be pretty? It isn’t music. It isn’t a poem. It isn’t the sound of water flowing of the chirps of the little birds that I hear but never see. It is just the way my tongue moves behind my teeth to make a hiss. Or the way my lips form a thin “O”. Or the way they sound like an “F” but are really a “P” and an “H”. Or the “EEEE, AHHHH” at the end. Is that pretty? I don’t think so. I wish my name was something like music, or a poem. Something that flows off the tongue like a river, or is melodious like the songs of birds. I want it to be truly beautiful. But it is just a sound. A plain, simple sound. It is mine, just my sound. My sound is Sophia Grace.

Because I Realized

     When I was young, I wondered many things. Mostly about the part of myself that I knew, but never understood. The part of me that everyone saw but didn’t seem like a big deal to me. The part of me that made me different. The part of me that school never taught me. The part of me that some people didn’t like. There is a part of me that people will always see as different. Some even saw it as an excuse to bully me as a child. Some saw my part as a problem. Some still do. That’s not okay, but back then, it was all they knew. That’s what they were taught. That was even how some adults saw me. I could never be a favorite. Never a teacher’s pet. As I grew, I began to speak my mind. And now, I understand the two parts about me. They are separate, yet together. And it makes me special. When I talk about them, I get weird looks. But I will never stop talking about these parts of me. Because I realized, when we stop talking about the parts of us, when we stop believing in who we are, our goals only get farther away.

The Color Blue

     Calm. Peace. Quiet. Water. Cold. Sky. Birds. Flowers. Ice. Butterflies. Stones. Blue things. Blue is the color I breathe when I am sad. It is what filled my mind when I wondered. It is the color I exhale when I am calm. It is the sound of water flowing in a quiet creek. It is the feathers of the little birds that are hard to find. It is the smell of wildflowers that stand out in a field. It is the taste of the little crowned berries that are sour and sweet. It is the sound of the soft strum of a guitar. It is a quiet note on the piano. The low blow of a jazzy saxophone. The voice of that singer that sings lows scratchy tones about a wonderful world. That is blue in my mind.

     Blue is my color. It flows in me. It brings me up when I am down and down when I am up. It is the color of balance. Wild and calming. Loud and quiet. Kind and unforgiving. Beautiful. It is musical and poetic. Like I want my name to be. My name should be blue. Not the word in itself, but something like blue. Pretty and calm. Flows like water. Sounds like the little blue birds that are hard to find. Blue. Something blue. Something that still describes that small girl who is a little bit broken, but also describes the strong woman she is now. Something that doesn’t only tell of her past, but also of her future. Serene, waiting, ready. Not Sophia, not Grace. Me. Just me.