In most languages, my name simply means “little girl”. I can see the import in the small insignificance, the meaning. Nina, not meant to grow but to stay young forever. I hold the little girl inside of me every day, embracing my inner child. My name is a reminder that I do not have to just be a big girl, not always. I am allowed to feel things as deeply as my younger self would, to see the world through the lens of innocence. I allow myself to feel heaviness with strength like no other. Remain weightless.
I assume my mother never gave my name much thought because she was also just a girl. 18 years old equipped with only as much as she could possibly know at that age. Her girlhood had been fragile by this point, wrapped in cellophane and facing the monsters of the world. She, too, was a little girl, and so named me for what she was. In that way, I’ve become a duplicate of her strength. My name is an amalgamation of my childhood’s graces. In most languages, my name simply means “little girl”.
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