"All"

I am
crammed in
among a people.

One
in a place
of difference and variety.

Not my own
but neither another,
My own and yet other.

Who is this that we are?
Who is this that are they?
Not we or they,
but all.

Obese and waif,
Towering and diminution,
Old and child,
Human and power
ascend or descend into
All.

Who am I
to define
a people?

"To be named..."

I am riding the waves aboard the Lady Samoa. Early on in the voyage, I dazzled some local children sitting around me with American cartoons, playing some “Bugs Bunny” on my notebook. The battery eventually went out, and they all quickly fell into a disappointed snooze. A little girl, Algonia (sp?), and two little boys who refused to tell me their names, were quite enamored with this giant Palagi in a crazy orange shirt. Now the lights are out for the Samoan kiddos; they know that the best way to make this ride quick is to sleep it off.

It’s a strange thing, refusing to be named. These boys, at peace in their rest by my side, never allowed me to name them. I don’t know if the language barrier prevented their understanding of my question. I don’t know if they were scared of me. I don’t know if they were playing we, little Samoan teases. But I do know one thing I will likely never know: their names. In our short-lived friendship, and forever in my memory, these children hold almost all of the power over me. They have something that I can never acquire, something to which I have no right. And, therefore, I will never name them, never “know” them, hold them, represent them, control them.

To be named, I have quickly learned, is not on par with being known. A name is many things, but it is not a person’s essence. A name is a marker, a category, a representation, a definition, even a re-creation. If I forget your name, I may still know you. But, if I never know you, then your name will be no use to me, except if I will to exert power over you. To forget a name is forgivable. But, to reconstruct a person through naming, to artificially represent one to my own liking or to my own benefit is worth fighting over. If I do that, then please put up a big fight.

Slow down on giving out your name, your title, your label. Open up and share the person you really are. Wait as long as you can to be named. Earn your name; let me earn the right to know your name. I must delay the label, the title, the superficial text, so that I may earn by my simply being me, the right to be named.

What do I know about these kids to my left and my right? I know very little. I know they are content to sit with me, to laugh at my cartoons, to wonder at my skin and my frame. I do not know who they are. I do not know what all they like, what all they dislike. I do not know what frightens them or delights them. I do now know what are their hopes or what are their inhibitions. I do now know their family. I do not know where they are going or where they have been. I do not know their names.