my name is edil. But my mom calls me edilay when she is happy, or smiling, or when the sun is out and she feels its rays in the marrow of her bones. I know this because there is a sing songsy tune to it when she calls me that. I prefer edilay to the barbaric way non-somalis say my name, with all of its many different variations--each a mutation slightly different from the one before.
E-ddil, Edal, eDell, Edele, Adeel, Ethel, Edile, Eedil.
The way they say my name used to make me cringe inside when I was young and full of ideals. I was so adamant that they pronounce it correctly. But eventually though, no matter how many times I would try to show them, their tongues could not dance to the delicate melody my name demands. In time, I learned to just nod as another variation was added to the long list of my bastardized name. They took something light and made it heavy. With each new mutation they brought me down and entrenched me here, where the dust meets the ground and the mud clings to the shoes of people in too much of a hurry to notice.
My name means "complete" in somali. So when somebody knows to call me edilay, I feel whole because I know that they too, hear the song my mom sings. A whisper so light and soft it makes me smile even when the sun is in shadow.
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