I was born with one name. Or rather two. My own, my personal, my individual name. Eta. Eta. Eta I am and Eta I have always been. But the second name of my name. That was never my own. Often changing, always given. Usually defined by man or culture or society or religion. Sonnok and Grey and Blue and Maverick. Until finally I set aside the pretense. I embraced the reality. The tilde stands for all names, for all possibilities, in that there is only ever an approximation which labels but never defines.
