I was named after a Princess.
A real Princess.
But I can count the million different ways how unprincess-like I actually am. My parents unknowingly put a curse on me even before I was born. To be fair though, I am sure they meant well, when they decided on what I would be called for the next 100 years (if I'm lucky). Their minds probably reeled with the brimless possibilities of what their little girl would be like; a prim and proper young lady they could dress up in ribbons and lace; delicate as a flower and someone who will grow to break a million boys' hearts.
Now, what would be the perfect name for this flower picking-eyelash fluttering-cute as a button-little girl?
GRACE
They expected this, but instead, got this.
That's me on the right.
Much to my parents' dismay, I proved to be less poised and charming as my namesake. I picked no flowers, I picked up ladybugs. Instead of breaking boys' hearts, I broke their legs (or at least tried to). Grace Kelly, the icon of style and sophistication is probably looking down/up (you never know) at the clumsy, awkward girl that I came to be.
Quite ungrace-like.
After countless hours of ballet lessons and finishing schools, it was official.
I was no princess.
Fall from Grace
Not to be outdone however, I soon decided that I could not be bullied by my first name anymore. Even though I was completely and utterly useless at handling eyeliner, something else happened whenever I got my hands on pen and paper. I glowed. From then on, I knew what I wanted to do. I was going to write. And write I did. Paper, notebooks, walls, furniture, sidewalks, wet cement.
It took a while to build an identity around something, but I believe I am getting there.
Looking back now, I'm glad that my parents named me Grace. Grace can mean a million different things and I am glad and proud to be one of the million fabulous definitions it has.
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